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It’s Monday afternoon. It’s been grey and dismal in the week since Harris went home, but I haven’t been idle. He sent me the photos he took, the videos he made, and a schedule of what I should post and when. He’s given me instructions on building buzz on social media and a list of photos I should ask a professional to take. He finished the logo, which I adore. Thanks to Harris, I have everything I need to make the Open Arms Activity Centre a reality. He’s the reason I became excited by it again. The reason I haven’t given up on my dream.

I’ve researched local businesses and contacted them to see if they’re willing to support my opening weekend. I was surprised at how many offered to help for free once they knew profits from the weekend would be going to LGBTQ+ charities. I’ve got a face painter, caterer, and entertainer booked, along with promises of freebies and fliers to put in goodie bags from several other companies.

I booked a meeting with my bank manager to discuss a small business loan and contacted three builders who are coming to give me quotes. I want to knock down the dilapidated hostel and have a toilet and shower block built on the same site. My last job has been researching different styles of glamping pods and tents. Between daydreaming about Harris, that is.

I can still remember how his body felt, pressed to mine. The tickle of his stubble. The smoothness of his skin. The heat of his arse around my cock as grass played across my skin. The smell of his sweat and desire. The thud of his heart as we lay together, speaking and kissing late into the night. The desperation of our final kiss.

I miss him.

I check my watch. It’s six. Will he have finished work? I text him, asking how his day was, like I did every day last week. I abandon my research in favor of cooking but return to it while I eat. The styles, sizes, and prices vary wildly. It feels strange to be doing all this stuff without Harris. I can’t help but imagine what he’d say about each one. His eyes would be bright, and his enthusiasm would be contagious.

My phone rings. Harris. I grin and answer.

“Hello, boy.”

“Hi, Daddy.”

“How was your day?”

“Okay.”

I press my lips together and take a moment to contemplate my response. “Just okay?”

“Yeah, you know. Work is work.”

“Did Nigel hassle you?”

“No.”

“Pile too much work on you?”

Harris laughs. “He always does that, Daddy. I’m used to it.”

He shouldn’t have to be.

“Tell me about your day,” he says.

I tell him everything I’ve done.

“Wow. You’re going to have the activity centre open in no time.”

“June’s still a few months away.”

“I know. But you’ll be so busy preparing everything and decorating your house that it’ll fly by. I’m so excited for you, Daddy.”

I imagine cupping his face in my hand. I want to kiss him. “Can you come to the opening weekend?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Tell me the date, and I’ll put it in my diary.”

“The first weekend in June.”

“Done. Have you found a photographer?”

I laugh. “I haven’t had time today. But I will tomorrow.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“So have you.”

He sighs. “Your busy was more exciting than mine. I need to cook.” He says the last sentence around a yawn.

“You haven’t eaten yet?”

“No. I got home about thirty seconds before I called you. Long enough to take my coat and shoes off and flop on the sofa.” He yawns again.

“Why were you so late?”

“Oh, Nigel booked a late meeting with a client. He couldn’t be there, so he asked me to deal with it.”

I grit my teeth. “He was too busy or couldn’t be bothered?”

“Daddy.”

I wipe my hand over my face. “You’re too generous, boy. Your brother takes advantage of it.”

“Maybe.”

“Whatever debt you think you owe him, you’ve repaid ten times over with the extra work you’ve done for him. Promise me you’ll set firmer boundaries with him or, if you don’t feel you can do that, look for a new job.”

Harris is silent. I hold my breath. Have I overstepped? We were together for a week. We didn’t promise each other anything beyond that. We didn’t even talk about what we wanted. If anything. Yet I’m calling him boy, and he’s calling me Daddy.

“I’m sorry, boy.”

“Don’t be. You’re right. I know you’re right. But walking away isn’t that easy. He’s my brother.”

“I know.”

“Daddy.”

“Yes?”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Us?”

My heart skips. “Yes.”

“Is there an us?” His voice quivers.

Is there? We live one hundred miles apart, give or take. I’ve never had a long-distance relationship, but I imagine it would be hard work. We’d be apart more than we’re together. I can’t ask Harris to drive to me every time we want to meet, but once the activity centre is open, I’ll be working weekends, while his job is strictly Monday to Friday, nine to five. At least, it’s supposed to be.

“Daddy?”

Shit. I’ve been quiet too long. What do I say? I adore him. I want him. I need him. My heart burns for him in a way I’ve never experienced before. But could we make it work?

“It’s okay. We had a fun week together. That’s enough,” he whispers.

Except it isn’t. “There could be an us if we both want it,” I say firmly.

Fuck the distance. We’ll never know if it can work if we don’t try.

“I want it, Daddy.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “So do I.”

“How do we make it work?”

“We communicate. Lots of phone calls and texts. We visit each other when we can. But I warn you. The moment my parents find out I have a boyfriend, they’ll want to meet you.”

Harris laughs. “The same goes for my parents. Are we crazy?”

“Why would we be?”

“For trying the long-distance thing when we barely know each other.”

“Boy.”

“Yes, Daddy?”

“What did you tell me in the car when we went to Scarborough?”

“I know you. I trust you.”

“Precisely. I know what I want, boy. I want you.”

“And I want you, Daddy. I wish?—”

My heart pounds. “What do you wish for, boy?”

“I wish I’d never said goodbye. It’s crazy, but I wish I’d stayed. I’m sorry. I’m being needy and pathetic and clingy. I miss you. Last week was intense. I’m still reeling from it.”

“Me too.” If only I could thread my fingers through his. If only I could touch him. “I’m only ever a phone call away, boy.”

“Thank you.”

“You need to eat.” I don’t want to stop talking to him, but he needs to care for himself.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Cook, and then, when you’re ready to go to bed, call me so I can say goodnight.”

“Is that all you’ll do, Daddy?”

“If you’re very good, I’ll say sexy things to you.”

“Phone sex?”

I chuckle. “Would you like that, boy?”

“Yes. Turn me on with your voice, Daddy. Help me relax. It’s been a long day.”

“Gladly. But first, eat.”

“Yes, Daddy.”