Page 43 of Never Let You Go

“And…who is this one for?” I ask while I push the bean well inside the slice, so Skye won’t see it right away. Alexandra is ready to set it on Skye’s plate.

Our eyes meet.

My chest warms.

“Meeee!” Skye cries as she comes out from underneath the table. Back in her chair, she takes an unsuspecting but hopeful bite. I’m anticipating the moment she finds the bean. But my fatherly joy is soon interrupted.

“Aaaah. This is soooo good,” Alexandra moans, eyes closed, a flake on the corner of her lips. Mouth still half-full, she continues, “Buttery. And crispy outside. Mellow inside. Almond… mmm.” She swallows and opens watery eyes on all of us staring at her. Then, she starts taking close-up photos of her slice.

Grace keeps looking between the two of us like this is the most fun she’s had in a while.

Skye nods and says, “I told you. Best in the world!” Then takes another large bite.

I haven’t touched my slice, yet. I’m sure it tastes much better straight from her mouth, and that’s where my eyes linger. Until today, I never knew bread tasting could be such a turn on, but after I was done with her in the kitchen, I had two choices. I could take her on the kitchen table, or I could leave.

I left.

“I don’t even have the words to describe it,” Alexandra says, her eyes not quite on me, as if she’s intimidated about giving me a compliment.

My dick stretches painfully against the seam of my jeans. This can’t be happening. My own daughter is right here, and so is my cousin, and my dick is having a life of its own, punishing me for too many months—years—of abstinence.

“I’ve been telling him to enter New England’s Best Baker competition,” Grace is saying, referring to the bread baking TV show that has viewers glued to their screens twice a year. “He won’t listen.”

Alexandra looks up at me. “Seriously. This is heaven,” she says, and I’m pretty sure what I see is admiration.

Heat spreads through me.

“A competition?” she asks me.

“A TV show.”

She narrows her eyes on me. “You don’t like the spotlight?”

I hadn’t thought about that aspect of it. I don’t think I’d mind it. I entered some competitions, back in the day, and although they weren’t televised, I kinda liked the public aspect of it. “I don’t have time for that.” I shrug.

“Interesting,” she says, drawing out the word like I’m some fucking experiment.

“Skye, what do you think? You want to see your daddy on TV?” she asks.

Skye rounds her eyes and nods frantically, her mouth too full to talk.

Grace giggles, and I know what she’s thinking.

Because I’m thinking the same thing. Alexandra knows what makes me tick. I guess it’s not rocket science. Single dad and all, I’m bound to be swayed by my little girl.

“I think your daddy would look awesome on TV.” She taps her phone, like she’s got some footage there to prove it.

I could get addicted to this.

She points to the galette and to the rolls now sitting on the side table. “This needs to be shared with the rest of the world. Seriously.” Her eyes land on me, and it’s more convincing than any speech.

“I mean, how good are the other bakers?” she asks, looking around the table.

I give her my cocky-smile, silent answer. Not as good as me.

But I feel the need to prove that to her, and maybe that’s primitive of me.

So what.

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