Page 29 of Daddy's Muse
He paused, fingers tightening ever so slightly around the cleaning rag he held.
“I’ll, um… I’ll get that for you right away,” he said, turning quickly toward the back kitchen, the tips of his ears practically glowing red.
When he returned with the plate, I noticed the whipped cream on top was shaped into a small heart.
“Can’t go wrong with chocolate.” He looked at me through his heavy lashes, unknowingly tempting me with his demureness. After placing the pie in front of me, he stood in place and fiddled with the edge of his apron, looking unsure.
I glanced around, confirming that I was the only customer in at the moment. “Sit,” I offered gently. “Please.”
“Okay,” he murmured, a small smile softening his face. He gingerly sat down across from me.
I smiled back at him, pleased at his growing ease. Each visit, he stammered less and made eye contact more. Taking a bite of the chocolate pie, I hummed my pleasure and watched the way his eyes lit up in response. So eager to please.
“Very good,” I complimented. “Thank you, Colby. Excellent choice.” His slight hitch of breath at my praise didn’t go unnoticed.
“I’m glad you like it,” he breathed, cheeks still pink.
“Do you like all of the different flavors?”
“Yeah, they’re all yummy.”
I took another bite, savoring the creamy texture. Swallowing, I said, “Bring me another slice. Any flavor.”
He perked up and nodded, quickly jumping up and heading to the kitchen.
It took him only a minute to return with a second plate.
Setting it down at the table, he excitedly chirped, “This is coconut cream!”
As he sat back down in the booth, I pointed at the plate. “For you.”
Colby blinked at me in confusion. “For me?”
Oh, my sweet boy.
“Yes. For you to eat. It’s nice to eat with someone once in a while, isn’t it?”
Colby hesitated, his eyes flitting from the plate to my face as if trying to gauge whether I was serious. I tilted my head slightly, offering a patient smile that I knew always helped lower his guard.
He bit his lip—a nervous habit I’d noticed—and murmured, “Okay… yeah. Thank you.” He picked up the fork slowly, like he thought the pie might vanish if he moved too fast. He took a small bite, almost shy, then let out a soft, surprised hum.
I didn’t miss the way he closed his eyes for a second as he chewed.
“It’s good?” I asked, watching the bob of his throat as he swallowed a little too closely.
He nodded, still chewing, the pink tip of his tongue darting out to catch a bit of cream at the corner of his mouth. “It’s my grandmother’s favorite,” he admitted after he swallowed.
“Ah, I’m sure she has great taste.”
Colby bounced a little in his seat. “She really does. She makes the best monkey bread.”
My brow quirked. “Monkey bread? What is that?”
“You know those cake pans that look like big donuts? With the hole in the middle?”
I laughed, “Yes?”
He lit up. “Okay, so you pick apart biscuit dough to make these little balls, then you roll the balls in cinnamon, sugar, and butter, and then you dump all the balls in one of those pans and bake it! It’ssogood.”
