Page 22 of Ted's Temerity
“Come here, kitten,” Daddy says when my attempts to clean off my face only serve to fuel his amusement more, “let’s clean you up.”
With a sigh, I push aside the large bowl of batter I’ve been adding ingredients to and whipping to a smooth, aerated consistency, and I turn bodily to face Daddy.
He’s armed with a wet wipe and carefully, but firmly, smooths it over my nose and cheeks when I tilt my head back for him. I scrunch my nose and squirm when the cold, moist material meets my skin.
“Daddy, stop,” I complain with a whine, but he only chuckles more.
“Patience, tiny dancer,” he’s finished with the left side of my face and moves on to my right, “almost done.”
I wriggle and complain until he releases my face, then I go back to my bowl of batter. I whisk it a little longer and then, when it’s the consistency I like, I turn back to Daddy. He’s resting his hip against the counter, seemingly content to watch me work.
I hold the bowl out towards him. “Can you help me cook them, Daddy? I don’t wanna get burned.”
His eyes fill with the same warmth as when he sat on the floor and joined me as I played last night. “We can’t have that,” he agrees and takes the bowl from me, placing it on the counter beside the stove where a griddle pan is already waiting.
Producing a ladle, Daddy fiddles with the burners to preheat the pan and then melts some butter on its surface.
“Okay, kitten, ladle a pancake out onto the pan,” he says, dutifully helping to guide my hand with the scoop of batter into the center of the heated surface. He helps me slowly tip the thick liquid into a circle, then I drop the ladle back into the bowl with a satisfying splat.
Daddy gives my butt a little tap in admonishment. “You’ll be the one cleaning up the mess you make,” he warns.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good boy.”
Those words thrill me more than I can properly express, and I think he knows it.
“Now, you see how the pancake is bubbling?” he directs my attention back to the pan where the slightly wobbly circle of yellow batter has puffed up and is now dotted with bubbles.
“Yeah?”
“Well, now we flip it very carefully.” He hands me a spatula.
As with pouring the batter, Daddy holds my hand over the handle of the utensil. He helps me slide it under the cooked side of the pancake and, with a flick of our wrists, flips it over to reveal golden brown deliciousness.
My mouth waters almost immediately and I take in a deep breath, savoring the sweet, buttery scent.
“Can I have it now, Daddy?”
A snort is my only answer for a moment, but then he says, “We have a whole batch to cook first, darling.”
I groan with impatience. I want my fluffy, soon-to-be syrupy treat immediately!
“Zephyr…” Daddy’s tone is one of warning, but I do love it when his voice goes all low and serious like that. Still, I’m not planning on pushing my luck. I really do want to eat the pancakes.
With eyes wide with extra innocence, I bat my lashes and fiddle with one of the many hems of my frilly apron. “I’ll be good, Daddy.”
And I am.
It’s not too long before I’m seated at the table with a stack of fluffy, perfectly cooked pancakes in front of me, a melting pat of butter seeping into the top one. Daddy pours a generous amount of syrup for me, somehow aware that I can’t be trusted to do it myself (my sweet tooth would have me upending the whole carafe), and then I’m digging in with gusto.
Daddy eats his own portion with more refinement and patience, reaching for the wet wipes when he spies the mess of syrup on my cheeks and fingers.
“You’re a bit of a menace, aren’t you, little one?” he teases when I squeal and squirm away from the wet cloth again.
I giggle.
When I’m bigger, I’ll look back on this interaction as the cherry on top of what genuinely feels like a perfect first Daddy/boy interaction. But for now I’m excited to keep exploring this whole new world of domestic scenes with this handsome man I’ve found.
