Page 18 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

“Yes,” I admit.

“How many you figure’ll come to the open house?”

“Thirty plus. Everyone in our playgroup plus some age-players other members know who are excited about the prospect of having a dedicated nursery.”

“I know it’s not all about numbers, Lo but that’s thirty people who will get to express what’s in their souls, if only for one night. Anyone who opposes you can feck right off. Not every day you get to feed thirty souls.”

That thought soothes the sting. I smile into the phone, even though I know he can’t see me since I haven’t video-called. “Lanced a boil, mate. Thank you.”

“I could tell this was festering when we saw you at Halloween. Shoulda stuck around to knock some heads together. You know as soon as we find a place there, I’m applying for membership. Between you, me, and Mac, we’ll be running that place in no time. Kick some heads outta some arses.”

I chuckle at the visual. “I’ve never cared about their approval before. Why’s it bothering me now?”

“Cause you were never invested before. Your other subbies? They were playmates. Emmy’s your world. Mac’s the only man who’s approval you care about. Completely different. Someone gave me the hairy eyeball over the way I play with Shaan or Vashi? I’d be more than resentful. I’d be on the fecking warpath.”

He’s right. Ten’s attack on me and my loyalties smarts a little but what’s really got my back up is the suggestion that Mac’s unworthy of membership or that Emily’s littleness and the way we live are wrong.

“I’ve never questioned it. It feels right. It’s what Emmy needs. I just?—”

“You just want the people you respect to accept it.”

“Yes.”

“Give ‘em time. Let them get to know Mac. Show ‘em how you play with Emmy when she’s little; they might come ‘round. If they don’t? They weren’t worth your time to begin with.”

“You’re right.”

“Course I am, tosspot.”

“Wanker.”

“See you in Vegas.”

“Not if I see you first, Irish Elvis.”

Laughing, Niall hangs up.

Lighter, I put out some wet food for Emily’s stinky cat and head upstairs to get the bath ready for when my little girl gets home.

six

LOGAN

I’ve never seenEmily’s eyes go as round as they do when I open the door and flick on the lights, revealing Blunts’ newest dungeon.

“Daddy,” she breathes.

She’s seen it in several stages of construction but she hasn’t seen it since the painters left and Brenna got started.

I haven’t always been Bren’s biggest fan, and I’m still against Emily getting a tattoo but I have to admit what Bren’s done with the Nursery is enough to fulfill any little’s dreams and bring a happy tear to any daddy’s eye.

“Is everything dry?” Emily asks. “Some of it is still shiny like it’s wet.”

“Bren told me it was ready to go. I think the shine is just whatever she sealed the paint with.”

Emily slowly gravitates to the central, and most eye-catching, feature of the Nursery. It’s a huge tree, growing out of the middle of the floor, the twisting, gnarled trunk spiraling up andthroughthe ceiling. I had to get the architect who did Max’s loft in to helpwith the structural supports and permitting; she created a thing of wonder.

The ceiling has a fifteen-foot, clear plexiglass circle in it, so you can see up into the upper floor of the Nursery, where the tree branches create a canopy for the Tree House that forms the upper floor. Brenna’s painted the tree trunk. Lines of mushrooms with caps in sunset colors march up the wood. A smiling face with black button eyes peeks out from under each mushroom cup. Winding between the mushrooms are swirls of dancing fairies, their diaphanous wings glittering. A clutch of baby, fairy dragons peep out of a hollowed bole.

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