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“I know so.” He brushed her hair back off her face. “It’s sweet you wanted to cook dinner. But from now on, you’re only to cook when Daddy is here.”
She relaxed against him. “Yes, Daddy.”
He smelled so good and his touch was soothing.
“There is one other thing we need to talk about.”
“What is it, Daddy?”
“You were cleaning?”
“I was trying to get the smell of smoke out of the kitchen.”
“No, I didn’t mean just now. While the lasagna was cooking, you said you were cleaning.”
“Oh, yeah. I just . . . I wanted to clean the house.”
“It was messy?”
“No. I just thought . . . you bought me all these nice things and you’re letting me stay here, and I’m not doing anything for you. So I thought that I would clean the house and your boots. I only got part way through doing your boots.”
“Okay, Ladybug, we need to get a few things clear. You do not need to cook or clean for me, understand?”
“But what if I want to do things to look after you?”
“Well, I appreciate that, Ladybug. But the best thing you can do for me is make sure that you’re taken care of. Because I am never going to be happy if I think you have exhausted yourself trying to look after me. You get what I’m saying?”
“Yeah, I think so.” She yawned.
“Right. I’m going to order us some dinner. Why don’t you lie on the bed and just rest?”
“Okay, but I think I’ll lie on my tummy. Someone spanked my bottom.”
“Hmm, someone deserved to get her bottom spanked. And I bet she feels better for it.”
“Nobody likes that guy, Daddy.”
* * *
An hour later,she set down a half-eaten piece of pizza.
“Full, baby?”
“Yep. I had enough to eat. Unless there’s dessert. I’ve always got room for dessert.”
He snorted as he cleared up the pizza box. She was lying on her side on the bed. Normally, she didn’t like eating in bed, but the bedroom was about the only room that didn’t smell like smoke.
“No dessert.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“Didn’t you say you had ice cream today?” he asked.
“Yeah, but that wasn’t dessert. That was feeling-shaky-because-some-jerk-was-mean-to-me-ice-cream.”
“What a fucking asshole. Are you sure you didn’t get his details? A name? His number plate?”
“No, sorry,” she said. “Maybe Titus or Bonnie did.”
