Chapter 10
ten
I have to call him twice, and threaten to sicc Manny on him, before Logan finally emails me the last demand from the debt collector.
The temptation to pay it out of Rick-the-Dick’s accounts is strong, but it would get undone eventually and land Logan back in the soup.
I set up the transfer with satisfaction and fire off an email to the debt collector confirming the payment and requesting a receipt.
I don’t know if Logan had planned to pursue it with the cruise line, but I sure as fuck am.
Around hounding my best friend and paying off the vultures, I make Emily’s peanut-butter chicken recipe.
It sounds disgusting, even reading over what she’s sent me, but once I taste the sauce as it’s cooking, I realize it’s much more like a satay than a peanut-butter sandwich.
I double the recipe and set aside the extra sauce to feed the kid-hole downstairs later.
Ty’s pretty easy to feed in general, but I’m betting this will be an instant favorite.
When my phone pings and I see Cynnie’s name float up in the notifications, my heart seizes. Is she cancelling?
I tap open the message, smearing garlic across the screen, which I wipe off with my shirt and a curse.
Cynnie: I’m getting on the train now. See you soon.
I breathe a deep sigh of relief and respond.
Great. Dinner’s nearly ready. Do you mind eating outside?
Cynnie: I’d love to eat outside.
With a smile, I go back to chopping the garlic for the green beans.
Following Emily’s suggestion about green beans with sesame oil, I found a recipe online that looks good and has some of the same ingredients as the main course, so I figure they’ll taste good together.
I found dairy-free mochi when I got the groceries for dinner that will do for dessert until I know whether Cynnie has a sweet tooth.
I also picked up a surprise which is sitting in its wrapping on the counter. I feel the eyes of the figures on the plate looking at me as I move around the kitchen. Maybe it’s too soon? We haven’t even talked about the Daddy/little thing yet. Am I asking too much from her too quickly?
I pick up the package and put it in the cabinet.
It’s too soon. On my next circuit of the kitchen, I take it back out and put it on the counter again so it can stare at me some more.
I’ll introduce it gently. When I’ve snapped the ends off the green beans and washed them, I unwrap the package and hand wash the set: sippy cup, plate, bowl, utensils.
I dry them off and put them in the cabinet again. Too soon.
I’m still undecided when the door buzzes.
I tap my phone, check the building camera just in case, and do a double take. Cynnie smiles back at me but her purple and blue hair is gone. Silky, black strands blow around her cheeks and shoulders in the evening breeze. I gape at her for a moment, then collect my brains and tap to buzz her up.
I meet her at the apartment door and tamp down my frown when I see her coming up the stairs.
Not only is the colorful hair gone, but she’s wearing a black sack zipped all the way to her neck that falls in a stiff A-line to just above her knees, not revealing a hint of her curves.
It’s obviously expensive from the sheen to the fabric but I’ve never seen an uglier dress.
Did she wear it to make some kind of statement—that she doesn’t want to be little with me tonight? The only thing even vaguely “little” about her outfit are a pair of pink Docs. Maybe I’ve read this all wrong and it’s not even a date?
Despite the weird get-up, she greets me happily as she reaches the landing for my floor. “Hi, Max!”
“Hey, right on time.”
Her face stiffens and I kick myself mentally, remembering her conversation at the playgroup about her lateness.
“I meant, perfect timing. Dinner’s ready.”
“Oh, good.” She stops in front of me and when I gesture into my apartment, stretches up on her toes and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “Is that okay?”
“Sure is.” I open my arms to her and give her a warm hug when she steps into me. I feel a too-brief press of the curves the black sack conceals before she steps back and takes my hand.
“Want a quick tour?” I ask.
She nods enthusiastically, peering around at the living room, dining nook, and stairway up to the loft.
I draw her into the apartment and close the door behind her. She pauses at the line of hooks on my entry wall.
“Do you mind if I take this off?” She tugs at the black sack and nods at a free hook.
“Of course not.”
She unzips the sack and pulls it off over her head. Underneath, she’s wearing an outfit similar to what she wore to playgroup: a fringed duster over a thigh-length, floral dress over lacy bike shorts. Everything’s in shades of peacock blue, pink, and gold.
I sigh in relief. “Thank God.”
“Huh?”
I kick myself mentally again. “Sorry, I just wasn’t sure what that meant.” I gesture at the black sack.
Her magical giggle rings out, filling my apartment like sunlight. “I can’t wear little clothes on the train.”
“Of course, you can’t. Sorry, I didn’t think.”
She grins and takes my hand again, bouncing a little on the pink Docs as I show her around my apartment.
She oohs and aahs over the trees in the loft and spends a few minutes examining the foliage, turning the leaves over to trace the veins on the underside with her fingertips.
I’ve turned off my rig again, so my office only gets a glance before I lead her through the kitchen and out onto the porch.
The screen of flowers gets more exclamations of delight and she scoots all over the padded bench, examining the planter and the view down to the street from every angle.
“Are you okay out here for a minute while I bring out dinner?” I ask.
She nods, clasping her hands together and looking at me seriously. “I’m okay being big tonight.”
I hate that idea. With a vehemence that surprises me.
I kneel next to the bench so I’m at her eye level. “If you want to be big tonight, you can be. But if you felt comfortable being little, I’d love that. I got you something if you’d like to be little, but I’ll save it for another time if you’re not up for that.”
Her eyes widen and I fall into those black velvet depths.
“I’z like to be little,” she whispers.
“Great. Stay right here for me, okay? Can you do that?”
Eyes shining, she nods.
I head back in, grab the plate set out of the cabinet, and carry it out with my plate and utensils. When I set it in front of her, Cynnie claps her hands and bounces in her seat. “Buzzies!”
I grin. As soon as I saw the cup and plate set at the store, I knew it was right for her.
On the plastic plate, there’s a cute girl with huge eyes sitting among red flowers while smiling, cartoon bees circle her.
The plastic sippy cup is circled with the same flowers and a winding trail of smiling bees.
“These are yours if you want them. You can take them home with you.”
Her face falls. “Not to my house.”
I almost ask why not but decide on a different tact. “No problem. They can stay here, and you can use them whenever you come over. They’ll be your special things.”
That brings her smile straight back and she grasps the cup in both hands. “Oh, it’s empty.”
“It is for right now. What would you like to drink? I got oat milk if you’d like milk, but I also have juice.”
She tips her head to the side. “Cola?”
“No cola for little girls.”
She blows a raspberry at me, then hides her face behind the cup so just her eyes are peeping out over the lid. “I’z only drink cola.”
“Now, I know that’s not true. What if I make you a special drink with juice and some fresh raspberries, since you like blowing them?”
Her giggle rings out. “Sowwy.”
“Mmm, not sure I believe that, but would you like the special drink?”
“Yes, pease!” She holds her cup out to me.
“Okay. You’re going to stay right there for me, yes?”
“Right here.” She pats the bench cushion. “Or maybe there.” She points at the other bench.
“How about this rule, you can sit on either bench, and come back inside if you want to, but this is off limits?” I hold my arm like a bar in front of the steep stairs down to the next landing.
Her eyes widen again, and her pupils dilate. “Off limits?”
“Yes. That’s the rule for tonight.”
“I’z good with rules,” she says.
“I know you will be because you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”
Those words again. I can’t help saying them because I keep drowning in those dark eyes and all I can think is, be my good girl, over and over.
“I’z a good girl,” she promises.
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
I escape before I go under completely and my body’s reaction to those dark eyes becomes obvious even through my jeans.
Figuring Cynnie deserves a treat, I pull down a shaker to mix up apple juice, raspberries, a few mint leaves from the readi-grow bucket of herbs stuck in my window, and some cracked ice.
I strain the frothy pink mix into her sippy cup and carry it out with a beer and the serving dishes of chicken and green beans.
Cynnie’s moved to the other bench while I’ve been in the kitchen and rearranged the table, so the bee plate is in front of her and my plate’s on the other side of the table, with my back to the flowers. It gives her the nicer view, so I don’t object.
She seizes the sippy cup as soon as I put it in front of her and takes a big sip. “Ooo, this is sooo good! Can I?” She pulls her phone out of her duster.
“Sure.”
She takes a series of pictures that look, even to my untrained eye, staged. The cup. Her face in an O of wonder as she opens the cup and shows the pink drink inside. A big grin and peace sign as she holds the cup to her mouth.
She fiddles with her phone for a moment before tucking it away. “Sorry. It just seemed like a perfect thing to share.”
“No problem. Were you sharing it with the other littles in playgroup?”
That gorgeous rose rises to her cheeks again. “Um, no. Maybe a few of them follow me, but I don’t really know.”
“You don’t know?”