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For the two weeks since Maisie Minten’s summer camp started, the four-year-old had only spoken about one person on the twenty-minute drive home.

You.

“She knits, Daddy. She taught us how!”

“Oh yeah, Sweetpea?” Fraser says absently, navigating the late afternoon traffic out of her camp.

“Yeah! I couldn’t figure it out, though. She knitted a bear. He looked like Blades!”

Fraser laughs, imagining his daughter informing this random camp counselor that her bear looks like the Boston Bruins mascot. 

Eventually, he started to notice that Maisie mentioned more and more of other kids at the camp, and was starting to pick up that you encouraged her to make these friends. He definitely needs to thank you.

Slowly, he started developing a picture of you. Maisie says you knit and you drink tea out of a handmade mug. The other day, Fleetwood Mac was playing on the radio, and she exclaimed that you love this song. He, inevitably, is imagining a sweet grandma. An old lady who saw Maisie, far too shy to make friends at a new place like this at first, and integrated her with the other kids. 

By that Friday, Fraser had decided to skip the curbside pick-up and find Maisie himself, to thank you for taking such good care of her. He wandered into the camp, still wearing a Bruins shirt and sweatpants from his workout beforehand, trying to navigate to the craft room, where Maisie says she spends the most time. 

Eventually, after dodging so many hyper children, he finds a door propped open with a giant, heavy bucket of paintbrushes, so he peeks through it. “Daddy!” he immediately hears, instinctively recognizing his daughter’s voice in a split second, and crouching down to catch the hug he knows is coming his way.

He’s jumped by her, which receives no complaint, as he tightens her embrace and kisses the top of her head. Standing back up again, he scans the room for the woman Maisie’s been discussing so reverently. She’s already zooming towards you—near the table, unknotting a little girl's hair—though. “My Daddy’s here! Meet my Daddy!” she tells you with so much enthusiasm, so you nod, turning around to face him after you fix the girl's hair and—oh. You’re beautiful, and definitely not seventy or sixty. The first thing he notices is the vibrant glitter on your eyelids, a mix of pinks and purples and blues… You look like an angel. Actually, there’s not a word for you. Fraser is ready to die directly in front of you. 

You’re being pushed in front of him by Maisie. You giggle, and he’s pretty sure he’s died.

“Hi! Oh my gosh, you’re Maisie’s dad! She talks about you a lot.”

Fraser Minten—a six-two, professional athlete who regularly faces press cameras without so much as stuttering, is at a total loss for words. Your big smile, your warm presence, your gentleness towards his kid… Fraser gulps.

“I… yeah, I am,” he eventually gets out, smiling bashfully. He’s sure his face is bright red, as Maisie scampers back towards him, her hand tugging on his sweatpants. “My name is Fraser. She, uh, talks about you all the time, too-” “Daddy. She doesn’t have a boyfriend.” Fraser, briefly, prays for the floor to open up beneath him and swallows him whole. He stares down at his kid.

“What, sweetpea?”

Maisie looks up at you expectantly. “Daddy doesn’t have a girlfriend, either. And he cooks, and folds laundry, and-” “Jesus, that’s enough, honey,” Fraser says immediately, picking her up off the ground and holding her on his hip. 

…Which makes quite the show of his forearms, you think absently. Who is this beautiful, extremely built man with the sweetest little girl you’ve ever seen? 

“I am so sorry. She has no filter. I swear, she’s the shyest girl you’ve ever seen, until you get her talking.” You laugh, and this is, what, the third time Fraser’s died in this conversation? “It’s okay. Seriously. Kids have definitely said weirder things to me here.”

He gives you a boyish grin before propping Maisie up with one hand to scratch the back of his neck (Jesus Christ, he’s built). “I actually came to thank you. For treating Maisie so well. She talks about you non-stop, seriously. And she was so scared of going to camp all on her own.” She hides bashfully in his chest, and he laughs, rubbing the back of her head. “No need to thank me. She’s a great kid.”

“She really is,” Fraser says quietly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against his daughter's back. “But, I do have to admit, she kind of gave me the impression that you were like, sixty-five.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Sixty-five!? Maisie!” 

The culprit is giggling into her dad’s shoulder, and you just can’t help the giant smile that finds your face. Fraser continues.

“Well, she told me you love knitting, vintage music, and you drink a lot of tea. I just… didn’t expect you to be…” the prettiest girl he’s ever seen in his entire life. “You.” “Well, I hope I didn’t disappoint too much.”

His eyes drop to your lips, before finding your glittery eyes again. He adjusts his grip on Maisie, flexing his arms while he does so, which he definitely notices that you notice. “Not even a little.” 

He says it so quietly, you almost think you misheard him. But his embarrassed smile is confirmation enough, as the tension between you two grows by the second.

Maisie interrupts, because what else are four-year-olds for? “Ask her to be your girlfriend, Daddy.”

“Maisie,” Fraser groaned, looking at you helplessly, to which you shrug mischievously. 

“Ask her if she wants to go to dinner!” After a very long, exaggerated sigh, he puts his daughter on the ground and looks directly at you. 

“Would you like to go to dinner with me sometime?” You blink, and you can see Fraser’s confidence dissipate. “Really?” “Yes, really. If you want.”

You look down at Maisie, and then back at Fraser, seeing very clearly where she gets her nervousness from. You smile bigger than you have all month. “I would love to go to dinner with you, Fraser.”

I'm literally giggling these three are so cute. should i perhaps make this a series...?.?.?? self beta'd and I literally remarked "wow this doesn't have that many typos" so that means I missed 100. so sorry about that LMAO. literally begging you to send asks in about this trio