“Thank you, Xandy,” Daisy said, beaming up at him with chocolate smudged on her face.
He bopped her on the tip of her nose. “You’re welcome, sweet girl.”
“So, Daisy,” Freya said, in between bites. “I really like your dress. Are unicorns your favorite?”
Daisy nodded. Using her spoon, she pointed to a large rainbow unicorn on her purple dress. “This one is my favorite.” Pressing her lips together, her face scrunched. Then she huffed out a sigh that had his own face scrunching.
“Whoa there, peanut. What’s with the big sigh?” It was like she was carrying the weight of the world on her nearly five-year-old shoulders.
She dragged her spoon through her ice cream. “Abby’s brother was at drop-off, and he said my unicorn dress was ugly like my face. He’s mean.”
Everything inside him stilled.What. The Fuck?“Hold up, Daisy. He saidwhat?”
After she repeated herself, her bottom lip popped out, and her big blue doe eyes turned glassy.
Anger roiled in his gut. Hell, no.
He was going to have words with this little fucker. Or at least with the little fucker’s parents. Something. Reining in his anger, he made sure his voice was calm. “What’s this kid’s name?”
“Brock,” she said with a big sniff.
Of course the fucker’s name was Brock. “What’s his last name?”
She looked at him blankly and blinked. Right. She wasn’t even five yet. He cleared his throat. “You know what, peanut? He’s stupid. And if he says something mean to you again, you tell him that.”
Her little mouth dropped open. “I’m not supposa say that word.”
Xander cringed.Shit. “Right. Well, you tell this kid to leave you alone. If he doesn’t, you tell Miss Rebecca or another grown-up what he said.”
She frowned. “But then I’ll be a tattletale.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think that counts as being a tattletale. Are you allowed to hit him?” He winced when her blue eyes widened.Fuck. “No hitting. Got it. Well, if this kid ever talks to you like that?—”
His words died in his throat as Freya squeezed his forearm. Hard.
Freya squeezed his arm. It was either that or slap the man upside the head. Considering “no hitting” had just been mentioned, that probably wasn’t the best idea.
On one hand, it was kind of cute how offended and outraged he was on Daisy’s behalf, but on the other hand, the advice he was doling out wasn’t going to fly. Not only was it not child-friendly, but it would most likely get himandDaisy into trouble.
Freya cleared her throat. “If Brock ever says anything like that to you again, you tell him—with yourwords—that it’s not okay, and then you go tell your teacher.” She pinned Xander with a subtle glare, and thankfully, he shut his trap. After a slight nod, she turned her attention back to Daisy. “You’re right. What Brock said was mean. It was not nice at all. And you know what? He is 100 percent wrong. You arenotugly, and neither is your dress.”
Daisy sniffed and scooped a giant bite of ice cream into her mouth. “I’m not?” she mumbled around her treat.
“No, sweetie. You’re not.” Goodness, this kid was adorable. Daisy looked to be around the same age as her two nieces, soFreya was somewhat familiar with the ping-ponging of five-year-old brains. And the emotions. Oh, the giant messy emotions that could turn on a dime.
A glance at Xander had her biting her lower lip to keep from laughing. She’d bet good money that Daisy was the only child this age he knew, because the poor guy was ready to throw down with this Brock kid.
“Now you said he’s your friend Abby’s brother,” she said, trying to get more information about the situation. “Does he go to your day care too?”
Daisy shook her head, devouring another bite of ice cream. “He’s a big kid, and he’s always trying to boss us around.”
In her peripheral vision, she saw Xander cross his arms over his massive chest. She had a feeling he was trying to keep his expression neutral.
He was failing.
“I see,” she said, meeting Xander’s gaze and then flickering her own to his ice cream and back. He huffed out a sigh, uncrossed his arms, and resumed eating. She turned her attention back to Daisy. “Do you know how old Brock is?”
Daisy nodded, her earlier sadness seemingly gone and replaced by righteous five-year-old annoyance. “He’s six and a big meanie!”
