Page 31 of Daddy's Muse
“I know what it’s worth,” I replied. “Even if you don’t.”
He looked down at the bill like it might burn him, then back up at me, confused and pink-cheeked and so heartbreakingly sincere.
That was the best part of all this.
He hadn’t figured any of it out yet.
Not the camera, not the tracking, not the search logs I’d scrolled through at midnight while he slept unaware.
Not what he meant to me.
Not who I had decided to be for him.
But he would.
I reached for my coat and offered him one last smile before heading toward the door.
“See you soon, Colby.”
His voice was barely audible. “Yeah… see you.”
9
Colby
I wondered if he would come again today.
He’d been showing up almost every day for the past week, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I could remember exactly the way his voice dipped low like we were sharing secrets, the way his eyes stayed on me just a second longer than most people’s did.
I wasn’t sure when it started—probably from the first day, to be honest—but little by little, I found myself looking forward to the possibility of him walking in again. It made me feel an anxious excitement because I still didn’t understand why he’d want to talk to me, but I loved our time together.
I didn’t understand how someone so interesting was making time to get to know someone as dull as me. He didn’t seem bored with me yet, but I was sure he’d get there soon enough.
I was nothing more than the forgotten child of heroin addicts. I spent the first part of my life moving from one trap house to another, trying my best to stay small, stay unnoticed, and stay alive.
I hadn’t even known my grandparents until one day, a nice lady showed up and told me I would be living with them from now on. When they’d come up to the hospital to pick me up, they were crying. My grandmother took one look at me from the doorway of the hospital room and ran to my bedside, gathering me up in her arms and pressing kisses to every inch of my face. My grandfather joined us with a sad smile and a stuffed raccoon under his arm.
I’d never been held like that before—not like I was something worth holding onto.
Even now, all these years later, I could still remember the smell of my grandmother’s perfume—powdery and soft, like safety and department stores and lace doilies—and the way my grandfather’s hand rested on my shoulder like he was promising not to let go. They gave me a home, a bed that was mine, and the kind of quiet that felt strange at first because I didn’t have to listen for trouble anymore.
They’d taken in a kid they hadn’t known existed from a daughter who they thought was dead. But they never, ever, acted like I was a burden. They loved me with their whole hearts, and although their finances had been tight, they did everything they could to give me a decent childhood.
And yet, despite all that, despite the care and love they poured into raising me, I’d still grown up determined not to stand out. I was the kid in the background of every group photo, the one teachers barely remembered when they handed back graded work. I kept my head down and I stayed out of the way.
It was easier that way.
Which is why Bodin made no sense to me.
The way he’d walk into the diner like he was looking for me specifically. The way he leaned forward over his coffee, as if whatever I said was worth hanging on to. The way his smile shifted when it was just for me.
I tried not to admit it to myself, but I’d started catching my reflection in the stainless steel behind the counter, checking my hair, wondering if my shirt looked okay. I’d never done that for anyone before.
The bell over the door rang, snapping me out of it.
For a split second, my heart jumped—hopeful—before I even looked up.
And then there he was.
