Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Lavender smiles. “Now, that was a mess. But he never drank the last of my milk again.” Lavender folds from the waist so her eyes meet Daisy’s. “I’ll give you one of my lot if you like.”
“You can’t give people.” Daisy chuckles.
“Your uncle might have something to say about that.” Lavender's quiet murmur is a touch sardonic. But Daisy isn’t listening as she clasps her hands together as though in prayer.
“I really want a baby sister. Or brother.”
“I suppose that’s a better idea than me gifting you one of mine. Then you get to be top dog,” Lavender, the middle child of a large brood, replies. I suppose that answers some of my questions about her attitude. “But back to breakfast.” Her attention flicks to the wall clock above Daisy’s head. “I have to get dressed for work. And here’s the thing. No one is going to tell you off when there’s only you and me in here. In fact, I’m going to dare you to eat your breakfast the same way as I did.”
Daisy begins to shake her head.
“I double dog dare you,” Lavender adds, ticking Daisy under the chin.
“I’m scared.”
“Of a tiny pancake? There’s no need to be. Know why?” Lavender asks, hopping sideways over to the fruit bowl. She reaches for a banana, peeling it quickly before shoving half of it into her mouth. She bites. Savagely.
Fuck. I almost felt that.
“Shee?” she says, chewing around it. “If you’re scared”—she swallows—“you can just bite it off.”
I stifle a chuckle. Good that she doesn’t seem scared of cock. Or else I’d be revising my fantasies right now. Real or imagined, I’d like my cock to stay attached to my body.
“Come on,” she cajoles, and at last, Daisy gives a determined nod.
Lavender helps her pour a little batter onto the electric crepe maker before running the wooden implement through it. The pair flip it together, and then, sliding her hands under my niece’s arms, she lifts her down from the counter. The pair begin to count down.
“Five. Four. Three. Two, and…”
“Go!” shouts Daisy, louder than I’ve ever heard her voice before.
Lavender flips the crepe, and it lands squarely—roundly?—on Daisy’s face. “Well done!” She whoops. “Munch… now!”
My niece begins to chomp, and I’m surprised (and relieved) I don’t need to administer the Heimlich maneuver. I can’t help but smile at the scene before me, though I have a strong sense that I’m missing something. The reason for their connection, maybe? Daisy is always frighteningly polite, but trust is something she doesn’t often give.
Lavender kneels and hugs Daisy in congratulations. The little girl’s arms slide around her neck, and she seems to whisper something to her.
Lavender pulls back, her expression soft. “That’s not going to happen anymore.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m very smart and extremely conniving. Do you know what conniving means?”
Daisy shakes her head.
“That’s because you’re a much nicer person than me.”
“But you’re a nice person.” My niece’s expression is very solemn. “Or Uncle Raif wouldn’t have married you.”
“You’re sure he didn’t think I might save him some money?” She pushes to stand, and I take that as my cue. Daisy spots me first, though I press my finger to my lips.
Hush.
“Looks like breakfast is taken care of,” I announce, leaning into place my mouth next to Lavender’s ear. Daisy giggles with delight, and I jerk back just in time as my wife spins to face me, and her palms land on my chest. My wife. Where the fuck did that come from? “Morning.” I cover her hands with mine. No escape for you.
“Hey.” Her cheeks are a delicious pink as I tip forward and press my lips to hers. They flicker but don’t quite pucker.
“Sugar,” I murmur, pulling back. “I was kind of hoping you’d feed me a little sugar in bed this morning.”
“If you’re expecting breakfast in bed—” Her words halt at my playful expression.
“Now, who’s a spoilsport,” I whisper under my breath.
“We had crepes, Uncle Raif,” Daisy says, unusually giddy.
“So I see.” I turn to my niece, glancing at the mayhem in the usual pristine kitchen. Bowls. Jugs. A variety of different-sized spoons. There’s more than a splash of milk on the countertop, a sugar crunch underfoot.
“Would you like some?” she asks as I peel a little crepe from her fair hairline.
“Maybe I’ll just have this piece,” I say, studying it between my fingertips. “Saving the washing up, I see.” I smile Lavender’s way.
“That was the plan,” she singsongs back.
“Where’s Sam?” I know he didn’t make this mess, but the kitchen is the chef’s domain.
“There have been two messages this morning,” Lavender says brusquely, turning and flicking the crepe maker off. “Apparently, both Sam and Maria have come down with some kind of stomach thing.”
“Well, shit.”
“That’s not what they said, but it could be.”
I slide her an exasperated look.