For the first time since joining, I feel like I belong. Not just the new guy hauling loads, but part of the family.
Back at the hotel, I devour the lunch box—turkey club perfection, apples crisp, cookies melting in my mouth like heaven. The juice washes it down, sweet and fresh.
Olivier's number stares up from the note inside:Call me.
I punch it into my phone, heart racing, but save the text for later.
Tonight is for Littles. For me.
The club is tucked in a nondescript building downtown, the kind you'd miss if you weren't looking. Inside, it's a wonderland: colorful play mats, blocks, crayons, a ball pit in one corner.
Soft lighting, stuffie piles everywhere.
A few other Littles mill about—some coloring, others building forts—chaperoned by their Daddies or hanging with friends. No judgment, just joy.
Taylor and Mikey dive right in, grabbing crayons and paper. I hesitate at first, but Mikey shoves a stuffie into my hands—a fluffy bear that reminds me of Lexi. "Come on, Danny. Let's color superheroes. And don’t forget your stuffie next time!"
“LOL, I’m such a doofus,” I giggle, suddenly feeling Little. “Silly me!”
We sprawl on the floor, crayons flying. Taylor sketches a muscly hero, while Mikey adds silly hats to everything. Laughter bubbles up, easy and free.
For the first time in ages, I let my Little side out fully—no hiding behind muscles or machismo. We build a block tower, knock itdown with giggles, then raid the snack table for juice boxes and animal crackers.
"See?" Taylor says midway through a fort construction. "Told you it's all good. We're family here."
Mikey nods, munching a cracker.
"And about Olivier? Text him. Worst case, hot fling. Best case...ForeverDaddy."
I pull out my phone, thumb hovering.
Why not?
DANNY: Hey, Chef. Thanks for lunch. And... everything.
Send. Butterflies erupt. But surrounded by these guys, it feels right.
As the night winds down, we pile into Taylor's truck, exhausted but happy. My phone buzzes:
OLIVIER: Good boy. Dinner tomorrow? My place. Be ready at 8.
I grin like an idiot. "Guys... he wants dinner."
“I bet that’s not the only thing he wants to eat!” Mikey howls with laughter.
They whoop, high-fives all around. Yeah. Part of the crew.
And maybe, just maybe, on the way to something more with a certain stern chef.
The drive back is filled with chatter—stories of past playdates, Daddy mishaps, site shenanigans.
I share a bit about my old crew, the rejections from Daddies who couldn't see past my size, and a whole ton of other stuff too.
Mikey and Taylor listen, nod, share their own scars.
By the time we hit the hotel, that knot of isolation I've carried for so long is gone and replaced by belonging.
"Night, Danny," Mikey says, yawning as we part in the hall. "Welcome to the fam."
