His lovely... dumpling?

“Hi, Daddy! What brings you in?” Ruth’s surprised smile was contagious, and Mal looked at her across the counter of the salon the way that proud farmers looked out over their fields. Ruth was five-two with shoes on, something just over two hundred pounds, with wide, amazing hips, a round belly, and, as his wallet could attest, a 34G cup in a well-fortified underwire. He was used to that, her mother Essie was a 44H, and some divinely generous endowments simply could not be borne without extensive and expensive support. When she smiled at him, her cheeks dimpled, her blue eyes were wide and bright, the tip of her nose upturned just a little, and her smile, even innocent, had an impish look to it. She was wearing what all the masseuses here wore, a blue and mulberry robe, not quite a kimono but cut in a California approximation of that style. It made movement easy for them, he supposed. It also made accidentally looking down at her cleavage all but impossible to avoid.

He sighed again, caught between Hell and Heaven. “Hey, dumpling. I was hoping you had time before close to squeeze me in a massage.”

“Dumpling?” Her voice carried skepticism. They’d been hunting for a suitable daddy-daughter nickname for years now. She didn’t like his suggestions, and he declined all of hers because calling her honey, or darling, or sweetie made him think of her mother, and thus, impure thoughts. Not that he explained his reasoning.

“Go easy on me, Ruthie?” He asked, holding up his hands in surrender, and she giggled.

“That’s not what you say when I have my thumbs on either side of your… backbone. But sure, Daddy, I’d love to relieve some of that tension. Come step into my parlor and make yourself comfy.”

Rubbing his brow and tapping his credit card on the pad, Mal followed Ruth into her little back office. There was a pedicure chair in one corner, and as a centerpiece, one of those lovely massage tables with a heated surface and a horseshoe-shaped headrest. He eyed it for a moment, then shucked off his Hawaiian shirt and the tee underneath it the moment her back was turned, lying facedown on the table as swiftly as he could. Mal knew his muscles were impressive for a man in his forties. He worked as a consultant, helping specifically with spas, parks, and resorts, surveying and marketing mostly, but it was always adjacent to construction, and he’s learned long ago the best way to keep the contractors on task was get involved and show them that you knew what you were doing and asking them to do, that you weren’t some idiot from an office or allergic to hard work.

He knew he looked impressive, even a little run to fat - but he didn’t want to see that knowledge reflected in his stepdaughter’s eyes. No, he would make believe she was a nun, not because he was an overprotective chauvinist - he was a big believer in the benefits of a positive, active sex life - but because there were lines he didn’t want to cross, and knowing Ruth liked the look of him would make that, and other things, harder.

Ruth moved around him, behind the table, using the foot-pedals to angle it slightly and adjust the height.

“Thank you, Ruthie,” he murmured into the cradle-cushion framing his face in the headrest.

“Not a problem,” she told him. “You just relax and leave it all to your little gnocchi.”

He shook with a suppressed laugh. “I understand. Crossing dumpling off my list. How’s my stepdaughter been doing since…”

Her hands began pressing little exploratory triangle shapes of thumb and forefinger into his back, exploring, checking every muscle and angle for tension, and finding plenty.

“Since last Thursday, Daddy, before you left for Lake Tahoe. I’ve been good. Maybe a little annoyed that somebody left my Mama all alone in our big hilltop house thirty minutes from anywhere with no company but me.”

“Sounds like a real jerk,” Mal told her agreeably. “Tell her to chuck him out. She’s too good for him. Bigshot lawyer like her.”

“Hush, Daddy,” she said, just before she found the first point of tension she wanted to work on. “Just focus on deep breaths, those dad noises you always make, and letting yourself unwind.”

Mal obliged her with a low groan, letting his mind drift. It was a low blow, blaming him for the house. The house was lovely, and Essie would never agree to move to a more convenient location. Will Atherton, her first husband, had left it to her before his unexpected coronary had widowed her and her little girl, and she’d held onto it as the most tangible memory of him she had. Mal’s friends had sometimes wondered why he didn’t resent Essie’s vocal attachment to her late husband, and he never hesitated to tell them they were idiots. Will had cherished and taken care of his wife, and she proved the endurance of her love and loyalty by still honoring his memory. He had nothing but admiration for the man, though he’s never met him.

Besides, he thought - and never, ever said. It would be **** to find a new house with that many connecting en-suite bedrooms for swinger parties, not to mention his wife’s well-stocked attic dungeon. Essie and Will had been swingers, Mal and Essie had a quietly open marriage, and even back in high school, Essie had never been anything but obliging about rolling him out of her stepsister Joy’s bed and back into hers. He was fully secure in her affections, never any reason to doubt, and made sure her confidence in him was just the same.

Lonely without him for the weekend or not - Mal was certain his wife had made sure she was less lonely while Ruth was out. If one of Essie’s friends had done her a favor and driven Ruth to campus this morning, well, chances were they did so after doing his wife the favor of keeping his side of the bed warm in his absence. A long weekend at Tahoe usually meant he pulled a casino girl or two himself, but this weekend he’d been kept genuinely busy by work, helping negotiate the line between excitement and danger on a new waterslide project.

This meandering train of thought, ending with his own lonely weekend, eventually lead him to an increasing awareness that he was relaxed, but all but drilling a hole in the table as Ruthie made her way down to his lower back. He huffed out a breath.

“Tell me what’s new with you while you dismember me?”

“I haven’t gotten to the joint stretches yet, Daddy,” she said, almost scolding. “But, all right. The co-op encourages us to try new things in our practices, and I’ve been working up the nerve to try a little something…"