Dear Diary (Love, Daddy 7)

“So, you didn’t know your father at all growing up?”

“Not until later. My mom died when I was twelve so… I was alone pretty much all the time after I moved to my dad’s. He never was interested in me before then. Well, he was on the birth certificate, and my mom left him a note in her will, sort of telling him he had to step up, so I sort of became his responsibility. He had another family, a wife who always felt I was an intrusion into their perfect life with his new daughter who was never intentionally cruel to me, just sort of indifferent.”

My heart wrenches. More at the detached, unemotional way she says it than the news itself. It’s clear that she has worked hard to insulate herself from the pain.

“I’m sorry, baby.” I don’t mention the PI information I had. It did include her mother’s death, and that she had been living with her father, but I wanted her to tell me. I don’t ever want her to know that I dug into her life, her past, my suspicions over her potential alignment with whomever is setting me up with the harassment cases. I want to know more, but I already regret asking her about her childhood, only because I see the pain in her face. I can’t bear to see her hurting. “What do you want to do someday?” With a smile, I add, “When you grow up?”

She grins, and a blush stains her cheeks when she looks down at her outfit. “Well, I mean, winning the marketing internship has been fun, but I really want to write children’s books. And bake. Maybe a baking show for kids where I read then bake something and they can follow along at home.” She pulls her shoulder to her ear, her eyes low. “Probably dumb. I don’t know for sure. But, you asked.”

I inhale. “Not dumb and yes I asked so promise me you will always be honest. Whatever you need to say, with respect of course, I need to know. If it’s important to you, it’s probably more important to me.”

She shrugs, twisting her luscious pink lips to the side, and I feel a change of subject is the right thing at the moment.

“Okay, one other thing. Something fun. Something that makes your heart happy.”

“So, I used to have a frog that I picked up at the pond outside my dad’s house. I named it Robinson. Then I took Robinson out one day and he made a friend.”

“Let me guess. A toad.”

She grins, thoroughly enjoying herself. “No! It was another frog. I named him Crusoe. The three of us used to have long conversations.”

My heart twists so hard, the agony rips through me. I picture my little angel sitting and talking to her pet frogs. How lonely she must have been.

“I want to write about the adventures Robinson and Crusoe, and I had. Robinson gets into trouble everywhere, Crusoe wins people over, and they both come out teaching lessons and jumping off into the next adventure.”

I chuckle in admiration and she laughs.

“Don’t laugh. There’s other storylines, too. It’s what makes me happy, making up the stories. They are all more for kids, not serious.”

“I'm dying to hear them all.” I reach for her arms and pull her upright, taking her wrist and turning toward the ottoman again. Her breath grows raspy but she continues to speak. “It’s perfect. I’ll do whatever I can to help you write your stories. To make your dreams come true. That’s my promise to you.”

“Why are you doing all of this for me?”

I furrow my brow, unsure how she can’t know. “Because, I’ve found what I’ve been looking for my whole life. Making you happy gives me something I never thought I would have and I intend to make the rest of our lives extraordinary, baby.”

She’s quiet for a long moment as Albert squawks and swears, then calls her a princess. Then an asshole, making her smile again, and I want to make sure she smiles more everyday than she ever has before.

“Get the fuck out.” Albert screams as he picks up a piece of watermelon in his beak.

“I guess I know when I’m not welcome.” Chastity fists her hands on her hips in a playful, angry tone.

With that, I know what I want to do next, and doing it here with fucking Albert cursing and insulting us every ten seconds is not the right place, so I gather her hand and walk us back to my bedroom.

Once inside, I’m impatient, but I want her to relax so I keep our conversation going for the moment.

“So, is there anything you want to know about me?” I ask.

She nods on a sly smile, licking her lips, her eyes staying glued to my crotch as I slowly undo my fly.