The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) 📕

“My priorities have changed,” he says easily.

“While you’ve recovered. Of course, I understand.” She swirls her glass, making the ice cubes clink against each other. “This is half ice, darling. You’re reverting.”

Something I never understood in all my visits to England: why they still don’t have icemakers in the twenty-first century. Tonic water on its own is bad enough, but room-temperature tonic water? Gag.

I notice Logan doesn’t have a drink. I feel weird, serving Daddy under the Mir-beast’s basilisk gaze, but the idea that his needs aren’t being met itches along my skin like poison ivy.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask softly, so he can ignore me if he wants to.

But he doesn’t ignore me. Not my daddy.

“Yes, little girl. I’d like a dirty vodka martini, shaken, not stirred, and a lager and lime with dinner.” He winks at me. “You can have a glass of your iced tea now if you’re thirsty, and water at dinner.”

Bond, Daddy Bond. If Miranda wasn’t glaring at me, I’d melt.

Since I can’t melt, I stretch up on my toes and whisper in his ear, “Ta very much, Daddy.”

When he releases me, I slip behind the kitchen island and get out the shaker, vodka, vermouth, ice, and olives.

“What on Earth is that concoction?” Miranda asks, cold, blue eyes following my movements.

Daddy chuckles. “Emily introduced me to it. It’s a martini with vodka and olives. Perfect, since I can’t stand gin.”

“Blasphemy, darling,” Miranda says, swirling her drink around again. “There’s a gin bar on every corner in London. I love it. Well, I’ll love it when I can drink again.”

“Two years,” I say, trying to commiserate with her a little. “That’s a long time.”

She shoots me a frown. I feel it smack between my eyebrows like a poisoned dart.

“I’m not sure what they teach in schools over here, Emily.” She gives a brittle laugh. “But pregnancy only lasts nine months.”

Mir-Monster.

Bigger person. Bigger person.

Deep breath.

“Right, but a lot of babies breastfeed for over a year.”

My friend, Gracie, breastfed her son for eighteen months. It was a little freaky when he started talking while he was still breastfeeding and would ask for “booby,” but Gracie told me all about the amazing benefits babies get from breastfeeding, so I totally understood why she kept at it for so long.

Miranda tosses her curls expertly. Oh, no, she’s a hair flipper.

“That’s not on my agenda,” she says.

She’s not going to breastfeed? Wow. I have to get her together with Gracie. Gracie will have her going to La Leche League meetings before Miranda knows what hit her.

I finish mixing Daddy’s cocktail and take it to him, receiving a lovely forehead kiss and a huggle, before he releases me so I can check on the vegetarian lasagna I have in the oven. It’s bubbling away nicely but the top hasn’t browned yet, so I leave it for another few minutes. In the meantime, I take prosciutto-wrapped melon wedges out of the fridge and put them on the kitchen island near where Daddy’s standing so that he and Miranda can nibble while I put the salad together.

“Mmm,” Logan says, picking up a melon wedge. “You know what I like, little girl. Are the peppered ones for me?”

He’s such a pepper-monster. And a paprika-monster. And a curry-monster. Rub some spices on it and Daddy loves it.

I grin and nod at the wedges I’ve made for him, while adding a little more pepper to the salad I’m making. It’s a simple green salad, to balance the richness of the lasagna, with a couple of different kinds of greens, basil from the garden, and tomatoes from the plants Lizbeth brought me. In a moment of impishness, I sprinkle chia seeds over the top before I whisk the vinaigrette together.

Miranda eats a few melon wedges but leaves most of them for me and Logan. Nursing her drink, she walks over to the open French doors and gazes out into the yard.

“The garden’s looking better, Lo.”

Daddy smiles at me and takes another melon wedge before he answers her. “That’s all Emily. She’s got flowers and vegetables growing again. Mum’s smiling somewhere.”

Miranda sniffs. “When you can fly, you must come see my flat. It has lovely landscaping, like a Japanese water garden. And a view down to the River Brent. It’s divine.”

“You moved out of the house?” Logan asks. He sounds surprised.

“It was Colin’s house,” Miranda says, sipping her nasty drink. “The flat’s much closer to the hospital anyway. And I already have the nursery set up. I’ve gone with a nautical theme. All pink, blue, and white. So adorable.”

Daddy nods but looks off into the middle distance with a frown, as though something’s just occurred to him. I wonder if he’s thinking about a nursery for the baby. I want to tell him it’s not a problem; I’ll happily give up my little room if he doesn’t want to lose the guest room. But I don’t want to raise the issue in front of Miranda. I tuck it away for when we’re alone.

Once the lasagna’s top has browned, I take it out and let it sit while I take the salads, vinaigrette, and a pitcher of ice water over to the table. Then I cut up a lime and make Daddy’s lager and lime so it’s ready when he sits down. Finally, I put the hot dish on a trivet between the three place settings.

I wish there was a fourth, but Lizbeth had to turn around on the Turnpike after one of the twins forgot her EpiPen and the camp called in a panic. Lizbeth said she’d be here after breakfast tomorrow, which is a comforting thought, but I wish she’d made it up tonight.

It’s going to be a long meal.

When it’s just the two of us, Logan and I eat in the breakfast nook, which is cozy and has the best view of the yard. But the breakfast table is too small for three, so we’re at the