Page 10 of Protect Me Daddy

"Not at all," Dwight said firmly, picking up the book. "This is coming too."

As I gathered clothes, Dwight carefully wrapped Red Rabbit in my softest blanket. The tenderness of the gesture made my heart swell.

"Ready?" he asked, holding my packed bag.

I took a deep breath, looking around the tiny apartment that had been my sanctuary. "I think so."

Dwight's hand found the small of my back as we stepped into the hallway. The touch was protective, grounding.

"I'll have a team watching Earl and his crew," he murmured, his voice low and determined. "But right now, my focus is on you."

We reached the stairwell and Dwight pulled me close, his eyes intense. "I've got you now, little one," he promised. "No one will ever hurt you again."

I believed him.

Chapter 4

It took me anembarrassing amount of time to get ready, then we had some lunch at a nearby diner. After that, I panic bought some extra stuff from a bodega, and we finally made our way to Dwight’s place. He lived across the city from me, in a very expensive part of town. As we pulled up to his address, and I felt an intense wave of imposter syndrome.

“All okay?” Dwight asked, sensing my discomfort.

“Yep. Just . . . not my usual scene.”

“Don’t let it bother you. It’s your scene now, was as long as you need it to be.”

We got into the elevator in the huge apartment block, and rode it all the way up to the top.

I stepped into Dwight's penthouse, my breath catching. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a glittering cityscape, the kind of view that must cost a lot of money.

“I was in the property business before I joined the force,” he explained. “The money was good, but, uh, job satisfaction was basically zero.”

It wasn’t just the view that was impressive. The the interior captivated me. Gleaming hardwood stretched in every direction, anchoring carefully curated art pieces that spoke of refined tastes.

My gaze was drawn to the kitchen, a chef's paradise with gleaming appliances and copper-bottomed pots hanging in perfect alignment. Everything screamed discipline and attention to detail, from the alphabetized bookshelf to the precisely arranged throw pillows. It was worlds away from my cramped apartment with its peeling wallpaper and scuffed floors.

"Make yourself at home," Dwight's deep voice rumbled behind me. "I'll get food started."

I perched hesitantly on a barstool, watching as he moved confidently around the kitchen. His hands were sure and steady as he chopped vegetables and seared meat for coq au vin.

"Cooking helps me decompress," he explained, glancing up at me. "There's something soothing about the precision of it."

I nodded, mesmerized by his fluid movements. "It smells amazing."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "Wait until you taste it."

“I don’t find it so soothing," I explained. "Mainly because it’s not super precise when I do it. For me, cooking is basically microwave dinners and, sometimes, for a treat, frozen pizza,” I said, laughing nervously.

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Well, young lady, we’re going to be improving your nutrition from now on.”

As he worked, I noticed how he unconsciously cared for me - testing the temperature of a spoonful of sauce before offering it to me, making sure my water glass stayed full. When we finally sat down to eat, he even tucked a napkin into my lap with a gentle touch that made me shiver.

"So. The day that Earl accosted you. Could you tell me about that day?" he said, his piercing gaze focused intently on me.

I fidgeted with my fork. "Oh, you know. It was just the usual craziness at O'Malley's."

"Tilly." His tone was gently chiding. "I want to hear the details. It could help."

Something in me softened at his genuine interest. As I recounted my shift, peppered with colorful regulars and rowdy out-of-towners, I found myself relaxing. Dwight listened attentively, asking questions that showed he was truly engaged.

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