Page 9 of Master Daddy

But I leave the doodle right where it is.

For my eyes only.

The rest of my shift passes in a happy haze. I catch myself smiling at nothing, replaying the way Mason looked at me, the way he said little one like it was the most natural thing in the world.

By the time I lock up and head home, I’m buzzing with anticipation for tomorrow morning.

I might not be ready to catch big feelings for a guy who disappears for months at a time… but I am definitely ready to let Mason spot me on the bench press and help me come out on top against Milo.

And maybe, just maybe, I’m ready to let him boss me around a little while we’re at it.

Because something tells me training with Mason is going to be a whole lot more fun than I expected…

Chapter 4

Mason

Damn.

That felt good.

Seriously double-damn good…

I push open the door of the stationary store and step out onto the sidewalk with a spring in my step I haven’t felt in years.

The little bell jingles behind me like it’s laughing at how easily that sassy little thing just got under my skin.

Luke.

Fuck, that boy is trouble wrapped in the sweetest package I’ve ever seen. Smart mouth, quick comebacks, and those big eyes that flash defiance one second and melt the next. Most boys I’ve met over the years either try too hard to impress or go all shy and quiet the moment I turn on the stern voice.

Not Luke.

He gave it right back to me. I chuckle low under my breath as I tuck the memory away like a trophy.

The main strip of the town stretches out in front of me, bathed in that perfect mid-afternoon sunlight that makes everything look warmer, softer, like it belongs in one of those postcards they sell at the tourist kiosk by the park entrance.

Ancient oak and maple trees line both sides of the wide sidewalk, their leaves just starting to show the first hints of autumn gold. The branches arch overhead like a natural canopy, dappling the pavement with shifting patterns of light and shadow.

Independent stores nestle shoulder to shoulder: colorful awnings over the bakery with its perpetual scent of fresh bread and cinnamon rolls, the little bookstore with handwritten recommendation cards in the window, the hardware store where old Mr. Granger still yells “Morning, Mason!” even though it’s three in the afternoon.

Familiar faces nod or wave as I pass.

Mrs. Henderson pushing her grandkids in a double stroller. Two of the firefighters from Station Two grabbing coffee to go. A couple of Littles I recognize from Connor and Kaleb’s wider circle skipping out of the toy shop with new stuffies clutched tight.

This town… it hits different every time I come back from the rig.

Peaceful. Down to earth. Real.

The kind of place where people actually know your name and give a damn. For a second I let myself imagine what it would be like to be here more often. Not just four weeks of leave before another four-month grind out on the water.

No. Really here.

I imagine waking up in my cabin every morning, grabbing breakfast at the diner, maybe walking this exact strip hand-in-hand with a certain firecracker who blushes when I call him little one. Luke’s hand in mine. His laugh echoing off these old brick buildings. Me pulling the boy close when the evening chill rolls in off the mountains, pressing a kiss to the top of his head while he pretends to complain about my beard tickling him…

The image feels so vivid I can almost smell him… something sweet like vanilla and that faint clean sweat from the gym. My cock twitches in my jeans at the thought and I have to adjust my stride.

But then reality crashes back in like a rogue wave.