whitney oc feet

“Okay, sweetie,” she agreed, leaning down to kiss me softly in my hair. “We won't tell him, not until and unless you're absolutely, one hundred percent sure you want him to know. And if you decide you never do, that's okay too. Whatever you want.”

Sarah wrapped her arms around his bicep, thick with muscle from lifting and working in his day-to-day job. She laced her fingers through the curly hairs on his arm, locking herself into her favourite position. Her face rested on the sleeve of his white work polo, the textured fabric rubbing against her cheek. She glanced up to her dad’s face, the light of the TV playing across his stubbled face and exhausted expression. He was barely paying attention, mostly zoning out after his long day. She nuzzled closer to him and breathed deeply. Besides being close to her dad, another reason Sarah loved these nightly cuddles was being able to smell her dad. Even after a long day of work, he never seemed to smell bad, and in fact it mostly enhanced his musk. It was hard to describe, but it was mostly smoky, with some savoury notes as well, something like a campfire meal she always thought. It was hearty and comforting to her and always made her feel better no matter what sort of day she had.

Noah took a sip of tea. “I can understand why you would come to me for this, why you sought my judgment, but I am the wrong person to go to for ethical counseling. I have no moral code, no righteous instinct. I have done truly wicked things in the past, and the only regret I feel is the effort I wasted on amoral endeavors that failed to bear fruit. I’m in no place to judge you for what happened.