The Single Dad: Girl’s Sexual Awakening

I just acted like myself despite the war happening inside my body.

A war that was causing part of me to silently beg for his lips, the other part knowing it would make things look exactly like his crumb-covered island.

But that hadn’t stopped me from wishing.

Dreaming.

Envisioning.

“Can we have cupcakes for breakfast, Daddy?”

“I know you would love that,” he said into the top of her head, “and I would too, but no.” He took a drink of his coffee. “I’m sure Craig left us something. Hold tight. I’ll grab it-”

“I’ve got it,” I told him. “Don’t get up.” I set the sponge by the sink and went to the fridge to see what Craig had labeled for this morning.

A quick glance through the glass containers told me it was fruit, yogurt, granola, and a muffin.

Deliciously healthy. Nothing I would be craving if I was hungover. And I knew he was. His groan this morning when I’d first arrived and the way he was holding on to the coffeemaker for dear life told me he was feeling like shit.

I glanced over my shoulder. Their bodies were cuddled together. With Ford’s so much larger and broader than hers, he made her look even smaller than she was. And while his head was probably pounding, she was talking his ear off, showing him her pink nails and toes, describing the glitter they had used during the pedicure.

That was love.

I took a deep breath and said, “How about I whip up something super yummy?”

Ford slowly glanced at me. “Craig didn’t leave anything?”

“He did … but are you really in the mood for yogurt?”

He shook his head and winced. “No.”

I moved over to where they were sitting. The second I reached them, Everly took off my baseball hat, revealing my wet hair underneath, and put it on her head.

“What are you guys craving?” I asked.

“Pancakes!”

I laughed. “Why does that not surprise me?” I winked at her and looked at Ford. “How about you?”

He rubbed the side of his head. “Pancakes work for me.”

“And how about something greasy, like bacon? And hash browns?”

“Yes,” Ford said, “and yes.”

“Then, I’ve got an idea.” I stole my hat back from her and held out my arms to Everly. “You come with me, Miss Eve. We have lots of cooking to do, and your dad will head into his office, so he can get some work done. Once we’re finished, we’ll bring him a giant breakfast. How does that sound?”

“I canceled my meeting this morning,” he said. “I’m going to sit here and nurse this coffee for a little while longer.”

“Woof,” I joked.

He nodded. “Yep. That.”

“Well, that changes nothing,” I said. “It only means Everly and I will have an audience while we’re cooking all the things.”

“I wanna cook the bacon,” Eve said.

She climbed into my arms, and I carried her to the fridge.

“You can lay it out on the pan, okay?” I handed her the packet of bacon and took out the eggs. “And while I’m flipping the bacon, you can tell me when it’s done. We’re shooting for extra crispy.”

“What’s extra crispy?”

“When the bacon turns brown at the ends and the texture wrinkles up a bit, like your fingers last night because you were in the bath for so long.”Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

“Ohhh.” She laughed. “I ‘member now.”

Once I set the eggs on the counter, I found her step stool in the pantry and placed it on the floor near a large section of countertop and balanced her on top of it. I then found a fry pan and put it in front of her.

“Align the pieces in stripes,” I instructed. “Like a zebra.”

“A zebra!” She looked at her dad. “Daddy, we need a zebra for my animal family. One with extra stripes. And I wanna dye her tail blue, like my hair was last night.”

He circled his fingers over his temples. “A zebra. Check.”

I giggled to myself and gathered everything else I needed for the pancakes and potatoes and started measuring and mixing. “Eve, I’m going to need your pancake-flipping expertise. Are you up for the task?”

“Oh boy.”

I laughed at her response. Words she’d most definitely learned from me. “What’s wrong? Not feeling it this morning?”

“The last time I made ’em with you, they were a gooey mess, Syd.”

That had been a couple days ago when she reached inside the fishbowl I now kept in her room and fished out the letter P. This was an activity we did every morning, incorporating that letter into our day’s adventure.

Of course, she’d immediately announced we were making pancakes the second she saw the letter.

As she flipped the first batch, some had ended up on the backsplash.

Some on the floor.

But the survivors had been edible, and that was all that mattered.

“That’s not true at all.” I moved over to where she was standing. “You did a fabulous job, and we had so much fun, didn’t we?”

“Syd …”

I put my hand on her shoulder and said softly, “Who says pancakes have to be round? They all taste the same, whether they’re oblong or octagon.”

“Or a scrambly mess.”

I grinned. “Or a scrambly mess.” I gently shook her, urging her on. “We’re going to try again. I’ll be right next to you to assist if you need it, but I don’t think you will.”

“Okaaay.”

I combined all the ingredients and added butter to the skillet, waiting for it to melt. In the meantime, Everly finished aligning the bacon, and that was starting to crisp up while the potatoes were browning on the stovetop.

I poured small amounts of batter onto the pan and waited for the bubbles to appear.

“Eve, you’re almost up.” I handed her the spatula and moved her stool a little closer to the stove, so she wouldn’t have to reach. “Remember, you’re going to try to get the spatula all the way under the pancake before you flip.”

“Bubbles!”