Page 13 of Milk For His Little

I made it home and pumped furiously all day, making the most of my almost unlimited supply. That my extra income would decrease wasn’t a problem. My milk money was a small percentage of what I earned from my full-time job.

Removing seven pills from the blister pack, I placed one in each compartment before removing today’s and swallowing.

Here goes nothing.

I had to get the blood pressure issue out of my head, so I bottled up the milk and sent invoices to the guys who were coming later to collect. And then I started my real job, concentrating on columns of numbers until I looked at the time and started dinner.

I made chicken nuggets because they were Kasper’s favorite. He usually ate them with ketchup, but I’d surprised him last week with homemade plum sauce, and he adored it—finger-licking good were his exact words. The vegetables were prepped and ready to be steamed, so there was nothing else to do until he arrived.

But there was something I’d forgotten. Glancing around the kitchen and mentally checking off the items on my list, I couldn’t figure out what it was. It was niggling at me, and my boy would be here soon.

A car pulling into the driveway told me he was here. One final sweep around the kitchen and my gaze alighted on the pill organizer. Damn.

I stashed it at the back of the pantry as he popped open the door and yelled, “I smell nuggets.”

He squeed and leaped into my arms.

No way was I spoiling his mood with talk of pills.

Chapter 11

Kasper

Something was wrong with Daddy, and I wasn’t sure what it was. I came bounding in, ready for my chicken nuggies and for a nice, relaxing night with him. Instead, I found myself worried. Worried about him. Worried I was doing something wrong. Worried about everything.

Something was off with him, and I wasn’t sure what it was. I didn’t think it was me, but also, what else could it be?

I ended up not being Little. The mood wasn’t there, so why force it. Instead, we watched a superhero movie snuggled on the couch. It was fine. It wasn’t like a bad day or anything, but it was just... I didn’t even know… not quite right.

When I went home that night, I knew I had to do something, because seeing him like that? I didn’t like it. It had me feeling less-than, and so I did what I always did when I feared I let someone down—I overcompensated like a boss.

I was barely through my door when I pulled out every craft supply I could find. I was going to make Daddy a card. What kind of card? A big, happy, sparkly card full of color andhappiness and everything I could ever think of. Yep, I was going to do exactly that. It would make everything better, or at least make me feel like I tried.

First I drew a picture of Daddy’s house with Daddy sitting in the backyard. Then, I decided I hated it, so I ripped it up. I ended up doing that same process six or seven times with different scenes, not liking any of what I made.

It needed to be special, something that would mean a lot to Daddy. If he had a dog, it would be easy. Everyone loves their fur babies. But he didn’t, and it took me forever for inspiration to hit, but when it did, I knew exactly what to do. I recreated the Little room at the club using different kinds of paper. It was where he first saw me and where I first saw him. It was perfect.

I tore pieces of tissue paper and construction paper and magazines, making nice piles of the scraps. When I was happy with what I had, I arranged them on a piece of cardstock, moving them until they were in the right places. When I was satisfied, I glued them down. I’d always loved doing collage work, and it had been years since I’d done it last. Thankfully, I still remembered how, and it was already looking like I wanted it to and there were still a few more steps.

Using watercolors, markers, and lots and lots of glitter, I did my best to make it come alive. To someone who saw it and had never been to the room, they’d probably think it was a classroom or something like that. But he would know. Daddy would see my work and recognize it for what it was. I just knew it.

It was three in the morning when I finally felt like the piece was done. It didn’t even end up being a card, just a picture, and that was okay. No, it was perfect, and Daddy was going to love it. There was one last step I’d complete in the morning when it wasfully dry. I’d write on the back a short letter telling him what a good Daddy he was or something. It would come to me. But I was dead on my feet, and it was time to go to bed. We’d figure everything out tomorrow when he came over.

When I woke up in the morning, there was a text from him telling me he missed me and to have a good day. It was sweet and not the first time he’d left a message like that, but it felt forced. Or that was me imagining everything, because apparently, I was really good at that.

I told him I was looking forward to our date and that I had a surprise for him. He sent me back a heart, and I slipped it into my pocket, the one in my shirt front, wanting it close to me.

After breakfast, I went to work just like normal, and the day went by remarkably quickly. I was cheating for dinner and ordered a pre-made meal from one of the local restaurants. It was baked chicken with some potatoes and veggies. Nothing I couldn’t have done on my own, but having it all ready for me meant we wouldn’t have to eat too late at night. And it wasn’t junk food, it was food-food, which I thought Daddy would appreciate.

I put it in the oven on warm and got ready, wearing my jeans and a shirt—nothing Little. We needed to talk, and that wasn’t going to happen if I was busy thinking about toys and things like that. That was if I could even get into Little space. I’d managed to get myself in quite the spiral.

Daddy texted me that he was going to be late. So, I did what any boy would do. I dug in the cupboard, found a box of cake mix, and using a recipe I found online, I managed to turn it into cookies—or a facsimile thereof. They looked wonderful. The taste was debatable. They were fine, just not “cookie” cookies. But the house smelled delightful and the effort was there.

When Daddy finally came in, I pulled him into my arms and hugged him. “I missed you.” I rubbed my cheek against his collarbone.

“I missed you a lot too, sweet boy,” he said, kissing the top of my head.

“I have a prezzie for you.” So much for staying big.

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