Page 93 of Santa Daddies
“Want to add a who and a where to those?”
“Daddeee! No! I know the who is you and the where is the one thing I think I’ll be good to have remain a mystery even Detective Henry can’t solve.”
He laughed. “Just because you’d like to deny its existence, I promise you, babygirl, there is a where. In fact, I believe you’ll find the first piece waiting for you in the bedroom.”
I stared at him, trying to gauge whether that sounded ominous or exciting. Glancing down the hall, I asked, “What do you mean the first piece? Since when does a list come in pieces?”
“Since I decided they do.”
He said it so casually, as if that was the only explanation required, and I supposed it was. Bending slightly, he set me on my feet.
“Go ahead, I have complete faith you’ll be able to decipher it.” He reached around to pat my butt.
“Decipher it? Oh, let me guess, you wrote it in pig Latin.”
“Nope, but I’ll keep that in mind.” When I just stared at him, he tilted his head toward the bedroom.
“Oh, you mean, like now?”
“Yep.”
“But, I… I can help you clean the kitchen!”
“Uncle Leo and Uncle Phillip took care of that.”
“Um. I could straighten the living room!”
“It’s not messy.”
My mind was spinning trying to come up with something, anything to delay the inevitable. “I could unset the dining room table! I mean, I used a lot of stuff that needs to be put back in place.”
“Tomorrow’s another day,” he said, his grin telling me he was enjoying this immensely.
“The trash?”
His eyebrow quirked. “Babygirl, do you seriously think I’d ever ask you to take out the trash? Let alone let you go outside in the dark by yourself.”
“Well, no, but you didn’t ask, I volunteered.”
“How about you volunteer to be a good girl and go to the bedroom? I’ll be there afterItake out the trash.”
“But what if there are bears or…”
“One, two?—”
“Jeez, there’s no need to count. I’m going!”
I waited until I was halfway down the hall before turning back. “I want it to go on record that this isnotmy idea of the best way to start a happy holiday season!”
“Duly noted.” He twirled his finger in a circle, instructing me to turn around and quit stalling.
Seriously, though, who makes a Christmas list in pieces?
Your Santa Daddy, that’s who.
Chapter Four
Austin
