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There was a picture of a T-rex with tiny arms and the words, “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your…oops.I stared at the shirt, then met Daddy’s eyes, then promptly burst into tears. Before I knew what had happened, I was sitting bawling into Daddy’s neck.
Daddy's arms wrapped around me immediately, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other rubbed soothing circles on my back.
"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" he murmured against my hair. "Don't you like it?"
I hiccupped, trying to get my breathing under control. "I- l-love it," I managed between sobs. "You got a m-matching shirt."
"Of course I did," Daddy said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We're a team, aren't we?"
That just made me cry harder, burying my face deeper against his neck. No one had ever done something like this for me before—something so simple yet so meaningful. Harold had always been mortified by my "childish tendencies," and even the few Doms I'd dated had treated my Little side as something to be indulged in private, never acknowledged publicly.
But here was Daddy, this massive, intimidating biker, voluntarily wearing a dinosaur t-shirt to match mine, ready to stand beside me in front of his entire club.
"I'm s-sorry," I stammered, finally pulling back enough to wipe at my eyes. "I don't know why I'm crying."
Daddy's thumbs gently wiped the tears from my cheeks. "It's okay to be emotional, little one. Big feelings are hard sometimes."
I nodded, taking a shuddering breath. "Thank you. For the shirt. For...everything."
"You don't need to thank me," he said softly. "Seeing you happy is thanks enough."
I managed a wobbly smile, feeling a calm settle over me. With Daddy by my side, wearing his dinosaur shirt, maybe this barbecue wouldn't be so scary after all.
"Ready to go face the hungry hordes?" Daddy asked, his voice lightening as he saw my tears subsiding.
"Ready," I confirmed, reaching for his hand without thinking.
His large fingers enveloped mine, warm and secure, as we headed out of the cabin. The compound was already buzzing with activity, the smell of grilling meat filling the air. Several picnic tables had been set up in the grassy area behind the clubhouse, and children of various ages ran around playing tag while adults clustered in small groups, beers in hand.
I felt a momentary flash of panic as we approached, my grip on Daddy's hand tightening. He squeezed back reassuringly.
"Look who's here," he said, nodding toward a corner where Bolt stood flipping burgers at a grill. Beside him, Annabel sat cross-legged on a blanket, Princess the teddy bear in her lap as she carefully arranged what looked like a tea party.
"Matty," she called out when she spotted us, waving enthusiastically. "Come see. I brought Princess's tea set."
I gave Daddy's hand a final squeeze before making my way over to Annabel, oddly relieved to have somewhere specific to go. As I approached, I could see she had an elaborate miniature tea set laid out on a flowery cloth, with Princess seated as the guest of honor.
"Hi," I said, hovering at the edge of her blanket. "That's a really nice tea set."
"Thank you," she beamed, patting the space beside her. "I brought it special for today. Princess has been asking for a proper tea party for forever. Where are Patches and Bear?"
My stomach dropped. I hadn't brought them because I was worried it would make me look stupid. "I... I left them at home," I admitted, my voice small.
Annabel's face fell for just a moment before she brightened again. "That's okay. Princess can share her friends." She reached into a small backpack and pulled out two more stuffies—a small pink unicorn and a floppy-eared rabbit. "This is Sparkles and Hoppy. They can be your tea party guests."
I settled onto the blanket, accepting the offered stuffies with a surprising sense of gratitude. "Thank you. That's really nice."
"Your shirt is super cool," Annabel said, carefully pouring imaginary tea into tiny cups. "I love dinosaurs too."
"Daddy has a matching one," I told her, feeling a flush of pride as I glanced over to where Daddy stood talking with Bolt at the grill.
"That's so sweet," Annabel squealed. "Bolt never wears matching shirts with me. He says they don't make them big enough for his muscles."
I giggled at that, relaxing further as we fell into the rhythm of the tea party. Annabel was easy to be around—her Little space seemed so natural, so unforced. She handed me a tiny cup and saucer, instructing me on the proper way to hold it—"pinky out, very fancy"—while explaining all her stuffies' backstories.
I was so absorbed in our game that I didn't notice the two figures approaching until a shadow fell across the blanket.
"Well, isn't this just precious?" came a woman's voice, dripping with sarcasm.