In the morning, Mabel is better than a clock, her warm mouth trailing kisses down my neck, chest, and stomach as I stir, rising in all the ways.
Ignoring the kink in my back, I inch toward the side of the bed, making myself more comfortable, then I push her down. She takes me in her mouth and gives me the most fantastic wake-up call ever.
When I come down from my high, she’s staring at me like a satisfied cat, licking her lips. “Fuuuuuck mornings,” she says.
I grab the back of her head and haul her in for a kiss. I can’t resist her, so naturally I do the gentlemanly thing and offer to give her an early morningO.
She shakes her head. “One of us needs to be baking.”
“Fair enough,” I say. “But I owe you.”
“And I will gladly let you cash that in sometime very soon.”
After I get dressed quickly and brush my teeth, I say, “Charlotte wants to come by later. Help out. You cool with that?”
She scoff-laughs. “Cool with it? I insist. No one pokes fun at you better than she does. And I can’t wait.”
Funny, neither can I.
“I wanted to let you know the plan for the next week or so,” Charlotte says, as we walk along Main Street, passing Reprise, where a window display of sweaters with animal illustrations on them draws my daughter’s attention for a couple seconds. And mine too, since Mabel would like those. But I turn my focus back to my daughter as she resumes her pace and her calendar review. “This weekend is the fox toss. Monday, you have a bakery event. Then we’re picking up Mischief and Mayhem on Tuesday. You have a game on Wednesday night. So I can take care of them myself.”
I arch a brow. “Are you sure?”
She gives me a look like she’s offended I’d even ask. “Dad, I’m twelve. I can stay home alone. And if there are any problems, I can call…” She trails off and I expect her to say she’d call her mom, but Charlotte smiles impishly. “Mabel. She connected us with Mrs. Henderson. She’d be the one to help.”
I can’t argue with the logic there, but still, I need to poke fun at her too. “Are you saying you’d rather take care of the foster dogs than come to my hockey game?”
She pats my arm. “You’re cute, Dad. And hockey’s fine, but taking care of foster dogs will help me become a veterinarian. Did you know there’s a shortage of vets?”
“I didn’t know that,” I say. “Why?”
“It costs a lot to get an education to become one, and it’s a high-stress job. But that’s why I’m learning everything I can about it now,” she says. “So I’m ready when it’s time.”
I ruffle her hair. “Proud of you, kid.”
I go quiet though. My daughter doesn’t have to worry about the cost of education but others do. I mull on that disparity, and the high cost that could be a deterrent for others, until Charlotte breaks my thoughts as she says, “And then we leave for New York. You have a hockey game there, and that’s where we’ll spend Christmas.”
Charlotte and I always have fun during the holidays, especially in New York since my cousins and my stepdad, Ray, who Charlotte adores, live there. So do Charlotte’s cousins on Sarah’s side.
But what will Mabel be doing? Will she miss me when I’m gone?
I know I’ll miss her.
But since she likes gifts, I stop Charlotte with a hand on her arm. “Hey, can you help me pick a sweater?”
“Of course.”
My kid spins around and marches right back to the store as if an invisible thread is leading her there. She stops at the window display that includes a llama sweater.
“I presume this is for Mabel,” she says.
The straightforwardness of the statement throws me off for a second, but only a second. “Yes. How did you?—”
But I don’t finish the question. It’s clear how she knows. I’m obvious.
“I saw the llama sweater too, and I filed it away as a gift for her,” she says, tapping her temple. “But you should give it to her.”
“You were going to give it to her?”
