Single Daddy Scot (Hot Scots)

Where has the time gone, I wonder, as I notice, not for the first time, the softness of his baby face melting away. He’ll be five his next birthday, and he looks more like a wee man with each passing week.

And Mummy? That’s Ella these days. Something that was Louis’s suggestion. And why not? She’s raising him—we’re a team. In Louis life, Anneliese will always be Maman, where Ella is Mummy, and probably Mum someday.

Louis still has the gold framed photograph of Annelise next to his bed. We talk of her often, and sometimes, Louis asks to look at his baby photographs, those of his mother holding him. Though his memories of her will probably fade, she’ll always be in his heart.

‘Why are you up so early?’ I ask, pulling out the milk to pour him a glass when his eyes flick over his shoulder furtively.

‘I didn’t sleep so good,’ he whispers. ‘I was frightened the teeth fairy would take the special box away.’

‘What box?’

‘Mummy’s special gift. The hard corner keepded poking me in the head.’ As though to reinforce the point, he prods his skull with his finger.

‘What was it doing under your pillow?’ I ask, folding my arms and leaning against the countertop.

‘You said I had to put the ring somewhere safe,’ he hisses furtively. ‘So I putted it under my head. But then I dreamed the teeth fairy took it away.’

Ah, yes. The ring. The one Louis and I chose yesterday when I’d busted him early from school. Who says schools are all about league tables and performance indicators, anyway? His teacher looked like she’d wanted to cry when I’d called in for him and told her why I needed him.

The ring. Fuck, I hope she likes it. A ruby to match the red strand the sun brings out in her hair. This from my boy, the poet. And diamond’s from me. For eternity.

‘Don’t worry, pal,’ I whisper, trying to keep a straight face as I ruffle his hair. ‘You’re not on the tooth fairy’s schedule just yet.’

Louis purses his lips as he shakes his head as though expressing his doubt over my knowledge of the wee folk.

‘You’ve been hangin’ around with your granny too much. You’re starting to look at me like she does.’ I purse my lips, pointing a finger at him while waggling my head. His response is to burst into a fit of giggles that would brighten the greyest of days.

‘What are you two plotting?’ asks Ella, coming into the room. ‘You’re up to something, I’ll bet?’

‘Daddy is making silly faces. He says I look like Granny.’

‘Don’t you want to be like Granny?’ she asks, humour colouring her tone.

‘No! She’s so old—and a lady! I want to be a big man, like my daddy. Or a wat like Master Splinter.’

‘Close choices, my friend,’ she says, kissing his cheek as he climbs down from the stool to chase Charles, the other wat—I mean rat. Dog. Same thing. ‘Especially in the looks department.’

‘Charming,’ I respond as she presses her lips to my cheek.

‘You know I’m kidding. Your body is a temple, and I’m—’

‘Its virgin sacrifice.’

‘That ship sailed a few months ago. Were you there?’

My only response is to growl. Then change the subject. It’s that, or pounce on her.

‘What’s on your timetable today?’ I ask, pressing my lips to her cheek. She’s at uni now. Is she enjoying it? I think that depends.

‘I don’t know. These winter mornings have my brain reduced to mush. Something to do with pedagogical mores. God.’ Ella groans, grabbing a cup.’ I don’t know if I can take it any mores.’

‘You can do whatever you set your heart to, but if it gets too much, you know you only have to say the word.’

‘Thanks, Daddy,’ she says with a familiar gleam in her whisky eyes. It’s the kind of look that makes my hands grabby and my cock surge.

From behind her, I wrap my arms around her shoulders, pulling her close and placing my lips in her luxurious dark hair. ‘Daddy’s gonna take care of you,’ I whisper roughly, using the growly tone she’s so fond of.

Her breath halts, and her nipples are instantly hard under her thin sweater dress.

‘What’s Daddy going to do for me?’ she asks breathlessly.

‘For starters, Daddy’s gonna cook dinner tonight.’

‘You mean order in.’

‘Yes, but shush. You’re spoiling the imagery.’

She giggles as she mimes sealing her mouth with a zipper.

‘Where was I? Ah, yeah. Then Daddy’s going to feed you,’ I whisper, my tone heavy with innuendo. ‘Then he’s going to run you a bubble bath. Rub you down and get you nice and slippery.’ She shivers as my breath tickles her ear. ‘Then, Daddy’s gonna dry you off with a fluffy towel, lay you on the bed, and then get down between your legs.’

‘You must’ve hired a crane.’