“Maybe you’reunderreacting, Samantha.”
A familiar longing stirred somewhere deep inside of her at the use of her full name. In all the time she’d known him, he’d only ever called her Sam or “Mrs. Fleming” when he was trying to get a rise out of her. Though she’d never actually had a Daddy of her own, she’d spent plenty of time dreaming of what she’d want in a Daddy, and her full name spoken in that exact tone of voice had played a significant part in nearly every single one of those fantasies.
Which made it even more difficult for her to stay in her grown-up headspace while he rinsed the blood from her skin and patted it dry with a paper towel before examining it closer.
“Looks like you took a decent chunk out of yourself here, but I don’t think it’ll need stitches. Where do you keep the band-aids?”
“First-aid kit. There’s one in the guest bathroom.”
“Good. Come on, let’s get you bandaged up.”
Jesus, if he’d been anyone other than her son’s best friend, she never would have succeeded at keeping herself from sliding face-first into her Little space. As it was, she was teetering dangerously on the edge as he led her down the hall with that same gentle firmness.
In the bathroom, he let go of her hand to crouch down and search under the sink for the plain white box with the bright red cross. Setting the box on the vanity countertop, he flipped it open, his expression brightening immediately.
“You keep this thing really well stocked.”
Was she imagining things, or was that pride she could hear in his tone? “Comes with the territory. Having a kid,” she clarified when he glanced over at her.
“Ah, that makes sense.” Plucking an alcohol wipe from the box, he ripped open the packet and pulled the wipe free. “Let me see your hand again.”
She stepped back as much as the small space would allow, earning herself a raised brow that sent her heart hammering against her rib cage. “It just needs a band-aid.”
“Samantha.”
Fucking hell, there was that tone again. Like she was the one barely out of school and he was the one on the wrong side of forty instead of the other way around. Ignoring the yearning in her gut, she tucked her hand behind her back. “No. It’s fine.”
“Don’t be stubborn. If the roles were reversed, you’d expect me to clean my cut and put some antibiotic cream on it, wouldn’t you?”
He had her there. And really, she didn’t know why she was being so obstinate. It was almost as if someone else—a much brattier someone else—had taken up residence in her body and she was just along for the ride. Resisting the urge to pout, she slowly pulled her hand out from behind her back and held it out to him.
“Good girl.”
Sweet Jesus. That was even worse than just her name. Her heart practically leapt from her chest at his praise, and it was everything she could do to keep herself from smiling like a complete idiot.
Which, in turn, made her feel like an even bigger idiot. “I’m not a dog, Dylan.”
“I never said you were.” His easy response had her rolling her eyes as he tossed the alcohol wipe in the trash and reached for the small tube of antibiotic cream. “But you are being very good for me.”
“I’m just standing here while you fuss over a tiny little cut.”
With a noncommittal hum, he continued fussing, coating the ‘wound’ with the antibiotic cream and returning the yellow tube to the box. Then he picked up the two boxes of band-aids, and she suddenly wished she’d insisted on bandaging herself up.
But there was no judgment in his tone as he held the boxes up for her inspection. “Spider-man or unicorns?”
For god’s sake, why hadn’t she just bought normal fucking band-aids, at least for the guest bathroom? “I don’t need a band-aid. Look, it stopped bleeding.”
“A moment ago, you were insisting it only needed a band-aid. You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you, Samantha?”
“No.”Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry, Daddy.“Ithasmostly stopped bleeding, I think.”
Pinning her with a look that had her insides quaking, he shook each of the boxes in turn. “Spider-man or unicorns? Pick one, or I’ll pick for you.”
It was a stand-off, and one she had a niggling feeling she didn’t have a chance in hell of winning. “Unicorns,” she finally said with a sigh.
“Unicorns it is.” Setting the Spider-man box aside, he opened up the rainbow-colored box and pulled out a bright, colorful band-aid. With all the precision of a NASA engineer, he carefully placed the bandage on her finger and fastened it into place.
And then he did something that literally had her jaw dropping open. Taking hold of her hand, he lifted it to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to the unicorn band-aid.
