“No, I’ve been awake since I smelled the bacon.”
I took in a deep breath. “Oh, there is bacon. I love bacon.”
“That’s because you’re smart. Should we take a shower before breakfast?”
“Sure. You can go first?” I was fine staying warm in bed a tad longer.
He pulled back. “Let me ask again…shall we take a shower together before breakfast?”
“Oh. I like your idea better.”
Their shower was nice, much nicer than the one at the Little House, which was dated, and we both fit in comfortably. I started by washing his back then felt a moment of worry.
“Will Daddy care that we’re doing this?” I didn’t want to end such an amazing time together with pissing Cliff off.
“No, he absolutely will not. But we can call him in here if you’re worried.”
“I’m not worried, exactly—”
Before I could finish the thought, he was calling out, “Daddy!” And then Cliff came in, an apron on and, from the looks of it, nothing else.
“Did you run out of shampoo?”
“No, I was just reassuring Edwin that you don’t mind that we’re showering together.”
“Why would I?” He looked legit confused.
“I don’t know. Because we’re all dating each other.”
“And that doesn’t mean we have to do everything together, although, if you want me in there, I’d be glad—”
Brax cut him off. “Your job is to make bacon.”
“Yes, sir.” Daddy chuckled. “You two enjoy your shower. I am going to make bacon.” And away he went.
I stood there staring at Brax who was now staring back. “What? Like…bacon’s a food group.”
“I’m not arguing there.” I just shook my head. “Never mind. Let’s get showered quickly because…bacon.”
Our shower, in fact, was not quick. We used it as an excuse to explore every inch of each other. When hunger finally called for food, we threw on some clothes and headed into the kitchen. There, Daddy Cliff had not only made bacon but little teeny-tiny pancakes, scrambled eggs, and cinnamon rolls, the kind that come in a can. People could look down on them all they wanted, but I thought were by far the most delicious cinnamon rolls in existence.
“I didn’t know if you wanted a divided plate or a circle plate.” Daddy held up the two options.
“Divided.” There was no question to it, especially if we were having pancakes. I didn’t need my syrup touching my bacon. No, thank you.
“Me too, Daddy.”
Brax grabbed a plastic cup of orange juice from the counter. “Did you want this kind of cup, or do you want a sippy cup or a big glass?”
“This kind’s good.”
It was interesting, because right now, he was taking care of me, but that night at karaoke, I’d been taking care of him. Was that how it would go, us taking turns being like a second daddy in charge? Or maybe I was already reading way too much into every tiny thing. That latter was more likely the answer.
Daddy served up our food, keeping the syrup in its own little divided section and not touching anything else. I didn’t pretend to be polite and use a fork and knife. I picked up my pancakes, dipped them in syrup, and ate them with abandon.
“These are so good.” My mouth was full. I. Did. Not. Care.
“You’re eating them wrong.” Brax broke off a piece of bacon, placed it on his pancake, folded the pancake in half, then dunked the whole thing in syrup. “This is how you eat it.” He took a bite with a lot of “yums” as he chewed and swallowed it.
