Page 11 of Daddy's Protection
Despite the spooky situation she found herself in, the thought of going out to breakfast with Isaiah still excited her.
How could it not? He was so freaking handsome!
He was a tall, strong Black man with close-cropped hair and muscles to spare. She guessed he was former military, because he still had that warrior look about him.
And those protective vibes that drove her wild…
She could barely keep from staring at the way his tight gray polo shirt bulged around his protruding biceps. It had been evident that he was gorgeous the night before. But it had been dark and there’d been so much going on. Now, in the light of day, she was about to melt… and it had nothing to do with the California sun.
“All right,” he said with a smile. “Let’s hit the road.” Looking at the other Littles, he said, “You all aren’t going to get into trouble, are you?”
They chuckled.
“No, Uncle Isaiah. We’re going to Auntie Athena’s while our Daddies work,” Iris replied.
“And we have to go to the studio,” Harrison said. “We just dropped by to show off Stryker’s latest invention.”
Cami watched as Isaiah smiled at the news.
“Good,” he said. “I love you all. But I’m not sure I trust you to be left alone unsupervised.”
The group laughed.
Cami wondered what had happened in the past.
Clearly, the Littles had developed a reputation.
About thirty minutes later, Cami was seated at a booth across from Isaiah in a diner that looked as if it had been transplanted from the 1960s.
At the latest.
The counter up front was lined with wood paneling. Behind it, servers were busy grabbing food from the window that led to the kitchen, refilling coffee cups, and taking orders.
Some servers left the area, venturing out into the dining room where hungry patrons sat at the booths that probably held years of grease, aromas, and smoke.
The place was clean, though. It was just a time capsule.
“What do you do here?” Isaiah asked after they’d ordered breakfast.
Cami took a sip of her coffee before answering. “I don’t actually work for the diner. But I’m painting their window.”
“Painting a window?”
She nodded and said, “If you look over your shoulder, they have water and surfboards and stuff on their window right now.They have something new every season. Well, they’re kind of late changing it. But they called me to make it something more fall-ish. And they’ve already asked me to do a Christmas thing after Thanksgiving.”
“So you’re an artist,” Isaiah surmised with a hint of appreciation in his eyes.
“Yes!” she said, unable to stifle a proud smile. “I do lots of windows around town. But that’s not all I do. I’ve done murals on buildings—inside and out. Not a lot. But I might have some coming up! And I paint on canvas, too. One day I’m going to sell them. And maybe have my own gallery or something.”
He took a drink of his own coffee and then said, “I bet you will.”
“I bet I know what you’re wondering,” she stated.
“What’s that?”
“How does a starving artist afford that big Victorian house in Angelino Heights?”
His head shook slightly. “Your financial situation isn’t any of my business.”
