Stealing Daddy’s Heart (Daddy’s Good Girl)

Chapter 10

Skylar

I wake to the tantalizing scent of coffee and bacon drifting through Garrett's apartment. My nose twitches at the aroma. As I stretch, a delicious ache thrums through my muscles.

The sheets are soft against my skin, and the memories of last night flood back. Garrett, his touch, his kiss, the way he looked at me.

My skin tingles with the ghost of his caress. I never imagined I'd be here, in his bed, wrapped in his sheets. It's surreal, like stepping into a dream I never want to wake from.

Finally, I slip out of bed and make my way to where my clothes are strewn across a chair. But instead of putting them back on, I spot one of Garrett's dress shirts hanging nearby.

It smells like him. Without a second thought, I slip it on and pad into the kitchen, where Garrett is at the stove.

I freeze in the doorway, barefoot on the cool tile. He flips pancakes, his back muscles flexing. My gaze lingers on his low-slung sweats.

This softer side of him, so unexpected, tightens my chest with emotion.

“Smells divine,” I purr, sliding onto a barstool at the kitchen island. The cool metal sends goosebumps racing up my thighs, a stark contrast to the warmth blooming in my chest.

Garrett turns, and our eyes lock. His tender gaze steals my breath. “Morning, beautiful,” he murmurs, handing me a cup of coffee.

I sip, savoring the rich flavor. “Mmm, perfect.”

“You're entirely too cute in the morning,” he says, leaning in for a tender kiss.

He tastes like coffee and something uniquely him—a flavor I crave. As he pulls back, he boops my nose playfully. I giggle. These light moments are so unlike his usual seriousness.

“Last night was—” I trail off, lost for words to capture the rightness of it all.

“Incredible,” he finishes for me, his fingers tracing my cheek. I lean into his touch, craving more warmth.

“Let's get some food in you, sweetheart,” he says, his tenderness and authority turning my insides to mush.

It's a heady combination—his protective instincts and the way he makes me feel cherished and desired.

Garrett turns back to the stove, expertly flipping another pancake onto a growing stack. My stomach growls, reminding me that I'm ravenous.

But it's not just food I hunger for; I crave his attention and how he makes me feel when I'm his sole focus.

There's something incredibly sexy about a man who knows his way around a kitchen. He places a plate of perfectly cooked bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, and crisp buttered toast in front of me. The pancakes are golden brown, steam rising invitingly from the stack.

“Eat up,” he commands gently, stealing a piece of bacon from the plate and popping it into his mouth. “You need your strength after last night.”

A blush creeps up my cheeks at his words, and memories of our passionate encounter flash through my mind. I dig into the food, savoring each bite.

“These are amazing,” I mumble around a mouthful of pancake, earning a chuckle from Garrett.

As we eat, we slip into a comfortable conversation about the upcoming art show. It feels so natural to discuss my plans with him over breakfast, as if we’ve been doing this for years instead of just hours.

“So, tell me more about the pieces you're planning to showcase,” Garrett says.

I launch into an excited description of my vision, and Garrett listens intently. His thoughtful questions make me feel heard and understood. Unlike others who humor me with glazed eyes, Garrett's genuine interest warms my heart.

As we talk, I absentmindedly scroll through my phone, catching up on the flood of notifications I've received overnight.

Suddenly, a message catches my eye, and I gasp, my heart leaping with joy.

“Oh my god, Garrett!” I exclaim, my voice trembling with excitement. “You won't believe this!”

“What's got you so excited, babygirl?” Garrett asks, his deep voice cutting through my swirl of thoughts.

I can barely contain myself as I read the message aloud.

“We at Castra Gallery have been particularly impressed by your innovative approach to promoting emerging artists and your keen eye for identifying unique talents. Your recent social media campaigns have caught our attention.”

Garrett's full attention is on me now, his blue eyes intense. “Keep going. I want to hear every word.”

Taking a deep breath, I continue. “We would like to discuss a significant opportunity with you: a dedicated gallery space in our downtown location and sponsorship for your upcoming projects. We'd love to meet with you at your earliest convenience to discuss the details. Please let us know when you're available.”

My hands shake as I lower the phone and meet Garrett's gaze. “Can you believe it? This is everything I've been working toward!”

But as I continue detailing the offer and my plans, I notice a subtle shift in Garrett's demeanor. His smile tightens slightly, and his responses become more measured.

The spatula in his hand taps against the counter, a nervous rhythm I’ve never seen from him before.

“It's such an incredible opportunity,” I gush, trying to ignore the growing knot in my stomach. “The gallery is in a trendy part of town, and they're covering all the expenses. What do you think?”

Garrett's jaw clenches, a muscle twitching in his cheek.

“It sounds interesting,” he says carefully, “but maybe we should check it out together to make sure it's the right fit for you and the artists who trust you.”

His tone catches me off guard, dampening my enthusiasm. “You don't think I can handle this on my own, do you?” I ask, hurt creeping into my voice.

Garrett's eyes widen. “That's not what I meant, Skylar. I just want to support you.”

“I'm not naive, Garrett,” I snap. “I know you're older and more experienced, but I'm capable of making my own decisions.”

He reaches for my hand, but I pull away.

“Skylar, please. I know you're capable. I just want to make sure everything is above board.”

As the words leave his mouth, I notice another part of the message. My breath catches in my throat as I read it aloud.

“P.S. We hope you enjoyed the small token of our appreciation we sent over to you in the VIP section last night.”

“Oh my God, Garrett,” I say, looking up at him. “It was them. They sent the champagne.”

The harsh clatter of metal on tile makes me jump. Garrett's shoulders tense as he retrieves the dropped spatula, his movements suddenly controlled.

Garrett turns off the stove with a forceful twist, the pan scraping across the burner. When he faces me, his expression is carefully neutral, but I can see the storm brewing in his eyes.

“Skylar,” he says gently, “I'm not trying to rain on your parade. I think we should approach this carefully. Let me come with you to check out the space, okay?”

I want to argue, to prove that I can handle this on my own. But something in his tone makes me pause.

“Fine,” I concede, “but only because I value your opinion. Not because I need a chaperone.”

Garrett nods, relief flickering across his face. “Of course. We're partners in this, remember?”

As the word “partners” leaves his lips, a creeping thought begins to twist at the edges of my mind: my father. Garrett's best friend.

I shift in my seat, a mix of emotions swirling through me. The warmth and contentment I felt moments ago are tinged with a new awareness.

Dad had loaned me Garrett to help out with the Riverside building, showing me around and lending a hand. And now here I am, wearing his shirt after a night of passion.

I’m running around behind Dad's back with his best friend. But even as guilt nibbles at the edges of my consciousness, I don’t regret it.

What we have feels right, feels real. I breathe in Garrett's scent from his shirt and feel a surge of pride. I want this. I want him.

“No second thoughts?” Garrett's voice is gentle as he watches me, that same protectiveness in his gaze.

I force a smile, but my stomach churns.

“I—” I pause, searching for the right words, trying not to let this sudden guilt shatter the fragile peace between us. “It's my dad. He's—” The guilt unfurls further, making it hard to breathe.

Garrett's expression tightens, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face before vanishing beneath a mask of calm. “Trust me, I've thought about it too.”

It's strange. I hadn't given much thought to how it would affect Dad. I'd brushed off Garrett’s concerns, convinced it wouldn't be a big deal. But now that it's real between us, the potential consequences seem so much more concrete.

This will complicate things with my dad, with Garrett's career. “He'll never forgive us,” I say.

Garrett moves around the counter, pulling me into his arms. The solid warmth of his chest against my cheek is comforting, but it doesn't completely ease the turmoil in my mind.

“Skylar, I need you to understand something,” he says, his voice low and intense. “This isn't a fling for me. I've been searching for the right person for a long time. It feels like I've been waiting my entire life for you.”

I look into Garrett's eyes, searching for any sign of regret or hesitation, but I only find warmth and sincerity.

“Really?” I ask, hating how small and uncertain my voice sounds.

“I know there will be consequences,” he continues, his fingers gently stroking my hair. “Your father, my reputation, the age difference—I’ve thought about it all. But you’re worth it. You’re worth everything to me.”

His words wrap around me like a warm blanket, soothing some of my fears.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone,” I admit, my voice trembling slightly. “It scares me how much I want this, want you.”

“It won’t be easy,” Garrett says, tightening his arms around me. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’m all in.”

I nod against his chest, feeling a mix of fear and determination.

“I’m proud of what we have,” I say firmly, pulling back to meet his gaze. “Part of me wants to shout it from the rooftops. But?—”

“But?” Garrett prompts gently, his thumb tracing soothing circles on my back.

“I think we should wait until after the show to tell Dad and Vanessa,” I finish, the words tumbling out in a rush. “There’s so much going on, so much pressure. For the sake of all the artists who’ve put their faith in me, I can’t let anything distract from that right now. Is that okay?”

Garrett presses a kiss to the top of my head. “We’ll do this at your pace, when you’re ready.”

I melt into his embrace, relief washing over me. “Thank you for understanding.”

We stand there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms. The kitchen is quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and our steady breathing.

It feels like a bubble, fragile and perfect, separating us from the complications of the outside world.

But reality intrudes, as it always does. “We both have to get to work,” I murmur reluctantly, not wanting to break this moment but knowing we can’t stay here forever.

Garrett's eyes soften as he brushes a strand of hair from my face. “Last night changed everything, Skylar. For the better.”

I nod, a warmth spreading through my chest at his words. As I stand to get ready, my mind races with thoughts of the day ahead and the promise of what we've started.

Then, Garrett’s phone rings. The sudden, sharp sound cuts through the air like a knife.

Garrett picks up the phone, his face paling, his body tensing. “It’s your father,” he says, his voice tight.

I place my hand over his, stopping him. Our eyes meet, and I see surprise and understanding.

“Wait. Let’s have this moment for a little while longer.”

Garrett nods, his expression softening. He sets the phone down, letting it ring out, and pulls me back into his arms.

We’re only delaying the inevitable. But for now, in this stolen moment, I let myself believe that our love is enough.

As I rest my head against Garrett’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, I hold my breath, wondering how long we can keep our secret.