by Emma Hart
“I don’t—”
“Don’t. I know you’re in love with him. You’ve been in love with him since at least second grade when you slapped him with your spade because he kicked over your sandcastle.”
She snort-laughed. “I thought we’d never be friends after that.”
“Eh. I’d have done it for you,” I told her. “Seriously, Chlo, he’s not worth you. He’s a child in a man’s body. And for what it’s worth, he was shaken as shit that you told him you used to have a crush on him.”
“Oh my God.” She buried her face in her hands. “Why did I say that? Peyton. Why didn’t you stop me?”
“Because,” I said gently. “Maybe you needed to say it. You needed to burst it out of your system, so you could look at the conversation for what it was.”
“I don’t know.” She dropped her hands and looked up at me. “It’s never going to happen, is it? Me and him. He’s so dumb. I can’t believe he’s made it almost thirty years without killing himself.”
“Well, there was that time in second grade where he thought it would be a good idea to spray deodorant into Mimi’s open fire.”
“That’s why it’s so amazing,” she muttered. “What’s even more impressive is that I haven’t killed him yet. Or you, for that matter.”
She had a point.
“See? Miracles do exist. He’s like a cat.”
“Yeah, well, he’s probably used eight of those lives already,” Chloe said. She pulled out two silver keys. “These are his keys.”
My lips twitched. “You have his keys?”
She nodded. “One was stuffed down the back of the couch, and the other was in a bottle of Tylenol.”
I did a double-take. “Inside the bottle? How did it get inside the bottle?”
She tossed them onto the coffee table and held up her hands. “I don’t know how it’s remotely possible.”
There was one to ask later.
“You know you told him you don’t have his keys,” I said. “But those seem like stupid places to put keys.”
“Yeah, well, he’s stupid.”
Well, she wasn’t wrong there. I could have told her that.
But still, who lost a key in a—
“Chloe,” I said slowly.
“What?”
“He’s messing with you.”
She stared at me, jaw dropping.
“The sofa cushions? Fine. I’ve probably got ten bucks in quarters down the back of this thing.” I tapped my sofa. “But in a Tylenol bottle?”
“I did think it was—” she stopped, gasping. She smacked her hands over her mouth. “I told him last week I needed Tylenol for a headache and he told me there was some in the bathroom cupboard!”
My eyes widened. “Was the bottle it was in empty?”
She shook her head, hands still in front of her mouth. “Oh my God. He knows I lied.”
I wanted to be more shocked about that, but… “You both lied. He hid them, you found them. You should put them back to annoy him.”
She snorted and stood up. She swiped the keys in one quick movement, then stormed to my door. “And let him get back in the office without me? No way. Inconveniencing him is better revenge.”
“Okay,” I said, rolling my head around to look at her. “If you think he didn’t make copies before he did that, you’re an idiot.”
“Oh, no, I know he made copies.” An evil grin spread across her face. “But he doesn’t know I know.”
“And as long as you have the “lost” keys he has to keep this shit up,” I finished.
She pointed the keys at me, grin still firmly in place as she backed out of my space. “Exactly.”
I stared at the blank doorway for a minute, then came the sound of her laughter from across the hall.
Man. Those two were fucked up.
***
“I like ponies. Do you like ponies?” Briony looked up from where she was playing with what was apparently My Little Pony toys and a castle.
I didn’t remember any of these ponies.
“I like ponies,” I answered.
“I like pincesses. Do you like pincesses?”
“Sure. I like princesses.”
“Who’s your fadorit?”
Three-year-olds. They had a whole other language, didn’t they?
“I don’t know…” I trailed off at the sight of Elliott in the doorway. His lips were moving, but I didn’t know what he was saying.
“Cinderella,” he mouthed. “Cinderella.”
Ohhh.
“Peydon? Who’s your fadorit pincess?” Briony waved at me to get my attention.
I pretended to really think hard about it. “I don’t know. That’s really tough.”
She closed her eyes and with all the wisdom of girl who knew the struggles of choosing a princess, nodded solemnly.
“I think I have to pick Cinderella, though.”
She gasped. Her eyes flew open, and she dropped the pony she was holding to smack her hands against her cheeks in delight. “I lub her, too! She’s my fadorit! Daddy! Daddy!” She scrambled up off the floor and ran to Elliott.
I leaned back to see her go.
“Daddy.” She tugged on his shirt. “Daddy. Daddy, where ared you?”
“In the bathroom,” Elliott said, sounding a little reluctant. “What is it?”
There were heavy footsteps as Briony charged to the downstairs toilet and leaned against the door. “Daddy! Daddy. Daddy. Comed here.”
“I’m busy right now, baby.”
“Den open the door so I can telled you.”
“I’d really prefer not to.”
“Daddy! Daddy!” She knocked on the door. “I need to telled you something!”
“I can hear you just fine,” he said wearily. “Go ahead and tell me.”
I covered my mouth with my hand so my laughter wouldn’t get out.
“But I don’t wanna talked to the door. I wanna talked to you,” Briony argued.
“Briony, I’m on the toilet. Be patient.” His voice was a little firmer now.
“But—”
“No. Wait for a second.”
Her lower lip wobbled, and she dipped her head to look at the floor. She didn’t move, she simply stood there silently, her face hidden by a curtain of her hair that was, today, poofed from being in a braid all day.
I stayed sitting awkwardly on the sofa. This was definitely a parenting thing—one I had no experience with. This was only the second time I’d ever met her, after all.
After a good minute of silence, the bathroom door opened, and I watched as Elliott wiped his hands on his pants, leaving wet marks on them, and crouched down to Briony’s level.
Gently, he put two fingers under her chin and lifted her head. “We spoke about being patient, didn’t we? Especially when someone is using the toilet.”
She nodded.
“Especially when we have guests. I can’t leave the door unlocked, okay? I’m sure Peyton doesn’t want to see me poop.”
And that was way too much information for today.
Briony turned her head and looked at me. Ignoring Elliott’s amused smile, I shook my head in agreement that I most definitely did not want to witness him pooping.
“I sorry,” Briony said.
“That’s okay. You’ll remember next time.” He kissed her forehead.
He had more faith than I did.
“Now, what did you want to tell me?”
She immediately brightened. “Oh, Daddy, Daddy! Peydon likes Cinderella, too!”
Elliott put on one of the most convincing shocked-faced I’d ever seen. “No. Really?”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh.” She nodded her head frantically. “Can we watched it?”
Wait…
“The first one or the butterfly one?”
“Budderfly.”
The butterfly one? “What’s the butterfly one?” I asked.
“The live-action one,” Elliott answered, scooping Briony up. He set her on his hip and
carried her over to where I was on the sofa. “There are butterflies on the blue dress.”
“Huh. I’ve never seen it.”
Elliott’s eyebrows shot up.
Briony gasped, grabbing hold of my arms with her tiny, chubby hands. “You never seed it? Daddy, Peydon has to watched it immediwatly!”
“Okay, okay, calm down.” He was laughing. “Maybe Peyton can’t stay long enough to watch the movie. Did you think of that?”
“No,” she said bluntly. “She didn’t seed it, so she has to stay.”
“She might not be able to stay over dinner.”
“Den she won’t get to see it.”
Three-year-old logic.
Terrifyingly flawless.
“Why don’t you ask her?” Elliott said. “I’m sure that’s much better than demanding, isn’t it?”
She sighed and looked up at me. She even leaned into me, practically climbing on my lap to ask—
Never mind. She was on my lap. And the girl’s knees were so sharp she could slice stone.
Briony touched two hands to my face. They were warm against my cheeks, and she held me firm as she looked into my eyes. “Peydon.”
She looked so serious with her little blue eyes and ribbon lips that I had to really try to not laugh at her.
“Briony,” I repeated.
“Can you stay to watched Cinderella? I will made you an apple juice from the fridge if you can.”
How the hell did I say no to that?
Answer: I didn’t.
Chapter Sixteen – Elliott
Toddlers are persistent.
A bit like hemorrhoids.
“That sounds fun,” Peyton said. “And apple juice? I love apple juice!”
I didn’t have to see Bri’s face to know she was beaming with delight. Apple juice and Cinderella were her two true loves in this world, so to have found someone else who felt the same way?
Shoot her down—she was in love with Peyton based on that alone.
“Okay!” Bri turned around. “Daddy, you get the moodie, and I’ll get the apple juice.”
She scrambled down off of Peyton’s lap and ran into the kitchen.
“Is she okay with that juice?” Peyton watched her go.
I selected the Blu-ray from the cupboard and shot a smirk her way. “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re getting a juice box.”
“I can live with that.”
I turned away and hit the eject button on the player. “You didn’t have to say yes to her, you know.”
“Of course, I had to. Have you seen those eyes? How do you say no to her, ever?”
“I think of all the times she screams and swings her arms like a tiny terrorist, and it’s pretty easy.” I put the disk in and turned around.
Peyton had one eyebrow raised. “See, now, I’d think that’s reason to say no.”
“It depends on the day. Sometimes it results in her being put to bed to calm down, which means she ends up taking a rare afternoon nap, and I get some peace and quiet.”
“That’s a thing around her? She was talking to me for thirty minutes flat about what I did and didn’t like.”
“Only thirty minutes? Lucky you. She has about three hours of material of that.” I took a seat on the sofa, making sure to leave space between us for Bri. “Did she get started on hedgehogs yet?”
Peyton looked a little confused. “Hedgehogs?”
“YouTube is the devil.”
“That…was quite the jump in subject.”
I laughed as the main menu music hit on the TV. “I’m going to preface this by saying kids are weird.”
“Some get that from their parents.”
I blinked at her for a second. She wasn’t wrong if half these people who had a mini-career opening fucking toys on YouTube were parents.
“There are a bunch of stupid videos on YouTube, and apparently, watching people open toys is thrilling.”
Now, she looked really confused.
“And on one of those she watched, the person had a pet hedgehog who wasn’t having the nonsense of her opening a Hatchimal on camera, so it stole the egg.”
She blinked several times in quick succession. “I have no idea what you just said, and if I’m honest… Please don’t explain it.”
I laughed and hit play on the TV.
“Here’s your dooce-box,” Briony said, handing Peyton two. “And das mine. I can’t do the straws.”
“Oh. Right. Okay.” Peyton looked at the two juices that had been thrust at her.
Smiling, I took one from her. I pulled the straw off the back, out of the tiny plastic slip, and poked it through the foiled hole in the top. “There you go,” I said to Briony. “What do you want for dinner?”
She put the straw in her mouth and pursed her lips as she sucked the juice up. Peyton watched her, lips twitching, as she put her straw in place.
“Pizza!” Briony announced.
Oh no. I’d eaten too much pizza lately.
Was there such a thing as too much pizza?
Maybe if the toppings were changed up…
“Peydon, do you want pizza?” Bri asked, leaning right into her.
“I like pizza,” she replied, smiling sweetly down at her. “What’s your favorite?”
“I like spots and cheese.”
“Spots?”
I coughed on my water. “Pepperoni,” I explained. “They look like spots on the pizza.”
Peyton’s eyes met mine for a minute. Silent laughter shone back at me. That really was toddler logic at its finest.
“You know,” she said, looking down at Peyton. “Spots are my favorite, too!”
Once again, Briony gasped. “Reawy?”
“Really, really. I love spots.”
Oh, Jesus.
It might have been a mistake introducing these two. Not only was my daughter becoming increasingly obsessed with someone who seemed to be a brunette, adult version of her…
No, that was the problem. Peyton was the brunette, adult version of Briony, attitude and all—and if there was anything my daughter didn’t need, it was someone who could teach her a thing or ten about sarcasm.
“I’ll order pizza,” I said, going to stand.
“Oh, you got it last time. I’ll go call them.” Peyton put her juice on the side table and tried to move, but Briony stopped her.
“No. Mimi told me that only gentlemen buy dinner. Princesses sit and look priddy.”
Peyton looked down at her. “Sit and look pretty? I like to buy my own pizza sometimes, and that’s okay.”
Without missing a beat, Briony said, “Princesses sit and look priddy so the mens buying dinner don’t know dat we can kick dere butts.”
Then, she grinned.
So, did Peyton.
And I needed to call my mother. Couldn’t we teach my daughter to, I don’t know, become an engineer or something?
Not that a badass wasn’t a totally viable career option, but I didn’t know how well that paid.
“Well, that makes sense to me. Is that what we’re going to do? Let Daddy buy the pizza, then be pretty, so he doesn’t know that we can kick his butt?” Peyton whispered.
Briony nodded. “Oh no, we’re missing the moodie.”
Peyton looked over her head at me and winked.
It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen her do, which was weird since I’d seen her with my cock in her mouth. Maybe it was because of the way the curl of her lips made her eyes shine bright.
Or maybe it was because for the first time since Briony became my entire world, there was someone who didn’t know her sitting there, being the kind of person she needed in her life.
Fun. Friendly. Crazy. A bright spot of wildness that I, as her father, couldn’t really provide.
Even if I was pretty damn good at painting tiny nails.
“Okay, I’ll get pizza, and you two look pretty.” I stood up.
Briony leaned right against her and looked at me. “Oh, Daddy. We are priddy.”
I dragged myself away before my heart clenched any harder.
Fuck. I preferred it when she couldn’t stand the sight of me—when all she wanted to do was yell at me and get away from me.
Fuck and run.
I preferred it when we wanted to fuck and run.
Not watch Cinderella and eat pizza with my tiny human.
I leaned against the wall and, blowing out a long breath, ran my fingers through my hair.
As far as I knew, her experiment was still in place. Sure, it didn’t explain why she was here tonight, even though I’d just thrown the idea out since last night and this morning had been cut short. It didn’t explain why she was curled up with my baby and watching Cinderella.
I knew the rule. Her golden rule. She had to have sex with someone three times without falling in love with them.
But did that rule include me falling for her?
***
Peyton gently reached over and prodded my arm. I’d had enough of Disney movies around an hour ago, so I was browsing Facebook while she and Briony carried on with their marathon.
If two movies were a marathon, that was.
“She’s asleep,” Peyton whispered, pointing to where Bri’s head was laid on a cushion on top of her lap.
She looked so peaceful and comfortable. She was snuggled right in, eyes closed, even breathing. At least I’d changed her into her pajamas before the pizza had arrived.
“I got her,” I whispered back, slowly dislodging her tiny bare feet from my own lap so I could stand.
Gently, I lifted her up, and she wrapped her little arms around my neck, snort-snoring as I disturbed her. I tightly wrapped my arms around her and made sure to be extra careful as I carried her up to her room.
The boards in her room creaked as I expertly swept her covers to the side and set her down in her bed. Her blonde hair directly contrasted against the magenta pillowcase that was covered with tiny, white crowns.