Page 66 of Wings
She was right. Around the next bend, the sound of falling water grew louder. The trail opened into a grove where someone—forest service, probably—had placed benches near a viewing area. A small waterfall tumbled into a crystal pool, spray catching sunlight in tiny rainbows.
"It's perfect," she breathed. "Like a fairy tale."
I'd scouted this spot online, but the photos hadn't done it justice. Wildflowers grew thick here, taking advantage of the water. Butterflies were everywhere—orange monarchs, yellow swallowtails, tiny blues she'd mentioned, all dancing from flower to flower in an aerial ballet.
She threw her arms around my waist, pressed her face into my chest. "It's perfect. You're perfect. This whole day is perfect."
I held her close, breathing in her shampoo and happiness. "Nothing's too good for my girl."
A monarch chose that moment to land on her shoulder, wings slowly opening and closing. She froze, barely breathing, eyes wide with wonder.
"Magic," she whispered. "Daddy made magic."
Not magic. Just a man who'd do anything to see his baby girl smile. But if she wanted to believe in magic, surrounded by butterflies and waterfalls and endless possibility, who was I to argue?
The butterfly lifted off, joining its fellows in their dance. Kiara watched it go with the kind of pure joy that made everything—the planning, the early morning, the risk of being away from the club during high alert—worth it.
"Come on, baby girl." I picked up the basket again. "Let's find a picnic spot."
The checkered blanket unfurled across the grass with a snap, red and white squares bright against the green. I'd picked this clearing for the view—wildflowers on three sides, the small waterfall providing background music, enough shade from the pines to keep us comfortable. Perfect tactical positioning, if your mission involved butterfly sandwiches and making your girl smile.
"Can I help?" Kiara hovered at the blanket's edge, hands clasped behind her back like she was afraid to disturb my setup.
"No chance. Sit." I patted the center of the blanket. "Let Daddy handle everything today."
She folded down gracefully, dress spreading around her like flower petals. The yellow fabric caught the filtered sunlight, making her glow. Or maybe that was just her happiness, radiating out in waves I could almost touch.
I set the basket beside her, making a production of opening the latches. "Now, let's see what we have here . . ."
Her eyes tracked my every movement as I pulled out containers. The juice boxes first—apple and fruit punch—which made her bounce slightly. Then the string cheese, still cold from the ice pack. The white bakery box tied with ribbon got a tiny gasp.
"Is that . . . ?"
"Patience, baby girl." I saved that for last, pulling out the wrapped sandwiches instead. "Close your eyes."
She obeyed immediately, hands folded in her lap, face tilted up with trust that gutted me every time. I unwrapped one sandwich carefully, placing it on the small paper plate I'd packed.
"Okay, open."
Her eyes flew open, then widened impossibly. "Butterflies! You made butterfly sandwiches!"
Before I could blink, she had her phone out, angling for the perfect photo. Then she froze, looking guilty. "Is it okay that I—"
I cut her off with a kiss, quick but firm. "Today is about you enjoying everything, baby girl. No guilt, no worry."
"They're too pretty to eat." She picked up one carefully, examining it from all angles. "You even got the wings symmetrical. How long did this take?"
"Not long." Lie. Those fucking butterfly cookie cutters were designed by someone with tiny hands who'd never tried to cut sandwiches at five in the morning. "Try one."
She bit into a wing delicately, then moaned in a way that went straight to my cock. "Peanut butter and strawberry. My favorite."
"I know."
We ate in comfortable quiet for a while. A monarch investigated our blanket, landing briefly on the juice box in her hand before continuing on. She tracked its flight with wonder that belonged in museums.
"Look, those two are dancing together." She pointed at a pair of swallowtails spiraling upward. "Like they're celebrating."
"Maybe they are." I shifted to lean back on my elbows, watching her more than the butterflies. "Spring, flowers everywhere, perfect weather. Lots to celebrate."
