A thrill runs through me. Part nerves, part excitement.
"You can't just... decide that."
"I can if you give me permission to." He leans forward. "That's what a Daddy does, sweetheart. He makes sure his little girl takes care of herself. And if she won't do it on her own, he helps her."
"Helps how?"
"By setting rules and delivering consequences when those rules aren't followed."
My mouth goes dry, I lower my voice to make sure no one overhears us. "Consequences?"
"We'll talk about that later. When we have privacy." His eyes flick to Jess, who's pretending not to listen while obviously listening to every word. "But the point stands. You need to rest. Actually, rest. Not just collapse into bed exhausted at midnight."
"What do you suggest?"
"I suggest you close the shop at two like you planned. Then you come to my place."
"Your place?"
"I'll make you lunch. We'll watch a movie. You can take a nap if you want. Just... relax. Let someone take care of you for a few hours."
The offer is so tempting it physically hurts. When's the last time someone took care of me? Made me a meal that wasn't grabbed between customers or eaten standing over the sink?
"I have a kitten to check on," I say weakly.
"Bring her. I want to see how she's settling in anyway."
"Tyler—"
"Is this about the dynamic? Are you scared of being alone with me at my place?"
"No. Maybe. A little."
He reaches across the counter and takes my hand. "I will never push you into anything you're not ready for. If all we do is eat lunch and watch cartoons, that's fine. If you need space, you tell me and I'll back off. Your comfort and safety come first. Always."
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest tight.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "I'll come over. But only if you let me bring dessert."
"Deal. What are you bringing?"
"It's a surprise."
His smile is slow and warm. "I like surprises."
The morning rush picks up, and Tyler stays for another hour, working on his laptop at the counter. Every time I glance over, he's watching me. Not in a creepy way, in a way that makes me feel seen and protected.
When he finally leaves, he presses a kiss to my forehead. "See you at two-thirty, sweetheart. I'll pick you up."
"I can drive?—"
"I know you can. I want to pick you up. "
There's that commanding tone again. The one that makes my knees weak and my brain go fuzzy.
"Okay," I whisper.
"Good girl."
