to say it to her mother. Well, that’s not strictly true. I’d said it last night multiple times. Pressed the words against multiple parts of her body. Various declarations of love and numerous orgasms. It was quite honestly the best night of my life, even if Fee maintained “declarations of love don’t count when you’re inside me”.
Shows what she knows.
“You love her!” Lulu repeats with enough volume to wake Fee, whose body jerks against the pillow before falling straight back.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” I smile over at her. Was waking a shock, or was it my words of love.
“Lu?” she croaks sleepily.
“Yep, we have a little company.” A little company with a big personality.
Fee sits up with the speed of a jack-in-the-box. “But I set my alarm.”
“Apparently, not early enough.”
“I turned it off,” Lu announces, exceedingly pleased with her bad little self. “When my eyes seed Uncle Carson in your bed. He said he loves you.”
“Yep, what she said.” I point a finger gun Lulu’s way, who giggles loudly and begins to bounce on the bed.
“Does that mean I get a puppy?”
“If you want one,” I answer.
At the same time, her mother yells, “No!”
“But does it mean you’ll be my daddy now?”
Was the puppy/dad combo some kind of kiddie-level reverse psychology?
“Lu, that’s not how—”
“No, that’s a fair question,” I say, patting Fee’s thigh over the covers. She’s discomfited. And a little disconcerted. I get it. But I also kind of feel like this has been a long time in coming.
I decide to keep my hand there on her thigh. Because I can. Because life is good.
“You don’t want just any old man to be your daddy, Lu.”
“You’re not that old,” she says, her words delivered like a pat to my hand. “You only have very tiny wrinkles.” I’m not sure how her squinting is supposed to make me feel better. “And I like you anyway. You make good pancakes.”
“At least until the arthritis sets in.” Fee snickers, earning her a tickling squeeze. “Stop that!”
“But a daddy needs to have more skills than pancakes.”
“Yes, he should also be good at tickles and bouncing on the bed with Mommy.”
“Er, sure.”
“It’s best not to ask,” Fee says, leaning in.
“What else should he be good at?”
Fucked if I know. My dad was kind of aloof, loving from an arm’s length distance. On the other hand, my grandfather was fucking effusive and so much fun, and look at what a bastard he turned out to be. But I digress.
“I think we should find that out together. Sort of like an interview or an internship for the position.”
“So, I’d be, like your boss?” She cocks her head to one side like a terrier.
“No. That’s not what he means at all.” Fee’s accompanying laughter almost seems like a warning.
I turn to her with a smirk. “I thought my days of being a freelancer were over.”
“Seriously though, I really don’t think you should jump the gun,” she replies, a little more serious now.
“You’re not getting rid of me. And you and me, princess, are going on a range of potential daddy-daughter dates.”
“Dates,” she repeats, a little delighted. “Like when Mr Farrow took Mommy to the movies yesterday?”
“No, nothing like that.” Her little face falls at my words. “Our dates will be so much better.”
“What will we do on our dates?”
“Whatever you like. Name it. We’ll spend some time together to see if you like the fit.”
“Do you and Mommy fit?”
As Fee smothers her giggle in her pillow, I manage to nod solemnly.
“Very, very well.”
“Can daddies make pain perdu for breakfast?” she ponders next. French toast by any other name is just as diabetes-inducing, especially if I’m making it.
“For you, I would love to. But do you think I could put some clothes on first?”
“Carson!” Fee’s hand swipes out, almost smacking me in my balls.
“Oof!”
“Why have you got no clothes on?” the little girl asks, aghast.
“Because he forgot to pack his jammies.”
“Carson, you need to bring jammies to a sleepover.” Lu holds out her hands, palms up as she speaks as though to say, “be reasonable”.
Or maybe responsible.
This parenting business is going to be a steep learning curve.
And I can’t fucking wait.
“Fuck that, man. No way! You don’t get to ring out.” Tucker throws the letter down on this desk, ringing the imaginary BUD/S bell three times before leaning back in his chair.
“I’m not ringing out,” I answer carefully, crossing over to the window of Tucker's office. The head office of Ardeo is housed in one of the newer buildings off