Page 119 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

I nod, remembering that Gracie did that with Connor. “It helps develop their palate. Connor had days where he’d only eat one thing but in general, he wasn’t a fussy eater. Gracie gave him tastes of everything she ate.”

The Gracie-seal-of-approval reassures Daddy. She is my guru in all things baby-related. Daddy seems to have accepted her authority, too, now that he sees how well her schedule is working.

“We’ll give her a taste of dinner tonight,” Daddy says. “Since there will be lots to choose from.”

He’s not wrong. There’s a ton to choose from at “Steak on the Rock.” Black caviar in a tiny dish with silver spoons, oysters in a velvety green sauce, gingered tuna, steak tartare—which is easilymy favorite as it melts on my tongue—meatballs, spicy octopus, delicate lamb chops in mint sauce, and the one Daddy gobbles down: maple-glazed bacon. Small bowls of lobster bisque and grilled asparagus arrive as sides. Or maybe just to break up the unrelenting parade of protein. Despite the carnivore overload, it’s all delicious.

Livvy thinks so, too. When she wakes up with a huge stretch and a little coo, we give her tiny tastes of the tomatoey sauce for the meatballs, the mint sauce for the lamb, and the lobster bisque. She licks her lips after every taste and sticks her tongue out after the lobster bisque.

“You have such good taste, Livvy-bit,” I tell her, as I dab my pinkie into the smear of soup left in the bottom of my bowl and touch it to her tongue.

Her grin is brighter than the lights on the tree outside.

The only thing I don’t like about “Steak on the Rock” is a funny sense that we’re being watched. The private room is on the second floor of the restaurant, with a wall of windows looking out over the square with its twinkling lights. People in the other buildings around the square can look in but I don’t have any sense that they’re watching us. The glass might be treated or something. Our nice waiter checks in twice but doesn’t linger. I don’t know why I have this hair-raising sense that someone has an unfriendly eye on us.

“Can we take an Uber home?” I ask as we wait for the waiter to bring dessert.

“Of course.” Daddy wipes his mouth. “Are you tired?”

“A little. It’s more that I feel like we’re being watched.”

Daddy straightens in the maroon-upholstered chair. “How long have you felt this way?”

I reach across the table and curl my fingers over Daddy’s. “Hmm, maybe when we left Blunts but I’m still a little self-conscious in public when I call you Daddy, so it might just have been that on the train.”

“I’m going to break the phone at the table rule for the sole purpose of putting Max on alert, baby doll.”

I nod. Safety first.

Daddy pulls out his phone and sends Max a text before tucking the phone back in his jacket pocket.

“Thank you for always taking my concerns seriously, Daddy.”

“Always, baby. Always.”

Daddy’s phone buzzes. He takes it out and reads the message, taps a quick response, and puts it away. “Mac’s inbound. He should be here around the time we’re ready to go, so there’s no rush. I want you to relax and enjoy dessert.”

“This has been wonderful, Daddy.” I squeeze his fingers. “I love having all our friends around but sometimes it’s nice to just be with you. And Livvy.”

“I always want to make time for us, baby. And that can be just you and me if you don’t want to spend time with Livvy. You’ve been wonderful with her but I appreciate you may want down time. This has to be taxing for you.”

I shake my head, feeling my hair brush my shoulders through the thin fabric of my dress. “I love taking care of her. I’m a little more tired than usual but not too much. If you could add a nap for me now and then, I think that would take care of it.”

“Okay, baby, I’ll do that.”

The door to our private dining room opens and the waiter brings the tasting flight of chocolate mousse, mini-cheesecakes, and three different types of cognac for Daddy. I don’t get any creepy vibe from him. Daddy evidently doesn’t either, although he gives the waiter an extra once-over before thanking him and asking for the bill.

As a special treat for being out together, Daddy gives me sips from each of the small glasses of cognac. I don’t really like hardalcohol but the cognac is delicious. One’s light and fruity, one’s sharp and tingly, and one’s smoky. I lick my lips like Livvy after each sip. Daddy, watching me, grins as he finishes off each glass of cognac.

By the time the waiter’s come back and Daddy’s paid for our meal—I don’t look at the bill, this is a treat and I’m sure it was an extravagance but I trust Daddy to manage our money—Mac has messaged to say he’s five minutes away. We pack up and head down to the street to wait for Master Mac.

There’s a special magic to New York at Christmas-time. Everything’s sparklier, rosier, merrier. People who would normally hurry past with their heads down meet your eyes and nod in acknowledgement. With the stores open late and playing Christmas tunes, there’s always music in the air. I cuddle under Daddy’s arm and soak in the atmosphere.

Until I meet a pair of bright blue eyes.

I straighten. She’s standing across the street, wearing an oversized coat, a gray hoodie pulled up over her hair.

I move out from under Daddy’s arm and turn Livvy’s stroller so she’s behind us, tucked against the restaurant’s outer wall. I glare at Miranda.

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