Novel Storm
36
“Yep. She even sat on the sparkly toilet seat.” She giggled. “Not to pee, Daddy, just to see how the sparkles tickle your bum. It made Syd laugh. It was sooo funny.” She glanced at the island, where Craig was plating all the dishes. “Oh, dinner’s done. Come on. You haaave to sit next to me.” She grabbed Sydney’s hand and led her over to the table and pointed at the head. “Daddy sits there. I’m here,” she said, holding the chair to the right of mine, “and you’re next to me.”
“Whatever you’re making smells delicious,” Sydney called out to Craig.
“Wait until you taste it,” he responded.
I ignored the way he was looking at her and returned to the fridge for more beer. When I joined them at the table, I asked Sydney, “Would you like one?” and I held up the bottle.
“No, thank you, not while I’m hanging with your girl.”
She’d given the right answer.
Maybe she wasn’t plagued with the same thoughts as me.
Maybe this was easier on her.
Maybe she had cleared me from her head when she chose Everly.
Can I do that?
Can I make it happen right now?
“All right, Eve, here’s your giant plate of spaghetti, just like you asked for.” Craig set the pasta in front of her along with a small salad and piece of bread.
“Mmm. Yay!” She already had her fork in her hand and dived it into the noodles, freezing mid-twirl. “Oops, I forgot.” She looked at Sydney and added, “I’m ‘posed to wait till everyone has food. It’s polite.”
“You’re right; it is the polite thing to do. That’s so mature of you, Everly.”
Eve smiled, waving her head so the ponytail bounced. “When Daddy takes me to fancy restaurants, there’re so many forks, and I don’t know which one to use, but I know to wait. Daddy says that’s the important part.”
Sydney glanced at me, and my dick pounded through the jeans I’d changed into when I ditched my suit. “Your daddy gives you good advice.”
Daddy.
That fucking word.
From Sydney’s mouth.
Jesus.
I looked away from her and started to guzzle.
“Here you go, Sydney,” Craig said, delivering her plate next. “Enjoy.”
“I appreciate it. Thank you.”
“Craig makes the bestest s’getti ever. Like, eveeer.”
“Oh yeah?” Sydney leaned closer to her plate, her eyes closing as she inhaled. “My mouth is watering.” When her lids opened, she pointed at Eve’s salad. “I’m proud of you for eating vegetables. Which is your favorite one?”
“Cukes! But only if Chef Craig takes off the peel. That part is ewww. Daddy made me try it though. He makes me try everything. That’s the rule.”
Craig placed my dinner in front of me and said, “I find creative ways for Everly to eat her veggies. There’s some she hates pretty hard, but we’re making headway, aren’t we, Eve?”
“Yep.” My daughter looked around the table, making sure everyone was served, and instantly dug in. “Those long green things. I haaate those.”
“Asparagus,” Craig told Sydney.
“Ahhh,” Sydney said. “Those.”
“Can I get you guys anything else?” Craig asked.
As the sounds of eating filled the silence, I said, “I think we’re good. Thank you, Craig.”
Except we weren’t good.
My dick was hard, and this meal was the last thing I wanted to be eating right now.
What I wanted …
What I craved …
What I needed …
Was Sydney’s pussy.
TEN
SYDNEYNôvelDrama.Org content.
“L
ook at how pretty you’ve made this cookie,” I said, checking out Everly’s design. The sprinkles she had added to the middle. The tiny butterflies and flowers, made of fondant, that she’d pasted around the rim. “You’ve done such a good job.”
“Thank you.” She squirted more frosting on, adding another pile of sprinkles. “Done!” She held it up to view. “It’s so perfect.”
I pointed at the frosting and asked, “What color is this again?”
She picked a piece of it off the side and put it in her mouth. “Turquoise.”
“Nailed it.” I gave her a high five. “For only four years old, you’re so smart.”
“Daddy says I’m his little girl, but I’m really his big girl.”
“You most definitely act like a big girl.”
The purpose of this lesson was for Everly to help measure the ingredients for the cookies, to work on her hand and eye coordination when making each ball the same size, to watch the clock and grasp the concept of patience while we waited for them to bake. And as they were cooking, we worked on the frosting, using food dye to create turquoise and magenta, pumpkin and mint-colors that were beyond the primary shades.
And the whole time, Ford had been watching.
He kept his distance, sitting in the next room, his open floor plan giving him a direct view of everything we were doing. The lesson wasn’t what made me nervous or the fact that I had an audience-I’d anticipated him observing every move, deciding whether I’d be a good fit for his daughter.
It was his stare that made my breath hitch.
My body constantly reminded of his presence.
His hands.
His mouth.
His tongue.
The effect he had on me.
But I couldn’t let that show, so I piped out some pumpkin-colored frosting onto one of the cookies and used the gel icing to draw eyes and teeth, a stem across the top. “Can you guess what this is?”
She wiggled in her seat-a sign that she knew the answer. “He-he. A punkin. Like Halloween!”
“Everly, can you say pumpkin instead?” I sounded out the entire word, emphasizing the letters she had missed.
“Punkin. That’s what I said. Puuunkiiin.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
And I could hear Ford do the same.
“How about this one?” This time, I spread mint-colored frosting across a different cookie and used the gel to draw a long trunk, the leaves at the top making a very specific pattern. I added a small sun in the corner and aimed it toward her. “Can you tell what it is?”
“A tree.”