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What? I don't have the heart.
I march into the kitchen, determined to say what’s on my mind for fucking once. "We have a goddamn problem."
My first servant ticks his head up. "Sir?"
"Someone screwed up Cory’s silverware." I clench my fists, unable to believe I’m surrounded by such incompetence.
The servant bows. "That was me, sir. I thought he would be Big this morning. Not Little."
At least my servant has a reasonable explanation.
I issue him a curt nod. "Please replace his sterling silver fork and knife with the baby ones I purchased earlier this week."
My servant bows again. "Yes, sir."
I return to the table, settling into my seat with a sigh escaping me. Unbelievable—the shit I put up with. Gosh, you’d think it’d be easy to keep track of when Cory’s Little and Big.
Actually—Cory will be Little this entire weekend. How my damn servants missed the memo, I’ll never know.
Cory ticks his adorable brows up. "Everything okay, Daddy?"
"Just a servant who put out sterling silver eating utensils instead of plastic," I huff, dragging in a sip of coffee to calm my shaky nerves.
Life is so damn hard sometimes.
Cory bites back a grin. "I’ve never eaten with plastic utensils before."
"You’ll love these, boy. I bought them long, long ago—I never had a chance to use them."
"I’m sorry."
"I’ve been saving them for a Little who’ll cherish them."
Cory sticks his finger in his whipped cream. "You can count on me."
The servant brings them out, then swaps Cory’s "adult" utensils for Little ones.
When Cory lifts the plastic fork and knife, a smile crests on his features. "These are much better."
I take another sip of my coffee. "Glad to hear that, boy. I'd be very disappointed if you didn’t like them—every Little should get a kick out of these bad boys."
Cory waves the fork at me. "Good boys. Never say bad in my presence."
"I was using an expression."
He shakes his head. "Doesn’t matter. Littles are only ever good—never bad. Their Daddies are the bad ones… when they don't give them love and treats."
Emotion blooms in my heart, and I can’t help but feel like the substance that sits on top of his waffles—ooey-gooey whipped cream.
"You’re right, boy." I fight the urge to blow him a kiss. "So smart."
"Smart is my middle name."
I watch as Cory digs into his waffles, using his new fork and knife to cut them into itty bitty pieces. For a moment, I’m tempted to bridge the gap between us and slice his food for him—then, I recall that Daddies should never do for Littles what Littles can do for themselves.
Character building—that’s what it’s called. The worst thing a Daddy could do would be to pamper his boy so he becomes a spoiled brat.
Errr—that wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. In Cory’s case, it’d be cute.
