Page 7 of Daddy's Protection
Her color was returning and her breathing seemed to stabilize.
“I’m Isaiah Colton,” he said as he extended his hand.
She shook it quickly, barely gripping it. But it was enough for him to realize her palm was sweaty. “I’m Cami Foster.”
He hated how scared she was. But she no longer seemed to be on the verge of a full-blown anxiety attack.
“It’s great meeting you, Cami. You’re not alone now. I’m here. You’re safe. We’ll get through this.” He smiled.
It took a moment, but Cami eventually smiled, too.
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
“No need to call me sir.”
She looked adorable as she blushed. “Sorry. It’s just… you’re a Daddy. I’m a Little.” Her cheeks glowed red as she clearly grew embarrassed. “I mean, I assume you’re a Daddy. You’re in the Daddy Guard.”
Isaiah chuckled. “Yes, Cami. I’m a Daddy. And if you feel better calling me sir, then… well, you just call me whatever you want. Now, is it okay if we sit in there and talk about what happened?” He jerked his head toward the parlor just beyond the cased opening.
“Not in there!” she yelled. She drew a deep breath, exhaled, and continued. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so loud. It’s just… well, that’s where the ghosts were. How about we go in this room?” She led the way toward the cased opening to her left. “The house has two parlors. I do more in this one, anyway.” She led the way.
Inside, he found a room that indeed looked more “lived in” than what he’d briefly seen through the opening of the other one.
A television hung over the fireplace. The couch had a cozy blanket on it. The end table had a Kindle and remote control.
“This is really too much house for me,” she explained as she sat on the couch. “But it’s free, so I live here. Please, have a seat.”
Isaiah eased himself into a chair that was close to the couch. “Thanks. It’s nice. What year was it built?”
“I think 1890,” she said. “Maybe 1891.”
“Wow. That’s even older than the Guard’s mansion.”
Cami seemed to perk up a little. “Iris and Lana told me an old actress used to live there!”
“Yep. An old actor, too. A comedian. Fatty Arbuckle. I read up on him. He had an interesting career that sort of ended in tragedy and scandal. But right now, I want to hear about what’s going on with you, honey.”
He hoped he hadn’t overstepped, calling her that.
Apparently, she wasn’t ready to move on, though. “Fatty? That’s not a very nice name.”
“Agreed,” Isaiah said. “I guess it was a different time. Though I still don’t approve of it. That’s what he went by, though. It was his stage name. First name was Roscoe, if I’m remembering correctly.”
She seemed to be reflecting on it for a moment. “I guess I’m sensitive to that. Since I’m fat and all.”
“Whoa there, little lady. Don’t talk like that.” He paused before saying, “I’m sorry. Daddy instinct. I had no right to give you an order.”
But the slight smile on her face indicated she didn’t mind.
“Yes, sir. It’s just that… I’ve been made fun of before for being… plus size.”
“You’re just the right size,” he said. “As long as you’re healthy and happy. And I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
The Little shook her head. “It’s not your fault. I, uh, should probably tell you what’s going on here, though. You didn’t come over here in the middle of the night to give me a therapy session or hear about my body issues.”
Isaiah most definitely wanted to hear all about her and talk about whatever she needed to get off her chest. That could wait, though.
“No worries,” he told her. “Take your time.”
