There’s something holy about it. Quiet. Real.
I brush a few strands of hair from her face and let my fingers trail down her cheek, to the edge of the bracelet now resting against her skin. The charms catch the morning light—the book, the coffee bean, the tiny tattoo machine, and the dahlia with the stone.
She murmurs something soft in her sleep, pressing her face closer to my chest.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “Still here.”
And I mean it. Through every doubt, every scar, every fear she hasn’t named out loud—I’ll be here. Holding her when shebreaks, and worshiping every piece when she lets me put her back together.
She stirs a little, lashes fluttering before her eyes meet mine. Groggy. Soft.
“Morning, baby girl,” I say gently.
A slow smile spreads across her face. “Morning, Daddy.”
Yeah. That’s all I need. She's all I need.
She yawns and stretches like a kitten, the blanket slipping off one bare shoulder. I catch it before it falls to the floor and tuck it gently back around her.
“Stay warm, sleepyhead.”
She gives me a soft smile, still drowsy, but there’s a little glint behind it. “Will you make me coffee, Daddy?”
I arch a brow. “That depends. Are you going to be a good girl this morning?”
She sits up a bit, pressing a kiss just under my jaw, her lips warm against my skin. “Iwasgood last night…”
I let out a quiet laugh. “That you were, baby girl. Come on.”
Before she can protest, I scoop her up. She lets out a surprised squeal, arms flying around my neck.
“Daddy! I can walk!”
“I know,” I say, grinning as I carry her to the small kitchenette in the back corner of the studio. “But I like carrying you. And it’s early—you’re still on princess duty.”
She giggles as I set her down on the stool by the counter and hand her a hoodie. One of mine, of course. She puts it on without a word, drowning in it, and looking like the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
I reach for the beans and grind them fresh—dark roast, just how she likes it. I pour the steaming black coffee into a thick ceramic mug and drop in just the right amount of sugar, stirring slowly.
“No cream. I remember,” I say, setting the mug in front of her.
She takes a sip and lets out a soft sigh of approval. “You do listen.”
“To everything,” I say, already working on some eggs and toast. “Especially when it comes to my baby girl’s coffee.”
She watches me from across the counter, chin in her hand, legs swinging lazily. “You’re really domestic for a Daddy Dom covered in tattoos,” she teases.
I shoot her a look over my shoulder. “And for someone who talks a lot of sass, you sure moaned a lot last night.”
Her cheeks flush instantly. I smirk. Point, Elijah.
“Touché,” she mumbles into her mug when I set my coffee in front of her.
I slide her plate in front of her,toast golden, eggs soft just like she likes. “Eat up, princess. Then maybe we’ll talk about dessert.”
She eyes me, cheeks still red. “It’s breakfast.”
“And yet,” I murmur, leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth, “you taste like sugar and sin either way.” She digs in, still blushing, still glowing, and I can’t stop watching her.
