Where Promises Must Glide

37 - Theo

"Come on, Philly, you need to help me do this," I shout from the living room as I wait for her to finish putting on her pink puffer jacket.

Juliette had been practicing none stop all month, and it was getting very close to when she had to leave to Paris for the olympics.

Our relationship progressed well since. I've taken to watching Ophelia almost full time, while simultaneously working at the tattoo shop.

To Ophelia, she didn't understand why I needed her to rush out the house before Juliette got home from practice. We were going to have an eventful day today.

"I'm coming, daddy," she yells, running out of her room. My heart stopped at her words, not expecting them. My entire body was slack frozen, throat closing in on itself as I made sure I heard her words correctly. It was like hearing your kids first words for the first time.

"Did you call me daddy?" I question.

She nods her head, holding her bag that had all her drawing equipment. She walked past me like what she just said wasn't going to be the thing to make a grown man cry.

"She called me daddy," I whisper to myself, not in any rush anymore.

Ophelia on the other hand was standing by the truck door, waiting for me. I lifted her in my arms, kissing her forehead as I strapped her into the car seat. She mumbled a thank you as she got busy drawing on her Etch a Sketch.

The entire ride I was between Ophelia calling me dad and my plans for the day. Juliette has been talking all day about what she was going to do for when the Olympics came around. She would fly to Paris, leaving us at home for the first week, then we'd visit on the last week. Ophelia and her mom will all come with us and spend the week with Juliette once the games is over.

"We're here," I announce. Ophelia is practically jumping from her seat, ready to get out. She isn't used to car drives longer than a fifteen minutes. We had to drive almost an hour to get to the place.

I help her from her seat, holding her hand as we walk in. The place looked exactly like the website described. It was a white warehouse of old cars, with a group of older guys sipping on coffees to combat the cold December weather.

"Morning," I greet them with a simple nod. They repeated the action, and continued to talk.

"They have tattoos like you," Ophelia points out, tugging on my jacket.

I chuckle. Every time we see someone with tattoos. she reminds them that I too have tattoos. I'm not sure the ink peeking from my shirts—either from my neck or arms or hands—didn't hint the obvious. I still allow her to do it because it's the cutest thing to see her light up when she sees someone with similar features. "They did have tattoos. Though that motorcycle one could be a little more hidden."

I mumble the last part under my breath. One of the guys had a naked lady riding a motorcycle on his forearm. I don't think Ophelia necessarily noticed, but I did. I should recommend them my studio, it would help fix some of their shaky line work.

We enter the warehouse, and I'm immediately struck with all the different cars. I wasn't the biggest car guy growing up, compared to my friends. However, I could always appreciate a classic or two.

Though, this warehouse only had one specific car.

"How can I help you two?" The guy at the front speaks. He had a rasp to his voice, which made sense when you notice the cigarette resting between his fingers.

"I called earlier, needed to speak to Rhett," I reply. The inside was deserted of life except for the group outside. Otherwise. it was me, ophelia, and the cigarette guy.