Page 83 of Mountain Daddy

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I cringeat a photo of what I think are supposed to be pancakes.

Me: That’s a crime against food.

Papi: I think my pan was too hot.

Me: What are the black parts?

Papi: Bananas.

Me: Oh dear.

Papi: Guess I’ll need you to teach me. In person.

Papi: Soon.

Papi: How’s your day going, Baby?

I slump backin my chair, email forgotten.

It’s the simplest text. But it feels intimate. Relationship-y.

Me: It’s pretty good. Low-key. You?

Papi: Good day. Just got a little better.

Me: Do you go to the Inn every night?

Papi: You better not be going tonight.

I narrowmy eyes at my phone.

Me: Why not?

I mean, I know we’re keeping this thing between us on the down-low. But still.

Papi: Because I’m not there.

Papi: And if I miss a chance to see you, I’m going to be pissed.

Papi: And if anyone hits on you, you need to tell me. I’ll ban them.

His meathead attitude should annoy me, but it doesn’t feel overbearing. It feels cute.

I don’t know where he is if he’s not at the Inn, but riling him up more seems appropriate.

Me: Don’t worry, Daddy. I’m not coming without you.

I slap a hand over my mouth.

I can’t believe I sent that.

Papi: Dammit, Doll. I’m in public.

I laugh.

Me: Sorry.

Papi: You’re not sorry.

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