Page 12 of Milk For The Billionaire’s Little (The Lactin Brotherhood #20)

KENNAN

“Are you sure you don’t want me to handle any of this, sir?” Seth had offered for the fifth time this week. He’d been watching me, frazzled, as I tried to get everything organized for James’s birthday.

I wanted it to be special—beyond special—but also, I wanted it to be done by me. I was his Daddy and throwing money wasn’t giving him what he needed.

“I have it under control, Seth,” I said.

I might have been lying. I wasn’t quite sure.

James wasn’t impressed by money, so simply buying him a nice watch, a new car, or anything like that wasn’t going to make him happy—and that was the goal, right? To make him happy.

Instead, I made a list of everything that he enjoyed, everything we enjoyed together in the six months we’d been a couple, and any idea that I could come up with. I’d narrowed it down, but not enough.

So far the only task that was done was redecorating a guest room to become a playroom for us.

I had it matching his favorite pajamas, and it was wonderful.

Even so, I wasn’t sure how that would go over.

We hadn’t really discussed a quote “nursery” for him.

But moving the coffee table every time we decided to play in the living room or changing the comforter on the bed when he wanted to be in Little space wasn’t really practical.

So that part was done, but in the back of my mind, it kept nagging at me that the playroom was for both of us. We both enjoyed those kinds of times together. It wasn’t for him. I needed to do better.

“Sir, I assure you I don’t mind helping,” Seth tried again.

“No is a complete answer, Seth.” He meant well, but the man was driving me bonkers.

“I’m getting coffee.” He started to turn on his heel.

“Wait, you’re not offering me coffee?” I was attempting to lighten the mood.

“Sir, with all due respect. You have lost your mind.”

“Nope. I lost my heart… although it’s not really lost, it’s over at the nursing home.”

Seth was good and done with me. I frustrated him to no end. I’d been working less, finding my priorities where they belonged. That was good and something Seth had been pushing me to do for a long time, but it was an adjustment period for both of us.

“Fine. I’ll get you coffee.”

He did, and I went back to my planning.

A week later, it was birthday day, and I planned to celebrate with him all day.

I’d slept over at his place, and when I woke in the morning, I snuck out to his favorite bakery, getting him the muffins he loved and his two favorite coffees, because you shouldn’t have to choose on your birthday, and then after I helped him get ready, I drove him to work. Not my driver. Me.

I’d been to the nursing home quite a few times now, making Friday family bingo a regular part of my calendar, and I was greeted by multiple residents as we headed to his office. Normally, I’d have left him at the door with a hug, but I wanted him to see the delivery I had waiting for him.

“You’re ridiculous.” His words didn’t match his expression as he took in the balloons and flowers I’d arranged to have delivered before normal hours, with the help of one of his coworkers and a local florist who I did a lot of business with at work.

“Ridiculously in love,” I said, hugging him and kissing the top of his head. “Happy birthday, my sweet boy. I will pick you up later.”

Instead of going to work, I went home. I had a cake to bake.

There were a thousand bakeries I could order from—both near and far. Heck, I could hire the famous cake baker from the Food Channel. Easy peasy. But I wanted to do this for him.

I’d watched YouTube videos aplenty, ordered the special cake pan, and piping tools. I was doing this. The cake was supposed to look like his favorite green cat. After I piped on the green icing, it was cat-esque at best. And there was more frosting on the plate than on parts of the cat.

Cake decorating was not my gift.

I poured sprinkles along the plate where the frosting was in an attempt to make it look like it was intentional and moved on to my next task: streamers.

I didn’t even know you could still buy them, but he told me about a birthday he had when he was young and how much fun he had with the streamers, tearing them down and turning them into some sort of doll reminiscent of the corn husker doll.

I went to his new room, the one he’d yet to see, and put up so many streamers. There was no way he wasn’t going to be able to build an army of those little dolls if he wanted to.

The room was ready to go: a shaggy star-shaped rug, an entire constellation on the ceiling when you turned the lights off, squishy bean bag chairs big enough for both of us, some toys, a couch. Nobody walking in would call it a nursery, but it was definitely youthful and definitely a playroom.

I was excited to see his face.

On the rug sat his Little gifts—a stuffed animal I had made just for him, a book I had illustrated of the story I told him about the hedgehog prince lost in the library, and some socks with the same green cat as I’d attempted to put on the cake.

The only thing left was dinner. And that was easy—macaroni and cheese from a box, with dinosaurs and baby trees, AKA broccoli, his newest green vegetable of choice.

Everything was ready to be heated up, giving me just enough time to shower and pick him up.

He came out with a handful of cards, most from residents, beaming.

We went to his apartment first, hopefully for one of the last times, and gathered Rosco before heading to my place.

We stopped off at the kitchen first, so I could get it cooking. He recognized that cat from my failed cake attempt right away, throwing his arms around me and thanking me a thousand times.

“You made me a cake!” He kissed my cheek with a loud smack. “A cake!”

“It’s your birthday, of course there is cake.”

“But you made me a cake .”

“I did. And now I’m going to make you dinner. Did you want chicken and mac and cheese, or did you want shrimp scampi?”

I did have the supplies for that, one of the easier dishes I knew how to make, but to no surprise, he picked the chicken nuggets.

I got the water on the stove to boil and put the chicken in the oven.

“Can you help me?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Would you look in the cupboard where the divided dishes are and pull a couple out?” That was where I had hidden his main present. Or at least, I hoped it would be his main present. It still depended on if he wanted to accept it or not.

“You’re a tricker, Daddy.” He took out the Happy Birthday bag. “I’m opening it now. I don’t care if I have cake yet or not.”

“There’s no rule here about cake first.”

“Good, because that’s a silly rule.”

There was a story there, but that was for another time. I was too excited to watch him open his present.

He pulled out the box and lifted the lid. Inside were two things: a key and a ring.

“This doesn’t look like the key to your house,” he said, holding it up.

“It’s a symbolic key, one that says, I want to live with you but that we can decide where our wholeness together is.”

“I don’t like it when we don’t sleep together.” His eyes were still on the key, his face not giving much away.

“I don’t either.”

He squinted, looking at the key more carefully. “I think that we need to change the key to one from here. And then we can decide later.”

“Sounds good to me.” I waited for him to address the ring, and he didn’t, instead playing with the key.

“Is there anything else in there?” Maybe he didn’t see it. I was hoping for that. Ignoring it because I was asking too soon would sting.

“Oh, there’s more?” He reached inside, pushed back the cotton batting, and held up the ring. “What is this, Daddy?”

“What do you think it is?” I took it from him and knelt down in front of him. “I was trying to be clever, and I almost thought you were just turning me down.”

He shook his head.

“James, I want to walk this life with you. I want to go to sleep each night with you in my arms and wake up each morning to you by my side. Will you marry me?”

He covered my hands with his. “If we do this, no one where I work is going to care. They all loved you at bingo. But people at yours might.”

As much as I loved him looking out for me, I hated that he had to worry about that kind of thing, but he probably was right to. I wasn’t hiding my relationship with him. Heck, it had been in the gossip rags more times than I wanted to think about. But the people who mattered, they didn’t care.

My mother was the one who helped me pick out the ring, telling me to put a ring on it already.

I was surrounded by support. “I don’t care what any of them think or say or do.

What I care about is spending these times with you.

So, James, if it was just you and me, what would you say? Do you want to be mine?”

“Oh, silly Daddy. I’m already yours. And yes—I’d love to marry you.”

He held out his hand, and I slid the ring on. And before I could right myself, he was peppering my face with kisses, telling me, “Love me, Daddy.”

“I do and always will.”

He turned the stove and oven off. “I think we have something better to do before dinner,” he said, nipping at my bottom lip.

“Better than chicken nuggets?”

“So much better.”

And up the stairs we went, clothes flying off the second we reached my suite.