Chapter 10
KYLE
When I woke up, my first thoughts were of Ethan.
Again. Just like every morning lately. Only this time, it was about that kiss, the one he was brave enough to give, showing me that he was ready to move forward and that, at least for the meantime, he wanted that to be with me.
I tried not to read too much into it. He was still in a vulnerable state.
I couldn’t imagine the kind of loss he’d gone through.
I got the coffee then took my shower before settling down to pump. Same as always. But this time, when I put the milk away, I used a new canning jar I’d picked up instead of the kind I usually transported it in.
Normally, I didn’t care what kind of container the milk was in when I delivered it. But as I was walking back to my car last night, I saw this one in the store window of a craft co-op. The artist had decorated it with a bear that looked just like Ethan’s stuffie.
This was officially Ethan’s milk in Ethan’s jar.
Was I stepping too far? I didn’t think so, but I’d be careful to read the cues, no longer assuming that he was still too deep in mourning.
I didn’t want to be that kind of Daddy, the one that decided for their Little what and how they should feel and when.
I’d been unintentionally doing that to Ethan, and it needed to stop.
I checked my messages, making sure I hadn’t missed a text from Ethan.
I hadn’t. We didn’t really text each other.
There had been no reason for me to think one would be there.
So far, it was only on a need-to-know basis.
“The door’s unlocked” or “I’m not feeling well,” that kind of thing.
Still, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed.
As had become my routine, I stopped for breakfast for us.
This time I didn’t hold back, not only getting something nutritious along with a little sweet treat, because he did love those, but I got the cutest cookie.
It was decorated with one of the more popular cartoon characters.
I didn’t know the show, but the little fairy had been on everything lately, and whether he watched it or not, it was still adorable.
I went into the shop. He wasn’t there, which wasn’t that unusual.
Sometimes he came in a little later. I shot him a quick text to let him know that breakfast was here.
He came down, his hair still damp, his shirt partially tucked in where I didn’t think he meant it to be. He was nervous, so very nervous.
It was me.
It had to be me.
I moved too fast.
“I want to talk,” he blurted out.
“Absolutely. Should we eat breakfast down here?”
He scratched under his chin. “Maybe upstairs?”
“Yeah, we can do that.” I followed him up and sat down at his table and waited for him to begin.
It looked like Ethan went to start the conversation a few times but couldn’t find the right words. If he needed a few seconds or minutes to figure them out, I was going to give him that time.
While he did, I made sure his breakfast was right, cutting it into quarters the way he enjoyed, and pulled out the milk.
He smiled at the sight of it. I’d made the right choice.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” he finally said. “We need to talk about this stuff.”
“I agree. I didn’t want to push.” But it was time.
My poor boy was nervous, and I longed to pull him onto my lap and hold him tight, let him know he could say anything and it would all be all right. But that was the opposite of not pushing.
“You’re not pushing. I’m pushing because I want you to know who I am.
Not only the Ethan you met, but the Ethan I am when I’m Little.
” He was speaking a mile a minute and speaking very quietly.
I leaned in slightly, so as not to miss any words.
“I like bottles and snuggles, and a Daddy who will give me a bath. I like not having to worry about big things when I get home. I have plenty of time to do that during work.”
I gave a nod, unsure if he was done and unwilling to cut him off when he was being so strong.
“And I know for some Daddies, that’s not giving enough. It’s selfish. But for me, that’s who I am.”
“Oh, sweetheart. It’s not being selfish to let someone know what you want and not settling for someone who doesn’t want the same.” I hated that someone had made him feel that way. Not Rand. From everything I’d learned about him, he was an amazing Daddy.
“I love taking care of people. That’s what I do. I take care of friends and family when they need it. I take care of students when they need it. But nothing feels as good as taking care of my Little, having someone give me all that trust. And I don’t mean controlling, but structured.”
He nodded between bites. I looked down, his face burning red. “I love the bottle of milk you brought, but one day, I’d like to have it from the source. Is that something you do?”
I nodded, unable to form words to let him know how much that was the exact thing I wanted him to say to me. I didn’t want to scare him, but he was being so brave.
And then he got braver. “Could I try?”
I reached across the table and put my hand on his. “If you're ready, I’d really like that.”
“That’s all I wanted to say.” He reached for the jar and opened it up. “Is this supposed to be like a cup, like all the influencers carry?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It was cute, and I thought you’d like it.”
“I do, but could I save it for later?” He pulled his bottom lip in with his teeth.
“Of course. Not everybody wants milkies in the morning.”
He covered his eyes with his hands. “What if I said I do want milkies, though?”
“Oh, sweet boy. You want it now? From me?”
“Yes, please?” It came out as a question.
“Well, good boys who eat their breakfast get milkies,” I sing-songed.
He grabbed the next quarter of his sandwich so fast, and it was like a switch had flipped. His nerves were gone. He was happy. He wasn’t in Little space, but he wasn’t big either. He was in a land in between.
When he was done eating, we went to the couch. I sat down, pulling off my shirt. “I just pumped this morning, so there might not be a lot.”
“I don’t need a lot. I had a good breakfast, and there’s a sweet treat if I’m good.”
“Yes, there is, my sweet boy, and you will love it.” I couldn’t wait to see his face when he saw the cookie.
He brought his mouth to my chest, then looked up. “I don’t really know what to do.”
“Let me teach you.”
I taught him how to latch on, and when he did, I could feel the last of his tension flee from his body.
He took long sips, his other hand kneading my chest. When there was no more milk on that side, he switched to the other.
I doubt he got a lot, but when he unlatched and righted himself, he looked so content—the picture of a milk-sated Little, if ever I saw one.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.” I kissed his forehead. “Anytime.”