Chapter 7

Seeing Beckett at the café was an unexpected surprise. After what happened at his house last week, I wasn't sure he wanted to see me again. He'd hustled me out of the house as quickly as he could. Hell, I could still taste him on my lips when he shoved me out the door. That kiss had been hot as hell. And when he'd called me Daddy? Damn. Gimme more.

After I went home, I'd had nothing but time on my hands to do some research. Who didn't think Daddy porn was hot? That part I had already suspected and was happy to see it confirmed. What I hadn't known about was the caretaking part or the variety of Daddies out there. Littles seemed interesting, but probably not for me.

One website written by a Daddy and his boy stuck out to me. Each maintained separate blogs on how they viewed their dynamic. The boy was successful in his own right. He wasn't explicit with names, but I thought maybe he was high up the tech industry ladder. Judging by their backyard, someone, perhaps both, in the house was doing well for themselves. When he shared about life with his Daddy, the joy in his words leaped off the page. He spoke of how it felt to know that one person wanted nothing more than to see him happy and to make sure he knew they loved him. He mentioned that previous partners had thought he was too clingy and needy, but that was precisely the part his Daddy loved best. His Daddy wanted to be the center of his world, and his boy wanted to put him there.

Looking back on previous relationships, I could see a few patterns that should have triggered some introspection on my part. Nothing brought me more satisfaction in a relationship than caring for my partner. In the past, it'd been reminding them to eat dinner because they got distracted and forgot or maybe making sure I came over and cooked for them.

It was frustrating to see them struggling, and I wanted to step in to help them, but that seemed too presumptuous on my part. As an evolved gay man, shouldn't I let people stand on their own two feet without telling them what to do? I didn't want to jump in because they were helpless or to be controlling. I wanted to jump in because I wanted them to have the happiest life I could help arrange for them.

Something about Beckett called to me. I knew it made no sense. He was a police officer. It was absurd that I had this urge to protect him from the world, even if he outweighed me by more than fifty pounds and had five or six inches in height on me. Physically, he didn't need that from me. But emotionally? Yeah, I was down to shield him.

I'd seen his reaction to his family's needling. They intended it to be in good fun, but there was a hint of anxiety Beckett couldn't entirely hide if you knew the clues. If no one had noticed, that was a problem. He deserved to be seen. I wanted to see all the parts of Beckett he kept hidden. There was more of him hiding just below the surface. Based on the phone call I'd intercepted, his dad and likely mom—if she allowed her husband to talk to their kid like that—were assholes who didn't deserve the amazing son they had.

I didn't know when the idea popped into my head that I needed to get Beckett alone and away from the crowd at lunch. It bloomed to full force when I saw him hunched over, folded in on himself at the table. It was so at odds with the calm and professional demeanor I'd seen in the ER countless times since I started working at the hospital.

Beckett had this authoritative air at work, and no one stood in his way there. But outside of that, Beckett was a different person. Gone was the cool, confident man, only to be replaced by a closed-off one who was equal parts taciturn and needy. Everyone knew he could be moody, but I thought it was more than that. I sensed Beckett's confidence was a public shield and not who he was at his core.

What I knew for certain was I wanted more of it. I wanted more of him. I wanted to discover the parts he desperately tried to keep hidden behind his aloofness and distance. He'd have to trust me to make that happen, and my gut said he desperately wanted someone to lead the way. I wanted to be that man.

The menus were still on the table, so it looked like they hadn't ordered anything. With Beckett sitting close to me, it seemed like a good time to test the waters. If he seemed bothered, I'd know it was all in my head and I needed to back the hell off.

Honestly, I was still interested in getting to know him more because look at him…those abs were perfection and those still waters ran way deeper than anyone thought. A bigger part of me wanted my suspicions confirmed.

I wanted to be the one to shield this complex, broody man from a world I was sure didn't understand him. The realization hit me like a punch. I wanted him, and there was no time like the present to begin that claim.

"Beckett, what looks good to you?" I asked as he sat quietly, observing me. His eyes darted to the menu laying on the polished wood table. Beckett quickly scanned it before setting it back down and shifting in my direction. He leaned toward me and spoke soft enough that I had to strain to hear him in the busy café.

"I'm not super hungry. Maybe just a steak salad?" Beckett studied me as he spoke, and I couldn't help but feel like I was the one being quizzed. He leaned toward me and his breath puffed against my neck. My entire body buzzed with him so close, and I glanced around the table. The guys had all moved on to other topics and weren't paying attention to us.

"That sounds good. I'll get one too. Do you like your steak medium rare, or do you eat it wrong?" I smirked when I said it. Beckett responded with a quick grin and an affirmative nod. I had asked, hoping he'd let this tiny, unexpected moment in building trust play out. We hadn't shared boundaries, or anything else, really, but damn, this moment feels like exactly the right place to start.

Becky, according to the name tag pinned to her shirt, came back over to the table and made her way around the table, asking everyone what they'd be having. Right as she got to me, I shifted my hand from my lap, placed it over Beckett's knee, and gave it a little squeeze.

"We'll need ours to go. Could we please get two steak salads, medium rare? We'll need utensils in the bag too. Is water okay to drink?" I turned back to Beckett, whose expression seemed surprised but with the tiniest bit of relaxation. Yeah, I'd made the right call.

"Sure," the waitress answered. "Beckett, you want the house dressing like usual?" Beckett answered yes to dressing and water before he sat back in his chair. I noticed he didn't remove my hand from his knee. Instead, he splayed his legs farther apart, which put his thigh in contact with mine under the table. It was as solid and warm as I remembered from the other day. I squeezed lightly, and his body jerked in response. No one but me heard his soft sigh.

There was something so right about being able to order for him. Obviously, he was capable of ordering his own food and did it himself every time he went out. I couldn't deny that I loved how such a tiny, maybe insignificant, gesture took on a new meaning when I did it for him.

Big or small, important or insignificant, I wanted to be the one who paved the way for him. Who smoothed the rough edges of his life and took on the burdens. Who ran interference so the outside world would have to get through me to reach him.

I should have been scared of how fast I wanted to move with him. Under normal circumstances, I was relatively cautious about dating. It almost always took a few weeks for me to even consider whether there might be a long-term connection. Half the time, it ended up being a three-date maximum, and then I or the other guy would lose interest.

Hell, I never really minded. We'd both get a few blowjobs and fucking out of it, so nothing to complain about that. My need to take care of my partner always showed up in my long-term relationships. That was probably where I went wrong. I was so casual in the beginning that the more intense part was too much of a shift.

It didn't seem like much of an issue with Beckett though. From the moment I walked into that hospital room, I'd wanted to take care of him. The urge didn't make sense, given how he'd blown me off when I first moved into the neighborhood. His family teased him about being so grumpy and standoffish, but I knew there was something more to it.

Maybe I read too much into it, but his house was a study in contradictions. I'd been in enough single guys' houses to know that Beckett's cozy vibes weren't typical. It was masculine, and I wasn't saying single guys couldn't decorate even if my place wasn't great, but it was so damn warm and soft. When I'd walked in the door, I'd been ready to move into the place myself. Beckett had created his safe zone there, except that wasn't the right word for it.

Sanctuary.

It felt like a sanctuary, and I wanted to be part of that for him.

"All right, gentlemen, here are your salads and waters. Don't worry. Your utensils and some extra napkins are in the bag. I put the check at the register, and you can pay the cashier on your way out."

A stupidly old-fashioned part of me was glad she put both meals on the same check because I wanted to buy Beckett's lunch. It was just one more way I wanted to take care of him because that's what a Daddy did.

We left the café together and headed to the park. I had to restrain myself from grabbing his hand and linking our fingers as we walked down the sidewalk. The crisp fall air pushed us to walk faster. I was confident we were both eager to begin the conversation that had been coming since I agreed to watch him for Cameron.

We passed the storefronts of the various businesses, and folks waved, mostly at Beckett, in recognition. Between Beckett's patrol uniform stretched tight across his chest, the dark stubble that skimmed his jawline, and his imposing height, he was hard to miss. I noticed he did wave back and call out a greeting in response to theirs, but the more he did it, the more tense he became.

After a few minutes, his jaw tightened to a clench and his shoulders were noticeably stiff. Not being able to help him bothered me more than I wanted to examine while walking in public. I moved closer to him as we rounded the corner and eased my pinkie finger out until it brushed the back of his hand. I felt him shiver, as if electricity had zapped through him.

Beckett moved toward me, and we stayed close enough the rest of the way that our arms brushed together. I liked to think some of the tension eased away from him.

The park was surprisingly empty for lunchtime on a dry, sunny day in fall. I nodded toward a stone table with benches under an oak tree. The leaves hadn't all fallen yet, so the canopy above us was a tapestry of reds and golds.

When we reached the table, I indicated for Beckett to slide over and joined him on the same side of the bench. He gave me an impenetrable look but did as requested. My attention turned to the food bag, and I pulled the containers out. Once opened, I slid it down the table with a packet of plastic utensils.

Beckett gave me a sidelong glance and softly said, "Thank you, Da—" but caught himself mid-word and corrected, "Thank you, Will."

The way my heart pounded told me Daddy was a word I desperately wanted to hear from him again.

It pulled at my heart and humbled me that this shy, vulnerable man had shown a part of himself that he'd kept completely hidden from everyone else. There was such power in being the one he allowed to see that in him, and I felt an immense responsibility settle on my shoulders. If he gave himself to me, I would do everything in my power to take care of his heart in the way he deserved.

After those days spent watching him when he was injured, I knew the stoic facade was just that—a facade. I had a chance to find the true Beckett and see where this situationship between us could be headed. If that was the spot I wanted in his life, I needed to step up now.

"How are you feeling? Any aftereffects from that bump on your head?" Beckett turned his serious eyes to me and shook his head, but then those full lips I wanted to taste again quirked into a grin and his eyes sparkled with laughter.

"Well, I keep calling this guy Daddy, so that's pretty fucking strange, ya know?"

"I can't speak for that guy, but this one would be pretty okay with it."

Beckett's smile faded to a solemn countenance and his eyes clouded with worry. I could tell he wanted to say something, and I tried to be patient as I gave him time to gather his thoughts. My time with him after the assault taught me that rushing him to speak was the quickest way for him to shut down. Instead, I glanced down at his hand that rested on the table. I reached over and gently laced my fingers with his. I could see the relief in his eyes.

"Sweetheart, whatever you need or want to say, I'm here to listen. I won't pretend that I know about being a Daddy. I can tell you I've spent a lot of time researching and reading about it over the last week. I've looked online and read blogs. The one thing I took away more than anything is that there isn't a single way to do it. It's all about what works for the people involved. And I want to make this clear to you."

I squeezed Beckett's fingers, still laced with mine, and cupped his jaw with my other hand. My thumb traced over his full lips, and I smiled when his tongue darted out for a quick taste.

"I want to explore this with you. I want to learn about this with you. We can figure it out together. I want to learn how to be your Daddy."

Beckett's smile was everything. Between the crinkles around his eyes and the dimple on his cheek, I knew he was all in on exploring this together. He gave my shoulder a gentle nudge, although even that sent me rocking sideways.

"Okay…okay. Let's do this, but I think there needs to be some expectations set up so both of us know where we stand," Beckett suggested quietly while he made an intensive study of whatever was over my left shoulder.

"That's reasonable. Let's finish our lunch because we both gotta go back to work. Do you have dinner plans?" Beckett shook his head and picked up his fork to start eating. "Perfect,because now you do. How about I fix dinner at your house this evening, and we can talk about all the things?" His shy smile and nod were all I needed to see.

The rest of our lunch date, and it was absolutely a date, was spent talking about mundane topics. I told Beckett about my bulb-planting plans for the coming weekend. I hoped to turn the ditch along the front of the house closest to the road into a blanket of daffodils and tulips. Over the top of them, I was going to plant hostas so there would be cover when the flowers died off.

I was surprised, though I probably shouldn't have been, to learn about his active involvement with the library reading programs. Beckett's plans were to finish his current book about the history of Dutch engineering. Land reclaiming from the sea was interesting enough, but seeing Beckett's eyes light up and his unexpectedly easy laugh was a revelation.

I had to stop myself from pinching my arm because it didn't quite seem real that I was sitting in a park having lunch with the guy who'd avoided me for months on end, reluctantly allowed me to watch over him when he was injured, and now was poised to explore a Daddy/boy dynamic with me. I didn't know or care what stroke of luck or twist of fate had gotten me to this point, but I hoped like hell it continued.