Page 2 of Daddy Erik
“Good girl,” I say before I can stop myself. The words slide out like a command dressed as praise.
Her breath catches. “You came all this way to check my locks?”
“Call it a habit.”
“I’d call it control.”
“I prefer protection.”
“Sometimes those look the same.”
“Only if you distrust the one holding the shield.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, studying me the way a painter studies the subject she’s already half in love with. “And you want to bemy protector?”
The truth slips out, quiet but absolute. “I already am.”
Her lips part, and she takes a soft intake of air. Thunder rolls through the city like punctuation.
“You’re… intense,” she says finally.
“Occupational hazard.”
She laughs, nervous this time, and reaches for a book on the counter. “You’re insane.”
"You're insane in all the right ways, little one."
“Why are you here, Erik?”
"I want to ensure your safety."
“You sound like my grandfather.”
“Was he a good man?”
“The best.”
“Then I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Her expression softens. “You really mean that, don’t you? Safety.”
“I mean everything I say.”
And I do. Protection isn’t about control; it’s about choosing who you build the walls for.
The storm outside fades, the thunder melting away, and the remnants of the rain fade into a soft hiss of water along the gutters. I glance at the clock.
“We should get you home.”
“We?”
“I’ll drive you.”
“Erik…”
“No argument, little one.”
She sighs, the sound equal parts irritation and affection. “Bossy.”
