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I dig the toe of my sneaker into the carpet. “I may have been falling asleep while I was waiting. I missed the intros.”
Aspen does not look pleased. “Oh, Tanner. You need to be more careful.”
“Sorry, Aspen. Please don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad, sweetie. I’m worried.” Aspen smiles. “Come on, let’s figure out which Daddy you won so you can meet him. Can you describe him to me?”
“Oh yeah! He was huge.” I set Luna on the table to show Aspen with my hands. “He had these beautiful black eyes, a black shirt, and sooo many tattoos.”
“Did he look like a bouncer? Grumpy? Like he wanted to be anywhere but on that stage?”
Tapping my finger against my lip, I think back to a few minutes ago. “Yep! That’s him.”
“Sounds like you scored yourself Dean, one of the best Daddies around.”
“Is that his name?” I ask, blinking at Aspen. “Dean? It fits him.”
Aspen’s eyes twinkle. “Oh, this is serendipitous. Okay, Tanner. Let’s get you sorted out, and I’ll show you to the room.”
Aspen explains they reserved some of the private playrooms for the event. After each adoption, the winner and their Daddy for the night will have thirty minutes in the room to meet, discuss limits, and plan how they want to spend their hours together. During that time, a monitor will be present to ensure a good match has been made and nothing dangerous happens.
The close-out process doesn’t take long. To participate, everyone had to buy bidding tokens—which are plastic poker chips. Since payment was made in advance, any leftover balance was signed over as an additional donation to theFounding Fatherscharity. I was more than happy to allot a pretty hefty donation. My spending account is meant for expenses like this, and I haven’t used it in forever.
Aspen counts my tokens, placing the winning amount in one jar and dumping the rest into another. The chips make a satisfying clinking sound as they fall against the metal sides. Once done, Aspen pulls over a stack of papers and begins writing on the top sheet with a permanent marker.
“What’s that?” I ask, standing on my tiptoes to see better.
“Your adoption certificate,” they answer and turn the paper to show me. “See right here? Says that one Daddy Dean is the sole property of Tanner Morgan for the entirety of The Garden’s open hours on the third Saturday of September.”
“Ooh!” I make grabby hands for the fancy and official-looking certificate. The paper is heavier than I expect and embossed with a gold seal. “This is so cool!”
“Glad you like it,” Aspen says with pride. “It took Madam Eve some convincing to let me make these for everyone. I couldn’t resist.”
“I’m glad you did. It’s almost like the build-your-own stuffie store at the mall.”
“Exactly.” Aspen grins and moves around the table. “Come with me, sweetie. It’s time for you to meet your Daddy for the night.”
I nearly screech with excitement but pull it back into a giggle at the last second.
Exhaustion? What exhaustion? I get to meet my Daddy!
With Luna back in my possession and proudly displaying my adoption certificate at chest level, I follow Aspen around the edges of the main room and down the private playroom hall. This side of the building is more familiar to me than the other. Only because the little’s playroom and the pet kennel are over here.
Aspen stops outside a black door labeled with a purple six. They tap the tablet to the side of the door, lighting up the screen to check the schedule. With a confirming nod, they turn to me. “Alright, Tanner. Your Daddy is inside. Arty is this room monitor, so if you have any problems, you can use the house safeword or ask Arty, okay?”
“Safeword. Arty. New Daddy. Got it.”
Aspen laughs and shakes their head. “Good job, sweetie. It’s time.”
They reach for the doorknob, and I hold my breath as the gold circle turns without hesitation and Aspen opens the door.
FIVE
“You know what?I think I preferred the incessant tapping to the pacing,” Arty says. “You’re making me dizzy, kid.”
“Kid?” My footsteps falter. “In what universe is a man pushing fifty a kid?”
“My universe,” Arty quips with a smile. “I still have ten years on you. And you’re barely brushing forty-five. Quit being dramatic.”
