Page 32 of Daddy, Take Me Away
She giggled, covering her mouth with both hands while she hastily swallowed, and then opened both hands and mouth to accept the “train” before there was a wreck.
Chuckling himself, he alternated between trains, planes, and one really bad car ride that ended up crashing into her chin because they were both laughing. All too soon, her bowl was empty and although Chloe truly couldn't take another bite, she didn't want this to end. Apparently, neither did he.
They sat grinning at one another–her empty bowl cupped in his big hand, her dwarf of a spoon clutched in his other–long minutes stretching out between them until suddenly she became aware of the silence, the silliness, and the absolutely overwhelming nearness of Daddy himself. His knee still touched hers. He wouldn't need to lean too much closer for their lips to meet, or for her to crawl back into his arms and lap.
“You'd be cute as fuck in a highchair,” he finally said. He put down the dishes, cupping her chin in the palm of his hand. His voice and accent both deepened. “Come to Daddy, my wee little bairn. Give us a kiss.”
She melted. Launching herself out of her chair, she straddled his lap, throwing her arms around his neck and resting her head on his broad shoulder for those first few seconds it took her to steel herself for heaven. Holding his face the way he had held onto hers, “Thank you. I already feel so much better than I did.”
A slow seductive smile spread across his features. “You make me feel better too.”
His fingers combed up through the back of her hair, closing into a first, firmly bringing their smiling mouths together. Touching. Caressing. Nibbling at her lower lip until that bubbly champagne feeling once more swam through her veins.
It was a feeling she hoped she’d always feel for him, especially when they touched. For a few more days, anyway.
“Come on.” Daddy lightly swatted her bottom. “Let's go to town.”
Chapter Seventeen
Chloe sat crisscross applesauce in the grass by the gently lapping waters of the lake in Hamish’s backyard. The short easel Daddy had bought for her–along with damn near every color of paint, type of brush, and canvas that hobby shop in town had to sell–was set up in front of her, close enough for her to paint in the smallest details the orange pink skies as the sun rose above the water.
The sky was pink, with shocks of bright orange rushing up from behind. The reflection on the water caught both colors brilliantly, as well as the green of the grass and all the dots of purple heather growing in clumps all down the highland mountains into the valley around her. It was beautiful, but something was missing and with every wasteful minute that her brush hovered motionless over her canvas without painting frustrated her.
She threw down her brush on her handheld pallet of paints, rubbing her forehead. What was she doing? She’d had such a clear idea in her brain when she’d started this, and now… Nothing. Her vision felt off, somehow. What was she doing wrong?
A soft clatter of dishes and the swish of footprints through the shin-high grass caught her ear just before Hamish arrived, like the silent shadow he knew how to be.
She glanced up just as he set a snack tray down in the grass beside her.
“Fresh brewed Highland tea, scones, clotted cream and strawberry, and hearty sausage,” he said as she perused the choice of food on the tray.
“Looks yummy,” she approved, setting down her pallet in favor of picking up a scone. It looked like a biscuit, only the bread was denser, cut in half with the cream and strawberry jam generously layered in the middle.
Folding up his legs before dropping to sit beside her. Brushing his hands off on his pants, he made himself comfortable. “My mum used to make these all the time. I borrowed her recipe. It’s the best you’ll ever have in your mouth.”
One bite had her instant agreement.
“Mm,” she said, licking a dollop of cream from the corner of her mouth and a smear of jam off her thumb. “This is really good.”
She’d never had clotted cream before. Soft, with a texture similar to cream cheese, she savored the slightly nutty flavor complimented perfectly by the sweetness of the jam.
“I love strawberries.”
Hamish studied the water, a slight smile curling the corner of his mouth as he no doubt made a mental note of that. Now and then he glanced at her painting. “You’re a good artist,” he finally said, admiring her work.
Yummy scone or not, her bad mood returned. “I don’t know about that. I’m ready to scrap this and start over.”
“Why?”
Her frustration bubbled over. She only wished she knew.
“Because it’s not right.” She flounced. “Something’s missing.”
Hamish studied her painting. “Like what?”
“If I knew that, I’d know how to fix it,” Chloe grumbled under her breath. It was so quiet in the valley, the silence broken by the gentle rolling waves, birdsong, and the lulling sound of the breeze fluttering through the tall, waving grass, and she said it nowhere near quietly enough for him not to hear.
She stole a peek, hoping she hadn’t just got herself into trouble again. She was midway through her vacation now, but she wasn’t even through her first week with Hamish before learning her temporary Daddy had a thing about tone. If hers wasn’t respectful in any way when she spoke to him, then she was definitely in trouble.
