Save Me, Daddy

When she drops to the slate tiles, she twirls around playfully, ending with a shy shrug and a twinkle in her eye.

“Do you like my dress?”

“You're absolutely stunning, Kita,” I tell her helplessly.

“Thank you, um, Daniel,” she says quietly, though I feel like she almost said it again. Daddy. That word that gives me such a shameful thrill I don't even know what to do with myself.

But I want to hear it again. I definitely do.

We have to be going, because we have reservations but also because if I don't get her into the car right now there's no way we are going to make it out of here. I'm so nervous, I feel like I am taking out a prom date. I'm worried what she's going to think of me. I'm wondering how we will find things to talk about, since we've basically avoided doing anything like that so far.

But right away, it actually comes pretty easy. I offer my elbow and walk her to the garage door, deciding that we should take the Aston Martin this time. Her eyes go wide when she sees it gleaming darkly in the corner. It really is a beautiful little car, one that I save for special occasions.

“Will this be all right?” I ask as I open the door for her.

Her cheeks are bright and pink. She gives me that giddy, innocent smile and nods quickly.

“Oh yes!” she says as she drops into the passenger seat, her skirt billowing up over her knees so that I get to see just a fleeting glance of her white, lace panties. Already, I know that I want to be inside those panties more than anything.

This going to be a long night.

But as we drive to the river to get to the Fish Market, I feel myself slowly gaining control. She relaxes in the passenger seat, looking around as the streets roll by. I can see from her posture that she feels good in this car, that she appreciates its elegance.

That's good, because I am starting to think that I need to show her a lot of very elegant things, and I want to make sure she can handle it. She deserves so much more than she has gotten so far. We have a lot of catching up to do.

When the valet opens her door, she pauses to allow me to trot around to her side of the car and offer her my hand to help her out. Another excellent instinct on her part. Rather than letting the valet interfere with my chivalry, she's attuned to the fact that I want to do it.

Oh my God. She understands me so well already. This is just another detail that sends an arrow through my heart.

With her hand in mine, I feel puffed up and proud. She whispers her thanks and we walk into the restaurant, where I can feel dozens of heads turning to look at us.

It is prime dinner rush hour on a Friday night. There are probably a hundred fifty people here and they're all staring at us. People I know personally, as a matter of fact.

I can feel the judgment building like a barometer slowly inching into the red. Kita shifts closer to me and I squeeze her hand gently to reassure her.

The hostess steps out from behind her dais, tucking two leather bound menus under her arm. She takes a long time to scrape her gaze over Kita, from her ballet flats up to the top of her hair. Under the spotlight here in the foyer, the reflection casts a glow around her that's absolutely angelic.

I step forward, directing the hostess’ attention back to me and my obvious disapproval of her aggressive attitude. She meets my eyes for just a moment and then looks away, seeming to wither instantly.

Yes, I have that effect on people. I always have, although I did learn to hone it in the military.

“Table for two? Lockwood?” she asks in a very polite voice. “Please follow me.”

She leads us to a table that is practically on the other side of the restaurant, parading us all the way through the crowd, past every set of judgmental eyes. I realize that I should be a little ashamed, being maybe twice her age, maybe a little more…

But I'm stubborn. Just knowing that these people have the audacity to judge me or to judge her raises my hackles. I'm more determined than ever to make a connection with Kita now. To forge something real. Iron clad.

And more than that, I am concerned about Kita's feelings. With each step, she grips my hand even tighter. We get to the table, the hostess stands aside and pulls out a chair for Kita but I intervene again, taking the back of the chair from her. Just before she can sit down, I brush her hair away from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear, then kiss her gently on the top of her forehead. I feel her lean into me, drinking in that sensation just before she settles into her seat.

“Everything looks so wonderful,” she says as she looks over the menu, dragging her pretty little finger down the list.

“It does,” I agree, but I am having trouble focusing. I don't want to think about the sneering couples who are still looking at us, but I can't help it.

“Daniel?” she says suddenly. I turn and focus all my attention on her, on her big green eyes, on her sweet smile.

“Yes?”

She shifts in her seat so that her knee touches mine under the tablecloth. I can see that she's trying to redirect my attention back to her, away from everyone else. She's brilliant. That's where my attention should be anyway. These other people don’t even matter at all.