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Shit. Her dad makes chicken fingers from scratch?

I’m not completely incompetent in the kitchen, but I wouldn’t classify myself as competent either.

With help from my munchkin-sized sidekick and Google, I manage to dredge the chicken and get it in the oven when Paisley tells me they usually have fries.

“Please tell me you don’t make them from scratch.”

“We keep them in the freezer.” Paisley opens the drawer and pulls out a blue and yellow bag. “The smiley face fries are my favoritest.”

“I’ve never had smiley face fries before.”

“I’ll show you how to make them.”

She gets out a cookie sheet, and when she struggles to open the bag, I help her cut the top and watch her pour them out in a single layer. We put them in the oven with the chicken.

“What vegetable?”

“We don’t eat them.” When I raise my brow, she says, “Not when it’s chicken snakes and smiles night.”

“Mhm.” It’s not my place to force vegetables on her, so I don’t push the matter. “I’m going to make a salad for myself. Would you like to help me?”

When Dani goes through her green food boycott, I have her help me make a salad and she will usually eat a few bites.

There’s a nice array of vegetables in the refrigerator, and while the chicken and fries cook, I chop and Paisley arranges the salad in two bowls. I add fresh blueberries, cucumber, a sprinkle of feta cheese, and chopped walnuts.

“You put fruit and nuts in your salad?” Paisley giggles.

“It’s my secret recipe. Try a bite.” I spear a piece of lettuce, cucumber, and blueberry and feed it to her.

“Blueberries are my favorite.”

We nibble on salad while the food cooks, and by the time the timer beeps, our salad bowls are empty. We clean up together, read some books, and play with her dollhouse before I finally convince her to take a bath.

She asks if she can take a bath in her dad’s bathroom because he has a big tub, but I don’t feel comfortable being in his private space.

“You know how we talk about respecting our classmates’ personal space?”

Paisley nods while she brushes her doll’s hair. “No touching someone else’s pencils or markers without asking first.”

“That’s right.”

“And don’t touch backpacks. Or someone else’s lunch boxes. Yesterday Kimmie ate one of Charlotte’s cookies when she wasn’t looking.”

I wasn’t aware of that, but there’s no need for us to go down the rabbit hole of tattling on the class.

“Your daddy’s room is like your personal space at school. I don’t have permission to go into his room or bathroom.”

“I gave you permission.”

“You can give me permission to go into your room but not his.”

“But I live here too.”

“Yes, but I’m sure there are times when you’re not allowed in his room or to touch certain things.” At least I hope so. When I first met Paisley, she came across like a spoiled princess, but she’s turned herself and her attitude around at school since our talk.

“Daddy always lets me in his room.”

“Because you’re his daughter. But I don’t think he would want me to invade his personal space. Let’s get a bath ready in your bathroom, okay?”

Thankfully, she doesn’t fight me on it. After her bath, I tuck her into bed and read her three more books.

By the time I settle into one of the guest rooms, I’m wiped.

Rowan is pulling a night shift at the hospital and Riley is no doubt banging her sexy husband, so I scroll mindlessly through social media until I drop my phone on my face.

The luxurious linens and downy pillow have me conking out in no time.

When my alarm goes off at six, I feel refreshed and limber. I stretch my arms above my head and point my toes toward the foot of the bed.

If I had a mattress and sheets like this, I wouldn’t need orgasms to relax. This was absolute Heaven. I take a quick shower in the ensuite bathroom, twirling my hair into a bun, not wanting to deal with it today.

After I pack up my things and make the bed, I tuck my shoes under my arm so I don’t wake Paisley and tiptoe down the stairs, hoping her dad is home.

A duffle bag and a pair of giant-ass sneakers are by the front door that weren’t there before, which tells me he’s home.

I head to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee before going to work.

I’m not safe on the road without a shot or two of caffeine.

I round the corner and stop in my tracks. Lord help me. There’s a naked man leaning against the kitchen sink, looking out the window. Well, not totally naked, unfortunately. His back is broad and muscular, and those shoulders. Fuck. Me. Now.

My eyes trail down the indent of his spine stopping at his full, round, muscular ass, the only thing covered, and barely at that. His boxer briefs hug the two most perfect globes I’ve ever seen. Hell, I’d love to take a bite out of those cheeks, but I’d probably crack a tooth.

There’s no way in Hell I want to get busted by Hot Daddy, so I quietly lurch backward and cut through the formal dining room to the front door. I slide my feet into my flats, fish my keys out of my purse, and sneak out the front door.