Page 54 of Daddy's Muse
I opened the computer, navigating to my student email while I thought of what to say. Did I tell them I was sick? I didn’t want to lie to anybody… Maybe I was taking a vacation? A very last-minute, irresponsible vacation that I couldn’t possibly afford?
I sat with my fingers hovering over the keys for more time than I realized. When I glanced over my shoulder, Bodin was in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with a mug of coffee in his hand, eyes on me.
“You know,” he said, “if you want, I can write to them for you. You don’t even have to think about it. Just focus on resting.”
It sounded tempting—too tempting—but I forced a smile and said, “I think I can handle an email.”
His smile didn’t falter, but something in his gaze tightened just a fraction. I wasn’t sure why.
I turned back to the laptop, typing slower than usual, my brain still foggy from the night before.
“Hi Professor, I won’t be in class today. I’m not feeling well.”
I stared at it for a moment before hitting send. No explanation and no details. I felt guilty.
Pulling up Mae’s contact on my phone, I typed out an excuse.
Colby:
Hi Mae, I’m so sorry, but I won’t be able to come in for a few days.
Dealing with some things.
“That’s perfect,” Bodin said from right behind me. I jumped; I hadn’t heard him walk up. “Short and simple. They don’t need to know more than that.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Maybe I should tell them what happened?”
He stepped closer, his hand resting on my upper back. “Colby. Do you really want everyone poking around in your business right now? You need space to breathe.”
I hesitated. “I guess… You’re probably right.”
He grinned, squeezing my shoulder, his thumb digging into the tense muscle there. “Of course I am. I’ve been around longer, seen more of the world. Trust me to handle this.”
The warmth of his hand lingered even after he walked away, leaving me staring at my half-open inbox. My phone buzzed—two new messages—but before I could reach for it, Bodin called from the kitchen, “Bring the laptop in here, baby.”
“Okay, coming,” I called back.
The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and butter, the kind of cozy that could make you forget the world outside.
Pappa slid a plate toward me—thick slices of French toast dusted with powdered sugar, syrup already drizzled in perfect ribbons. “Eat up.”
“But I just ate?” I looked at the yummy treat with equal parts confusion and desire. It lookedreallygood.
“I know, but you need to get your energy up after such a rough night. Plus, I know you love your sweets. Think of it as a mid-morning snack,” he said.
I licked my lips and nodded. “Okay. Thank you, Pappa.”
As I was about to dig in, a message from my boss lit up my phone where it sat on the counter, on top of the laptop.
Mae:
You okay?
Want to talk?
Before I could reach over and open it, Pappa’s voice cut in. “Let me see that, little one.”
Pappa snapped up my phone, eyes scanning the text.
