“Uncle Sebby?” she squeals, and I have to shush her again. “Oops. Sorry, Daddy. This is going to be the best day ever. When we get home, can I paint your nails? Look…” She picks up her hands. “Juliette painted ours yesterday. They’re glitter.”
“I have a meeting tomorrow, so you can’t paint my nails, but you can paint my toes.”
She giggles. “Okay.”
I put the batter on the griddle, turn the kettle on for Jules, and then make myself an espresso. “Do you want orange juice?” I ask Claud.
“Mmmhmm.”
After flipping the pancakes, I arrange the breakfast trays and ask Claud to pick flowers from the bouquet the housekeeper put in the entryway on Friday. “If you can’t reach, I’ll help.”
She brings two peonies. “This is Juliette’s favorite, and mine now too.”
I smile at the memory of our Fourth of July date when the rooftop was filled with them. It seems like yesterday, but at the same time, so long ago.
“Do you want yogurt too?” I hold up her favorite strawberry kiwi yogurt.
“No, thanks.”
“Angel, your birthday is next month. What do you want to do for your party?”
“You said when I turn six, I can have an ice skating birthday party with hot chocolate.”
How the hell does she remember that? The last thing I want to do is watch a group of kids almost break their necks.
“You don’t want to do a dance party? You can bring Juliette and show off a real ballerina to all your friends,” I suggest, feeling not one bit bad using Jules as bait.
“Nope. I really want to go ice skating at the big one,” she pleads.
“The one in Central Park?”
She nods enthusiastically, “Yup. That one and Juliette promised to bake me a cake.”
Well, at least that’s a plus. Wollman Rink is large and not as touristy. There was no way in hell I would bring her to Bryant Park or any of the others.
“Okay, Claud let’s go. Can you open the door for me, and I’ll hold the trays?”
She stops in front of her room. “One sec, I want to put on my slippers.”
It feels like she’s taking three hours. “Claudina, let’s go. My arms are going to fall off.”
She skips out of her room, wearing slippers that look like pointe shoes. “That’s silly. Your arms can’t fall off.”
“It’s an expression because the trays are so heavy. Let’s go.”
Claud pushes open the door and screams good morning, then runs and jumps in the bed to wake up Jules.
“Good morning, sugar plum,” Juliette rasps, and I have to think of anything but the sound of her voice with my daughter in sight.
My dick is like one of Pavlov’s dogs when it hears the deep rasp of her voice in the morning.
“We made you breakfast in bed.” Claud bounces up and down.
“You did.” Juliette tickles her side. “Thank you. What time is it? Don’t you have school?”
I walk around the bed and lean down to kiss my girl good morning. “Claud and I woke up extra early today. We have plenty of time,” I tell her when her phone buzzes, and I see red.
Who the fuck is Isaac?
