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

She nods. “Okay.”

Something’s wrong. Is she regretting offering to sell her house to pay my medical bills? With my sister and Daisy and fucking Miranda watching, this isn’t the time to ask.

Instead, I hug her and whisper into her ear. “Today, I love you the most.”

She giggles. “Do I need to be a generous baby?”

“You do.”

“I can do that.” She squeezes my neck. “I made lunch for everyone. Are you hungry?”

“Starving. Let’s eat buffet-style, huh? I want you on my lap.”

“Okay.” She kisses the spot she likes under my jaw, then slips away toward the kitchen. My sweet girl, who gives as soon as I need her to.

While Emily’s setting out plates and serving dishes, my sister rises from the couch and sidles up to me. She gives Miranda a cool nod before wrapping me in a hug. “Bro. How are you?”

“Good. Leg’s really improving. Girls okay?”

She gives me the lowdown on her twins, including Millie’s infatuation with a boy she met at camp and Maisie’s allergies. By the time I’ve expressed Uncle Logan’s strong opinion that twenty-one is plenty young enough for the girls to start being interested in boys, Emily’s calling us for lunch.

I take in the spread as I walk arm-in-arm to the kitchen with Lizbeth. Somehow, in the time I’ve been gone, Emily’s made three different salads, including more of that chicken salad that went down so well at our play party. I beckon her to me as Daisy, Lizbeth, and Miranda take plates and start serving themselves.

I lower my head until our foreheads touch. “Did you get any writing done?”

“Uh-huh. The Avengers aren’t mad at me.”

I chuckle. That little trick was inspired. “I didn’t mean for you to have to feed everyone.”

“It’s okay. I know these recipes by heart, and I can still dictate while I’m washing and chopping.”

“Okay, little girl. I’ll take you at your word.” I kiss her forehead. “You okay? Everything good?”

“Yes.” There’s a tiny hitch in her speech and I know she’s stopped herself from calling me “Daddy.” I hate that she feels the need to censor herself, but she’s careful not to flaunt our dynamic in front of Lizbeth. “Do you want extra pepper on your chicken salad?”

I chuck her under her chin. “Uh-huh. Thank you, little love. We’ll talk tonight after everyone’s left, huh?”

She nods and smiles, but the shadow’s back in her eyes.

We eat on the couch, with Emily sitting in my lap. Lizbeth and Daisy position themselves strategically between us and Miranda. They’re well-briefed. Their maneuvering tells me how this afternoon’s going to go. Daisy and Lizbeth are here to “rescue” Emily from Miranda. They’ll keep Emmy out shopping until the last minute. That means I’ll be on my own with Miranda all afternoon.

Shoot me fucking now.

Lizbeth carries the conversation, telling us all about the trip to Disney. Out of deference to my vanilla sister, I don’t hand-feed my baby doll, but we eat off the same plate, and I whisper into her ear that I’ll make it up to her tomorrow when we’re alone again, which has her smiling. Daisy throws in an occasional funny anecdote about the Kingdom of the Mouse while Miranda says nothing and pushes her food around on her plate.

After we finish, the whirlwind that is my sister whisks Emily and Daisy off to shop, leaving me with the dirty dishes and my sour-faced ex-sub.

I give the remote to Miranda while I do the dishes and wipe down the counters. Emily’s left me barely anything to clean up, my over-achieving little girl, so to kill time, I wash the handful of dishes and cutlery by hand and stack them in the drying rack by the sink. The counters look spotless, but I wipe them all down again. When I finish, I pick up the feather toy from where Emily’s left it on the breakfast table and play chase with her cat to burn a few more minutes before I have to face Miranda.

Before I join her on the couch, I grab a lager. The only way I’m going to be able to endure the afternoon is with alcohol.

Miranda’s found a cricket test match on one of the sports channels. India verses Pakistan. Always a lively rivalry. I know she’s picked cricket to please me, since she’s not an avid fan. Still, it’ll hold her attention enough to spare me having to make conversation. And she won’t start reading her book half-way through the game, the way Emily did when I took my little girl to a baseball game. I don’t think she’s ever going to be a sports fan, but I like that she can keep herself entertained in any situation. That thought makes me smile as I stretch out on the sectional and prop some pillows behind my back before taking a long draw of my beer.

Miranda gives an exaggerated yawn and turns to lie down on the couch, lowering her head to rest on my stomach.

“No,” I tell her, pushing her away before she reaches her goal. I pull a cushion from under my back and set it between us. When she pouts at me, I point to the pillow.

“You’re being ridiculous, darling,” she says.

Master Ridiculous, that’s me. “Yup. And if the tables were turned and I kept trying to touch you after you’d told me not to a dozen times, you’d be screaming harassment. But my boundaries stopped being important to you at some point, didn’t they?”

Her pout deepens. Something tugs in my chest and I look at the telly in disgust. She always could manipulate me with that pout.

“I’ve wanted time to talk with you, darling,” she says softly. “To explain. I feel terrible that I’ve hurt you. I never wanted that.”

Unbelievable. “You honestly don’t think you’ve done anything wrong, do you?”

“Lo, can’t you see it from my perspective for one minute?”

“What perspective? Your biological clock was ticking, so that made it okay to make me