Chapter 7 LEO
Daddy’s place was a work in progress, with boxes everywhere. He’d barely unpacked anything that he wasn’t currently using. It was very different to my place, although with a certain level of the same type of organizational skills.
The first box I peeked inside was beside the television unit.
An old TV—probably something my grandparents would have watched TV on—built into a wooden cupboard unit of sorts.
The box had a couple of old yellow polishing rags, but beneath it there were DVDs.
I grabbed one. It was Murder, She Wrote.
All of them were episodes of the show. I could barely contain my excitement.
Box sets upon box sets of DVDs, and the further I dug down, the older they got, becoming VHS tapes, which I hadn’t seen since I was practically a newborn.
Henry came upstairs to see that I’d stacked all the cases by the side of the television unit as if I was trying to seek a reward buried down at the bottom.
He looked at me with a smirk and slowly nodded.
“Was just coming up to see if you could clear the boxes away from the table. I’m almost ready to bring the food up. ”
“How many of these do you have?”
“I’m not a complete obsessive,” he said. “I’ll explain over lunch.”
Doing my best job to follow orders, I cleaned away the boxes from the small dining table tucked against the wall. The boxes were light, most of them seemed to be filled with clothes or blankets, and from the smell, I didn’t know if any of them had been touched in a while.
Daddy Henry came up once more, nodding and smiling with pride at the work I’d done to the table.
It hadn’t really taken much work, plus, there were placemats already underneath it all.
I barely did anything. “I want you to be honest with me about this, okay?” he said, placing a bowl in front of me, and a plate with a grilled cheese oozing out all the gooey glorious cheese from the sides.
“I’m not gonna take it horribly if you hate it, just so you know. ”
“Where’s your food?” I asked. I was not going to be begin eating without him.
“Just try it for me while I’m here, then I’ll grab mine.”
I think maybe he thought I was going to get one of those diseases people get when they don’t eat vegetables and this was his way of making sure that never happened.
“Okay, I’m sure I’ll love it.” I grabbed one half of the grilled cheese and dunked it with a splash into the orange tomato soup.
My mouth watered as I kept it under, soaking the bread, before I yanked it out, splashing my face with the soup as I rushed it to my mouth and gobbled the end of it.
I was for sure making a complete mess of my face and my T-shirt.
Daddy chuckled. “I should’ve got you a napkin to wear first,” he said. “So, what do you think?”
Chewing away, my mouth was exploding with all the flavors. It wasn’t super hot either. In fact, they were perfect temperatures. Without even thinking of answering, I went in with another dip, trying to scoop the soup up with the end of the grilled cheese as if it was a ladle.
“Take it that means it’s good, then?”
“Mhmm-mm!” I let out, giving him a big thumbs up, my thumb covered in soup. I stared at it before sucking it off. I had played through a phase of being a little of a much younger age where I had pacifiers and sucked my thumb. I didn’t play that young very much anymore, but the action took me back.
Daddy went back to get his food, telling me to stay right there he was going to make sure I didn’t make any more mess, calling my face pretty, and then more quietly, something about making more laundry for myself.
The soup had a light spice to it that I really enjoyed, mixed with a sweetness that cut through whatever veggies I thought I might be tasting. I didn’t really consider tomatoes to be a vegetable—or fruit, whatever the argument about that was—because ketchup was delicious.
Back at the table, Daddy tucked a large napkin into my T-shirt collar and wiped my face. “I can make you another grilled cheese if you’re still hungry,” he said, seeing how quickly I’d devoured the half of it. “But then you won’t have room for dessert.”
My mouth opened wide. “There’s dessert?”
“I own a bakery; there’s always dessert,” he said. “It feels good saying that. I own a bakery.”
“I thought you meant the whole, ‘there’s always dessert.’” I giggled.
It did feel good saying that part, so he was definitely right.
“And I always have room for dessert, but I couldn’t eat another grilled cheese.
In fact, and you might think less of me for this, but there was so much cheese. Maybe too much.”
“Too much?” he asked, placing a hand across his heart. “Well, that is . . . probably true. I always put too much cheese in stuff.”
As I continued with the second half of the grilled cheese, dipping it into the soup, I needed to know more about this collection of Murder, She Wrote DVDs and tapes. “Why do you have so many?” I asked, nodding to the stack behind him.
“Oh, right. Those. Well, the reason I was able to buy this place and move here was through some inheritance. It’s also the reason why I have a lot of boxes.
I was left a lot of keepsakes and stuff.
Things my grandma had in storage, maybe things she knew would remind me of her.
The DVDs are newer. I’m not sure when she got them because I always remember just watching those scratched up VHS tapes.
The TV was hers as well. And there’s a box with blankets and toys she’d knitted and crocheted.
It’s a lot of stuff I haven’t seen in years, and I’m still trying to work my way through them. ”
I reached out across the table, taking his hand. “There’s no rush, and I’m sorry for taking all of them out now. It’s probably something you wanted to do.”
He laughed. “Oh no, you did me a solid, little one,” he said. “I knew what was in there, so it would probably all have just stayed in that box.”
“I love Angela Lansbury,” I told him. “The gif of her eating popcorn and looking out of her binoculars will forever be iconic.”
“If you had more time, I would’ve suggested we see if that TV still works and we could watch an episode,” he said.
I regretted having to work knowing the offer to relax with him was on the cards. “Another day, I’ll bite your hands to take that offer.”
“No biting necessary, unless of course, I can bite you back.” He smirked, and pulling his hand away from mine, he took the napkin from his side of the table and put it to my face. “Your lips are stained.” He wiped my mouth a little.
Smacking my lips and pushing them out a little, I still couldn’t see except for the slightest hint of orange. “Yours will be too if you actually dunked your food and got a little messy with it.”
“If I was messy as well, then how could I be a good Daddy and lead by example?”
It came naturally to him, playing the part of Daddy. Thinking of things I’d forgotten to expect from a Daddy, it was a shock almost to know he cared. “I think I know a way you can also get stained lips like me, then,” I said, puckering them.
“You’ll get a kiss once you’ve cleaned that bowl, and before you try it, I don’t want you lifting it and trying with your tongue. I don’t know how you’ll explain a ring of orange around your face at work.”
He’d read my mind because when I heard clean the bowl, I was immediately thinking about picking it up like it was a hot drink, opening my mouth wide, and letting the soup find its new home in the bottom of my stomach.
This all felt natural with him. It was a real pinch-me moment. I’d wished to find a connection with someone like this, effortless and fun, no rushed intimacy . . . except that heavy make-out sesh in the kitchen when the whipped cream can was jerked hard like it was a big—oops!
I liked getting to know Henry, knowing where he came from, his family, and all his ideas for the bakery. I knew he was going to be permanent fixture in Pineberry. He just gelled with the town.
“Now, since we’re dating,” he said, delicately tearing and revealing the large cheese pull. “Do I get better positioning at the end of summer festival?”
The answer in my heart was yes, absolutely, but the real answer was. “Everyone gets equal positioning; there’s no place that’s better than the others. Everyone goes to everyone’s stalls, and it’s a real community like that.”
“Such a diplomatic answer,” he said, collecting soup from the side of his bowl with the sandwich. “But are you going to direct people to me?”
“I’m already directing people to you,” I admitted. “I’ve been telling people about your bakery for weeks. Ever since you arrived and I saw how hot you were. I started telling people then. Although, back then I was trying to figure out which team you played for.” I wiggled my brows.
“You know the answer to that now,” he said.
“And now I’m telling people they need to come for the food instead of the eye candy,” I said. That wasn’t new. I had been telling people about the different baked items Daddy Henry had been letting me sample.
Under the table we played a little footsie while we finished off lunch. I probably could’ve gone for a second grilled cheese given how much soup was left in my bowl, and I would’ve devoured that just as quick, mopping up as much soup as possible with it as well.
Dessert was welcomed, although everyone knew littles had a second stomach for dessert, so I think I could’ve managed with additional grilled cheese, even if they were stuffed with all that cheese.
In the bakery kitchen, I was shown all the cakes he’d made that morning. They were all decorated with different flavors and filled with different fruits.
“There’s some lavender extract in this one,” he said, gesturing to the cake with the purple icing on top. “It’s a bit more of a floral cake with an almond-and-lemon-filled center.”
My head couldn’t get around eating lavender, let alone almond and lemon together. “That one has strawberries,” I said to the cake with a dusting of powdered sugar on top.
“Yeah, strawberries and a buttercream filling,” he said. “You’ve got tell me what cakes you want me to make for you. Since we’re dating, it’s only right you get to have a little hand in what I’m creating.”
I puffed out my cheeks. “That might be too much pressure. I’m just a baby; I don’t usually know what I like until I eat it.”
“Ah, so this is why you’re not eating your veggies, then,” he said. “Don’t worry, there isn’t a carrot cake here.”
Little did he know, but that was my next fear. I really did not want to endure that.
He sliced into several of the cakes and arranged them on a plate. “Even if you’re not interested in them all, a little taste won’t hurt,” he said. “And you’ve already told me you don’t have any food allergies, so I know you can taste these.”
“I was going to say, you’re very nice and I wanted to do something special for you, but then I remembered I’m your guinea pig taste tester.”
“I think you’re a lot cuter than a guinea pig,” he said.
I giggled. “You really think so? I think they’re pretty darn cute.”
“Of course. In fact, I’d go as far as to say I think you’re cuter than a ragdoll kitten, and those are cute.”
Without warning, my face flushed and my eyes filled with tears. “But they’re really cute.”
He immediately hugged me and cooed. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s not that, I just—it’s like a really high compliment.
Ragdoll kittens are just the fluffiest adorable kittens.
And you said I’m cuter than one. I’m just—” I sniffled, feeling the full effects of the tears as I wiped my eyes against his T-shirt.
“I’m kinda worried about your eyesight now.
” The right dose of humor to deflect from how quickly I’d become emotional.
“Ow,” he said, sucking on his teeth. “You wound me. Maybe you haven’t looked in a mirror lately, but you are adorable. Like a . . . God, I can’t think now, I’m just thinking about kittens. And you of course.”
“See, you think they’re cuter.” There were no more emotional tears now, and it felt silly for my body to have expressed itself that way. That might’ve had something to do with not really accepting or processing compliments, though.
“I was gonna say, you remind me of this meme I’d see on the email threads at work, usually on a Monday after the weekend,” he said, describing to me a picture of a fluffy kitten with the fur around its mouth covered in milk, looking distressed and tired.
“But only because of the soup stain, and not because you look tired.”
We went back and forth for a moment, giving each other compliments and comparing each other to animals.
It was the perfect lunch date, with a nice collection of dessert options, even if some of them were a little strange.
I’d never even heard of rosewater being in food, and suddenly my mouth was fill of pink floral-scented buttercream.
I didn’t want the date to end. I knew I had to let him get back to work, and he had to let me go restock the library shelves.
Before I could leave, we stood at the front door. He kissed me and tried once more to get rid of the tomato stain from my mouth. “Worth a try,” he said. “You have any plans after work tonight?”
“No, nothing, why?” I stopped myself, tilting my head. “I don’t mean to sound eager.”
“Maybe you want to come over and watch some TV? Maybe you want to stay over or something? Only if you want. No pressure. Really. If you don’t want to, that’s completely fine.”
I nodded my head like it was about to fly off my neck. He wasn’t going to be able to take back the offer now. “I’ll have to go back to mine after work, but then I’ll ride my bike over. You have somewhere for me to put it, right?”
He gestured to the inside of the bakery. “In here,” he said. “And I look forward to you spending the night. Bring a bedtime story as well.”
I nodded. “Will do, Daddy.”
“Good boy,” he said, giving my forehead a kiss, then tipping a finger under my chin and kissing me on the mouth.
My body was filled with all the fizzy feelings, and my stomach was bursting with excitement about it. I didn’t want to say we were moving fast, but we were exploring each other in the best way possible.