Page 127 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
She wasn’t wearing it last night—because she was at Logan’s and felt safe, she told me—but she put the bright yellow, plastic-looking bracelet on when we got dressed this morning. It blended perfectly with the other bracelets she usually wears.
Logan nods. “Least I could do, Maxie. Would you talk to her about getting chipped, too? I can’t tell you how much comfort it gave me to have immediate information from Squid about where you were when the alarm bells went off.”
“No problem. I’ll mention it tonight.”
“What about her family? D’you think they’d go after any of them?”
“I honestly don’t know what they’ll do on American soil. But they’re not good guys. I’ll talk to her about it. I haven’t even met them yet, Lo.”
He chuckles. “That’ll go down well. ‘Hi, I’m your daughter’s new boyfriend and I need to put a tracker chip in each of you in case you get snatched off the street by bad guys as leverage over me.’ You should know, De Leon messaged me every fucking day you were gone offering to take out whoever was after you.”
“He offered me the same thing. I told him no.”
“Glad we’re on the same page. I can’t believe he cornered me into agreeing to bring him to playgroup.”
“He’s a manipulative dick,” I agree.
“Did your time together in England change your thinking about him at all? Do you think it’s safe letting him be around the littles?”
I waggle my hand horizontally. “He wants in so badly, I think he’ll be on his best behavior. But one of the reasons I invited everyone to Clay Makers is because I’m hoping to have the chance to talk to a couple of the other daddies about him before next playgroup.”
Logan claps me on the shoulder. “Let it never be said you’re a pretty face, Maxie.”
“Hey.” I throw off his hand. “It’s notjusta pretty face, buddy. This mug always has been and always will be prettier than yours.”
He grins at me and it makes me aware I haven’t seen enough smiles from Logan since I got back. Either my adventures in England really rattled him, or something else is going on. His words last night about Emily having too many reasons to doubt him recently come back to me. I hate that he feels that way. If today’s about making time to spend with my family, the person who needs me to make time for him the most might be standing right in front of me.
I keep that in mind as Cynnie and Emily come bouncing—literally—back into the room, wearing matching shortie overalls and stripey thigh-highs. Cynnie’s are pale blue denim, while Emily’s are, predictably, pink. The overalls are the most form-fitting thing I’ve seen Cynnie wear and I have to stuff my tongue back into my mouth after drooling over the way her sweet curves stretch the denim.
She’s left her hair down in a silky, black fall to her shoulders. I sink my hands into it as soon as she bounces over to me.
“You look good enough to eat,” I whisper into her ear, letting a little growl rumble under my words.
She shivers and presses against me. “You did that already this morning, Oppa.”
“Gonna do it again tonight, too,” I tell her between heated kisses. “Can’t get enough of my bumble’s honey.”
She giggles, and wiggles, and fills my chest with Daddyness.
twenty-six
I don’t pretendto have any artistic ability. And the five littles assembled at Clay Makers are definitely more interested in playing with the wet goo than they are creating masterpieces.
Cynnie, Aggie, Yumiko, and Sammi look like they’ve taken mud baths. Even Emily, who I so rarely see get messy, has gray goop up to her elbows, all over her pink overalls, and smeared into her dark curls.
Warrin turns out to be the artistic dark horse among the daddies. He makes tiny figurines of all the littles’ stuffies (kept safe from the clay in a plastic bin at another table) that the “Clay Maker,” a twenty-something with hair pinker than Emily’s overalls, bears off to the kiln with a smile. I attempt a hive for Cynnie’s bee, but it comes out looking more like the poop emoji, provoking a worried expression from the Clay Maker as it disappears into the back. Logan creates something he says is a rainbow with clouds at either end; Jack immediately christens it the “boob bridge.” The Clay Maker puts it on a shelf to “dry,” which I guess means she’s not dignifying the boob bridge with a trip through the oven.
Amid the mess, the squees and giggles, and extremely questionable handicrafts, Logan and I quietly discuss De Leonwith Jack, Warrin, and Bravo. Jack and Warrin look pensive after we explain who he is and what we know about him. But Bravo, who is nearly as scary as De Leon, starts smiling.
“Yes,” Bravo says.
“Yes, we should find a reason to send him out of the country before next playgroup?” I ask.
Bravo chuckles. “Yes, let him come. I’ll make sure he doesn’t put a foot outta line. But he won’t. I met Yummy before Ginger created the playgroup, so none of you know what I used to be like. This fella sounds as closed-off as I was before I met my little. I’ll steer him right. Don’t worry.”
I glance at Logan who shrugs.
“I still think he needs a shit-ton of therapy before he tries to be a daddy,” I say.
