Page 17 of Daddy Marc's Gem

“I'd like that.”

“Good. Then my first question as your Daddy is this: have you eaten dinner yet?”

He wasn’t sure how dinner was relevant, but he was committed to accepting Marc’s guidance. “I was too nervous. I figured I could always get something later. But no worries. I’m not that hungry.” As if bent on making him a liar, his stomach growled. He winced. “Perhaps a little hungry.”

Marc pressed his lips together. “This will be our first discussion after I get you fed. Being honest about how you feel and what you want.”

“It’s only dinner. I don’t want to be any trouble if you’ve already eaten.”

Marc’s eyes narrowed, and Foster knew he’d already failed his first day of Boy Class.

“Foster. What does Daddy know?”

Foster blinked several times.What’s he talking about?

Marc arched his eyebrows. “Finish the sentence. Daddy knows…”

Foster smacked his forehead. “Best. Daddy knows best.”

Marc grinned and stole a quick kiss. “Excellent. Now let’s get my beautiful boy fed.”

Beautiful? Oh yeah. This Daddy stuff was sounding better and better all the time.

Chapter Seven

Marc hid a smile as he put away the leftover food from the stop he’d made to get Foster’s dinner. Normally, he would’ve preferred to cook for his boy, but it was late and he wanted to get eating out of the way. Even at his age he was filled with excitement over the prospect of being Foster’s Daddy.

Foster perched on a barstool at the kitchen island, his slender fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the granite countertop. The boy had been fidgeting all evening, starting conversations only to let them trail off into silence.

Foster cleared his throat. “That was really good. Thanks again.”

Marc closed the refrigerator door. “Excellent. I’ll add vegetable lasagna to your list of favorite foods.”

Foster’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?” He let out a shaky chuckle. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic. I’m genuinely surprised. I apologize for questioning you so much.”

“Hmm…” Marc leaned against the sink, drying off his just-washed hands. “First off, I’m very serious. How can I give you the best of everything if I don’t know what that is? As for apologizing, I’ve noticed you do that quite a lot. That can be one of the first things we work on.”

Foster’s brow creased. “It’s just that I didn’t want you to think I was being rude.”

“How about this?” Marc smiled to help ease Foster’s anxiety. That was another thing he’d have to work on with him, but he didn’t want to vocalize it yet. Already, he could tell how desperate Foster was to please. “Say anything and everything. Ask me whatever you like. If, for some reason, I find somethingyou’ve said rude or disrespectful, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, it’s open season.”

Foster’s mouth was hanging open. He snapped it shut, then gave a quick shake of his head. “I don’t know what to say.” Foster placed the back of his hand to his lips. “I’ve been walking on eggshells my whole life.” He inhaled a shuddering breath. “I’m not sure I know how to behave any other way.”

Marc’s heart ached for Foster, for his boy. He was more determined than ever to help Foster find his way—even if they didn’t make it as a couple. He swallowed past a lump in his throat. Damn, but how he wanted everything to work out between them.

Marc moved around the kitchen island so he could wrap him in his arms. Foster stiffened for just a moment before melting into Marc's embrace. The tension in his shoulders gradually released, and a strange mixture of pride and protectiveness washed over him. This beautiful, fragile creature trusted him, even if only for a moment.

“Listen to me.” Marc pressed a soft kiss to Foster’s temple before continuing. “I don't want a boy who walks on eggshells. I want one who dances across hardwood floors, who stomps in puddles, who leaves footprints in the sand.” He pulled back just enough to tilt Foster’s chin up. “I want to see you, not some carefully constructed version you think I want.”

Foster’s blue eyes glistened. “But what if the real me isn’t enough?”

The question pierced Marc’s heart. How many times had someone made this man feel as if he wasn’t wonderful? That he had to be someone else, or he wasn’t worth bothering with.

Marc tightened his embrace. resting his chin on Foster’s head. “My sweet baby. Let me take this burden from you. I’ll carry your fears if you’ll only allow me to. You said you wantedto try having me as your Daddy. This right now? This is exactly what it means to be my boy, to allow me to take care of you.”

Foster's fingers curled into Marc's shirt, holding on as if afraid he might disappear. “O-okay. You have my permission. It’s so strange to say such a thing, but you’ll help me with all of that, right? You know, remembering that it’s okay to be your boy, that I’m not being too needy.”

Marc pulled back, pinching his eyebrows together. “That’s an odd way to put it. Did Edward or someone ever say that about you?”

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