Page 34 of A Daddy for Christmas 2: Kitt

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I could see Kitt getting more and more nervous the closer we got to Atlanta, but there was no need. I reached over to squeeze his hand and reassure him.

“What’s going on in your head?”

“Just worried about what’s going to happen now.”

“Right now, we’re going to stop by the store to get some food. I haven’t been home in a while, so the refrigerator is empty.”

I pulled in the parking lot of the closest grocery to me just a few minutes before they closed the doors and ran inside to get a few things. I had some staples, but I picked up some milk, bread and fresh fruit, some hot dogs and chips and a rotisserie chicken. I got Kitt a frozen macaroni and cheese, and even found a Christmas cake for him. Like I said, I didn’t have long to shop. They actually locked the door behind me as I left the building,no doubt in a hurry to get home to start their holiday, and who could blame them? It was almost Christmas Eve.

Kitt turned in surprise as I loaded the bags in the back. “I’m starving,” he said, and I smiled at him.

“Me too. I got us some things to last for a day or so until things open back up after Christmas. We’ll have plenty to eat, though it might not be fancy.”

In another ten minutes, we were at my apartment, and I pulled the SUV into the parking lot, and we went upstairs. I lived on Peachtree Road, near midtown, in a high rise on the sixth floor, with a pretty good view of Piedmont Park. It was possible, though unlikely in my opinion, that anyone was watching my apartment, but we entered from the garage area just in case. It was restricted to residents only, so I thought it was pretty safe. Besides, I was running out of places to take him and places for us to hide. I decided that if they were watching my home, then I’d cross that bridge when and if I came to it, and I wasn’t planning on staying there too long anyway.

While Kitt was looking around my apartment, I went over to get a fire started in the fireplace to help knock off the chill inside and then fix us some dinner.

Kit was wandering around aimlessly and stopped by a window to stare outside. I knew Jazz was still on his mind. I decided to fix the hot dogs, because they were quick and easy. When they were done, I put them on paper plates and set them on the counter. There were condiments in the refrigerator, and I added a bag of chips and got out a soda for Kitt too.

“You don’t get to eat like this all the time,” I told him. “It’s not good for you. This is just for tonight, because we’re both tired.”

“Okay,” he said and grinned at me as he stuffed way too many chips in his mouth, like he was afraid I’d snatch them backif he didn’t eat fast. Then he shook up his can and held it out toward me like he was going to spray me with it.

“Stop that and behave yourself. You’ll make a mess and you’re a guest in my house, so stop it right now and mind your manners.”

He flushed and looked instantly chastised. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Put that soda back in the refrigerator—it’s undrinkable now. Get yourself a glass of milk instead.”

“Okay,” he said meekly, which I didn’t believe for a minute, and he poured himself some milk.

“Can I have the Coke later?”

“No. You blew it.”

“But I said I was sorry.”

“So?”

His face fell even further, and I gave him a few minutes to think about it before I relented. “There’s ice cream in the freezer, and you can have some of that if you eat all your dinner and behave yourself.”

He frowned at me. “I’m not five, you know.”

“Then stop acting like you are. You were about to make a huge mess in my kitchen. Who was going to clean that up?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“I know. But you need to start trying a little harder. If you want my attention, all you have to do is ask for it. Don’t act out to get it. And use your damn napkin. Don’t wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.”

He got bright pink patches in both cheeks and lowered his eyelashes until they swept over his cheeks, but he settled down after that and ate his food without any more playing around. He did make a big, sarcastic display of using his napkin when he was done, but I ignored him and finished my own dinner. I got up and poured myself a drink to help me relax.

I hated “being mean” to him, the way I knew he was thinking, but Kitt needed direction and rules to follow. If I was going to be his Daddy—and I couldn’t seem to shake that idea—I needed to be strict with him.

“Can I have one of those?” he asked me, gesturing toward my drink.

“No.” I gestured toward the mess. “Clean all this up and put everything away. Then I’ll show you where your bedroom is.”

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