Page 37 of Wrecked for the Holidays

It was hard to leave Papa when I snuck out of his bedroom this morning. The way Papa snuffled and snored should have been annoying, and maybe on anyone else it would be, but I liked it when he did it. They weren’t loud enough to be bothersome but enough to be noticed. I kinda liked that this handsome, successful doctor with a house overlooking the Sound wasn’t completely perfect.

It made him human, and if he wasn’t perfect, then maybe it was okay that I wasn’t either. Unlike my parents, he cared about more than what my intellect could provide to the world. Heck, he hardly even asked about my work. I knew he appreciated it because some journals about it came in the mail the other day that he must have ordered right after we met. But in our house—Oh. Em. Gee.Ourhouse—it wasn’t the most important part about me.Iwas the most important part about me, and I knew he liked me just fine. But I needed him to love me too. How could anyonenotfall in love with him?

The trouble with having the world’s best Papa was that I’d fallen in love with him too fast. Since I had exactly zero experience falling in love, there wasn’t any experience for me to gauge an appropriate timeline, but a couple of weeks didn’t seem like a very long time. But it didn’t matter. This was exactly enough time for me, and I knew Papa was the man I would be with until we were both done here. I hoped that was a long, long time from now. It would take a solid eighty years, give or take a decade, before Papa was out of my system.

First things first, though, and that was breakfast. Papa had a mid-shift and was working twelve-hour shifts for a couple of days until Christmas Eve, and then he switched to overnights. We were both a little bummed that Christmas Eve wouldn’t be spent together, but fingers crossed, no one would need him to stay late, and Papa would be home no later than mid-morning on Christmas Day. We could celebrate for the rest of the day and all night.

I was celebrating the holidays properly for the first time in my entire memory. The plan was to open presents, watch Christmas movies, and stay in our pajamas all day. Even though it would have been wonderful to wake up together on Christmas morning, I liked that Papa volunteered to work so mommies and daddies could be with their kiddos. My judgment about him had been right. He was a nice man, and the world couldn’t have too many of those.

Ugh, if I didn’t get a move on, Papa would run out of time for him to have breakfast before work. I’d stopped at the store on the way home and picked up Glitter Mist. The bottle said it was nontoxic and had all the rainbow colors, so I knew it would be perfect.

I found the waffle iron in a cabinet and set it up on the counter. I laid out the ingredients and found the proper measuring spoons and cups. I didn’t want a disaster like my last attempt, so I triple-checked the recipe to make extra, double sure I mixed everything correctly this time. Once the ingredients were dumped and stirred, I added the glitter. With everything else, I followed the instructions perfectly. The glitter was too pretty to waste, and leaving so much in the jar seemed shameful. An extra dash, or four, wasn’t too much.

My first waffle came out black, but the glitter survived without an issue. The next ones were the proper color, and the glitter was as pretty as I’d hoped. I remembered to start the coffee, so by the time the last round of waffles was finished, it was too. I found a tray in the back of the pantry and loaded it with a pitcher of coffee, a few packets of sweetener, and a tiny container of cream. Papa ignored all his own rules about sugar when it came to a proper cup of coffee. Iput waffles on a plate and then dumped the syrup over the top. Because it was supposed to be special, I found some odds and ends around the kitchen to pretty up the tray.

With steps more careful than I thought I’d ever managed, I gingerly made my way upstairs. When I reached Papa’s door, I realized I’d made the much easier decision to leave it open. Past Jakob was a smart cookie. My body demanded a happy dance, and I did my best to keep it under control—but a little booty shake never hurt anyone.

Papa lay sprawled out on the bed in the same position he’d been in when I snuck downstairs. His hair was mussed with sleep, and his cute little snuffles were barely audible. The sheet tragically covered one leg and his dangly bits. Papa must have sensed me standing in the doorway, watching him like a creeper. He cracked open one eye but quickly closed it.

“It’s too early to go to work.” I heard the smile in his voice. My Papa was happy. And, I hoped, satisfied. “Why don’t you come back to bed, love?”

When I didn’t join him, he peeked at me again. It finally struck him that I was carrying a tray.

“Whatcha got?”

I shuffled my feet and didn’t answer.

“C’mon, love, what is it?”

He scooted up in bed, sadly still covering the better view. Suddenly, my plan felt dumb. I opened and closed my mouth like a guppy, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Love, come here.”

Papa neverorderedme to do anything, but his words were firm and unmistakable. I walked to the side of the bed, dragging my feet the whole time.

“Papa, this is dumb. Just never mind.” I stepped back, but Papa held up his hand to stop my retreat. His arched eyebrow and silent question had me rolling my eyes.

“Careful, love. You only get to go so far.” Dammit. That made my dick take notice too. Ugh. Had I always thought stern Papa was a hot Papa? Yes. “Please show me what you have.”

With a put-upon sigh, which had Papa giving me another side eye, I said, “Part of the reason I was upset yesterday was that I’d already decided a few days ago that today I was going to make you breakfast because this month, I mean give or take a week, has been great. Like double scoop with hot fudge, extra whip, andcherries great, and I wanted to say thank you. And then I thought I went and ruined it, and then we did…uh, what we did last night…and it just occurred to me when I was in the doorway that maybe you thought I was thanking you for sex with waffles and that doesn’t seem like a fair trade except I really like waffles so I’d be happy if someone thanked me for sex with waffles, but maybe you don’t like waffles, and now it just seems really dumb. But the waffles are legit pretty, so I’ve got that going for me.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Papa held up his hands before I word-vomited every thought in my head. Ain’t nobody got time for that. “First, I love waffles. Feel free to thank me anytime with waffles. Second, you don’t need to thank me when I should be thanking you. I feel different—which means better—since you crashed into my life. And third, can I have the waffles because I’m old-ish and you wore me out.”

Papa’s last point was delivered with an infectious grin that was, well, infectious. I returned it with one of my own.

Growing up, my parents hadn’t even considered letting me get a summer job like my brothers, but in my room, I would secretly pretend to be a server. When my parents caught me, I lied and said my professors had said movement and a towel over my arm would help me study. I don’t remember how I phrased the justification, but they’d bought it. Anyway, now was the time to finally put all the pretend practice to work.

I settled the tray across his lap with a bow. “Your breakfast is served, sir.”

I ignored the heat that flared in his eyes because I was already distracted enough being this close to him. I knew he was still naked under the sheet, and I was dressed in bear pajamas I’d snagged out of my messy bedroom this morning before going downstairs. I puffed out like a prideful cub when Papa praised how pretty the tray looked with the carafe and tiny silver bowls with cream and sweetener. He said the bud vase with the snipped evergreen was perfect too.

Everything was going better than I imagined until he picked up his fork to try the waffles. His puzzled expression when he cut into them didn’t bode well.

“Is it okay, Papa?”

I bit my lip in worry as whatever good thoughts that had been rolling around in my head flew away like someone had opened a window.

“Uh, love, what kind of glitter did you use?”

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