Double Daddy Trouble

I could hear Emma's soft voice call out, “Mommy, there is someone at the door.”

I waited quite a while and wondered if one look through the peephole and Julie had decided to keep it closed.

“Jules, I know you're in there. Come on, open up,” I called through the door.

I heard the lock slowly turn and the door opened. Instead of Julie, however, it was little Emma at the door.

“My mommy’s in the shower,” she said peaking through the door.

I bent down to her level.

“Do you remember me? I’m Dr. Smith. I came to see if you are okay,” I said as soothingly as possible.

That being said, in the back of my mind I was also taking a mental note to scold Jules for not teaching our daughter proper safety.

“I brought you a doughnut too,” I said pulling the sprinkle treat out of the bag.

Her two brown eyes lite up to the size of dinner plates at the treat.

“Emma, what are you doing? You know better than to open the door,” Julie called as she rushed to her daughter's side in nothing more than a towel.

She opened it more full and stood in front of Emma. I let my gaze linger on her dripping wet body, her breast bursting to come out from the towel wrapped around her.

She looked back down at me with first shock and then malice.

“Don’t you have something better to do other than luring little girls with sweets.”

“If you would prefer,” I said tucking the doughnut back in the bag, “I would be more then happy to set my aim on you.”

Her eyes narrowed to a slit.

“You have nothing to lure me with,” she said as she tucked the towel tighter into place.

“I think you remember what I have. You use to rather enjoy it.”

“That was a long time ago.”

I shrugged like her turning me down didn’t bother me.

“Well there is always beagles and doughnuts if all else fails,” I said holding up the bag. “Can I come in? Breakfast is my treat.”

I saw her determination waver.

“Mommy,” Emma said from behind her mother. “He has pink doughnuts. Please.”

“Fine,” Julie conceded stepping to the side for the benefit of her daughter finally eating something.

“Just so you know,” she added as I walked into the room, “We don’t normally eat things that are ridiculously sweet or with artificially food coloring. It's not good for her.”

“Savannah,” I said simply.

Julie shrugged.

“She is Em’s Godmother.”

“Yes well, I hope you are sticking to actual medicine for her cold and not that voodoo witchcraft she is no doubt concocting at her farm.”

“What’s voodoo?” Emma asked her mom.