Page 42 of Just A Little Joy
Hell yes. I’ll pick you up.
“I needto stop for a few things, if that’s okay,” I said to Casey as we settled in my car. Almost on instinct, I reached over and fastened his seatbelt, double-checking the latch. I liked that helet me do it without giving me a funny look. It made me feel like his Daddy, and that was exactly what I wanted to be.
“Yeah, that’s totally fine. What did you need to get?”
Since everything on my list was for him, I wasn’t sure how to answer. Deflecting felt like the safest move.
“Just a few odds and ends. Are you hungry for anything in particular?”
“Nah, I’m not picky.”
“Is breakfast food okay?”
“For sure. It’s always the right time for bacon.”
I shot him a smile, put the car in gear, and pulled out of his apartment parking lot. Once we were on the road, I grabbed his hand, laced our fingers, and rested them on my thigh. It felt natural to keep his hand in mine. It calmed something in me that had been missing for a long time—something I’d known needed filling but hadn’t figured out how to reach. Casey felt like the missing piece I’d been searching for.
But I wasn’t foolish enough to think Casey would take one look at me and suddenly decide his need to move, wander, and chase the next adventure would vanish. If I wanted him in my life, I needed to give him a reason to stay that went beyond friendship. He had plenty of friends. I had to prove I could be the Daddy he’d been searching for because that was the only way I’d keep him here—and I wanted him here more than I was willing to admit.
I couldn’t let myself think about falling in love with him, even though I knew damn well that’s exactly where I was headed. He hit me hard the first time I saw him, and nothing about that had changed. Casey was funny, kind, sweet, and sexy as hell. There wasn’t a thing about him I’d change, not even the constant moving, because I knew who he was had been shaped by every place he’d lived. And maybe that was the best part.
On the way over, we chatted about all the things people talk about when they first meet. We compared favorite colors, hated foods, and family holiday traditions. It felt ordinary in the best way, like two guys getting to know each other without the Daddy/little dynamic taking center stage. I liked Casey as a person. It was a bonus that he was exactly the type of little I had always imagined finding.
Barrett absolutely loved Owen, but the truth was, I wanted a boy I could join in play. The interaction was what I liked most about little Casey. I could be with him in his little space and participate in it with him rather than be an observer while he was in his own world. And Casey’s age regression being a little less did that perfectly for me. The time in the club and the trip to see the lights let me get all the caretaking vibes and play with him too. I wanted more. Well, actually, I wanted all of it.
We pulled into the shopping center in Mercer City. It was all decked out in traditional boughs of firs and red bows. The brick facades were designed to resemble an Old World European street and felt like you’d almost magically be transported. It reminded me a lot of Montreal. The detailed archways, wooden signs, and leaded windows, probably faux, reinforced the atmosphere. Gabe had mentioned this was one of his favorite projects, and I could see why. It was gorgeous.
“Hold on, bub. I’ll come around and get you,” I said to Casey.
When I shut off the ignition, he nodded and waited for me to come around, open his door, and unbuckle his seatbelt. When he stepped out, I couldn’t resist pressing a quick kiss to his lips. They were soft and full and just as perfect as I remembered from the other night. His beautiful brown eyes flashed with satisfaction when I laced our fingers and guided us toward the pedestrian walkway between the buildings. Christmas lights were strung overhead, casting a warm glow against the gray Pacific Northwest morning.
We passed a kink store with a French name I couldn’t pronounce. A Christmas tree stood in the window, decked out with lace in a way that was tasteful and elegantly erotic. I didn’t need to know anything about decorating or product design to tell that whoever handled their windows knew exactly what they were doing.
We walked deeper into the center before I pulled him down a narrow side street that twisted and turned like an alley. It opened into a small courtyard where Buttered Biscuits sat at the end.
“Daddy, I kept wanting to try this, but I never got a chance,” Casey said. He did a quick shimmy that was adorable and left me feeling like I’d passed some kind of invisible test he made up on the spot.
“Then I’m glad I picked it. Barrett was talking the other day about how happy he was with the new chef and the tweaks to the menu. I’ve liked it every time I’ve been before.” I pushed open the door and ushered him inside.
Like all of Barrett’s restaurants decorated by Owen, it looked like a dream. The dark wood and warm lighting were sleek and modern instead of homey like Stone and Vine, but just as tasteful. The tables were designed for privacy and quiet conversations, which was what I’d been hoping to have with Casey. Given how crowded the place was, I gave myself an imaginary high-five for remembering to make a reservation.
On the way to the upstairs table, with Casey’s hand firmly in mine, there were a few speculative looks and double takes. I hadn’t been a superstar, but I was recognizable enough in the local area. If someone felt the urge to make a comment, they sure as shit better leave Casey out of it. In a reassurance, either to him or myself—I wasn’t willing to examine which—I squeezed his fingers gently. It earned me a dimpled grin, and Casey moved closer to me.
“This all right?” the host asked when we arrived at our table near the front railing so we could discreetly people watch while enjoying our brunch.
I gave a small nod of agreement and motioned for Casey to sit in the chair I’d pulled out. It was the best spot for people-watching. They indicated the chair across from the table for me to sit, but that was too far away. The host gave us our menus and discreetly moved away.
“You a big biscuit fan?”
“The biggest.”
“Are they better than poutine?” Casey asked with a mischievous grin.
“Well, okay, that might be a bridge too far,” I said with a laugh and went back to studying the menu.
“I think I’m gonna try the Eggs Benedict. I’ve never had them on anything but English muffins.”
“That sounds good, but I think I’m gonna do the sausage gravy and biscuits.”