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

walk past the open French doors. She’s sitting outside on a bench near the apple tree, wrapped in one of her Ravenclaw binkies. Her eyes are closed, and her face is turned up to the sky. It’s overcast and misty this morning, a welcome break after the heat of the last couple of days. When I open the doors and step out, a fine drizzle of rain hazes my skin. Scotch mist, Mum used to call it. I walk through the wet grass, feeling the bottoms of my sweats grow heavy, and sit on the bench beside my little girl.

She turns and gives me a huge smile. “’Morning, Daddy. Can I get you tea or coffee?”

“Good morning, little love. Sure, I’ll have something in a minute. Why are you sitting out here in the rain?”

She shrugs. “I’m just enjoying the coolth.”

“The coolth?” I take her hand and squeeze her little fingers in mine. “Not sure I’ve heard that word before.”

A soft giggle just louder than the morning traffic and the pigeons cooing along the garden wall. “It’s the opposite of warmth. It’s an old word. I’ve seen it in nineteenth century novels.”

My little girl, who knows so much, but never lords it over anyone. Who can just sit and enjoy the rain on a summer morning.

I squeeze her fingers again. “I don’t say it enough, sweetheart, but you bring such light into my life.”

That gets me a full beam of a grin. “Ta, Daddy. Is there anything I can do today to make things easier for you? I know it’s not going to be a good day.”

No, it’s probably not. We won’t get the test results today, but I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse. Part of me just wants to know and get it over with. Part of me is glad I won’t be around Miranda when I find out, because I’m honestly not sure I could keep from throttling her if I’m the father.

I use my hold on Emily’s hand to pull her into my lap and cuddle her close. “Just be my little girl. And understand that if I’m terse and angry, it’s not with you. And if I put you in High Protocol, it’s not because I don’t want to hear what you have to say. It’s because your submission is all that’s keeping me from completely losing my shit.”

She puts her soft palm against my throat. “Anything you need.”

“Thank you, good girl. Are you okay with everything for tonight? I’m sorry I dumped a dinner party on you last minute. With Miranda here, that probably wasn’t Daddy’s best idea.”

“It’s all good.” She nuzzles into my shoulder. “Cooking will keep me busy and away from the Mir-Witch—”

“Emily, no,” I say sternly.

“Oopsie.”

She did that on purpose. Little monkey.

“Paddle or cane?”

“Whatever will relax you more, Daddy.”

She definitely did it on purpose. That’s topping from below, since she’s goading me to discipline her, but I understand why she’s done it and it’s not a threat to our power exchange.

“Ten with Belphegor, but you can come, since I know you did it to relieve Daddy’s stress.”

She replies with a soft giggle that I feel against my chest more than hear. “It’s really tough being the baby of a daddy who knows her so well.”

“It’s really great being a daddy who knows his baby so well.” I slip my hand under her chin and tip her face up so I can kiss her rain-misted lips. “Thank you for being my little girl, Emmy.”

She smiles up at me. “You’re welcome. Ready for a drink?”

“I am. Better make it hot so I don’t catch a cold from sitting out in the rain with my crazy baby girl.”

She giggles and slides off my lap.

After a cup of tea, Emily serves me one of my favorite breakfasts: baked beans on toast with a poached egg and grilled tomatoes. It reminds me of the “full English” breakfasts Mum used to make, only much less likely to give me a heart attack. I know Emily’s made it because it’s my favorite. I can see she wants to wait on me this morning, sneakily setting the breakfast table while I’m in the toilet, and washing up as she cooks so there are just plates and cutlery to wash up afterwards. I hand-feed her the oatmeal with almonds and blueberries that she’s made for her own breakfast to show my appreciation, then drag her upstairs with me once the dishes are done, and give her a more-playful-than-painful ten with my silicone paddle. Lower cheeks pinkened, I lead her into the shower and fuck her against the cold tile until her upper cheeks glow, too.

I leave her, sated and grinning, in my office to spend the morning writing while I head off to the lab where Miranda’s having her paternity test.

It’s only about a mile to the lab, so I grab a brolly and walk. My stride’s strong and my leg only twinges on the last flight of stairs up to the lab on the fourth floor of a brick building on East Thirteenth Street. Maybe Hendry will clear me for squats with weights tomorrow. It’s really getting up my nose that I can’t carry Emily around.

The other thing that’s really getting up my nose is already sitting in the lab’s modern, cream and green reception. Miranda’s color-coordinated with the room, in a light green, sleeveless dress patterned with roses, and a broad-brimmed straw hat, which presumably keeps off the rain as well as the sun. She’s flipping idly through a magazine as I enter and give my name to the young man seated at the receptionist’s surround. Miranda sets aside the magazine and pats the empty chair next to her.

I briefly consider sitting across the room, but a stab of guilt propels me into the chair next to her. How can I teach Emily to be a bigger person if I’m not one myself?

“Good morning,” I say, trying to unknot my jaw and unclench my teeth.