Page 298 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection

“Jesus.” I back away. “I’m re-thinking our breakfast plans.”

“I’ll open a window,” Logan says. “Mac, you want to get the girls some bathrobes from my bedroom? It’ll be too cold for them to sit in here naked with the doors open.”

“Yup.” I check on my bold girl, but she’s got breakfast under control, lining up the ingredients for pancakes on the counter, even while she flicks on Logan’s fancy coffee-machine. She gives me a nod.

When I return with two bathrobes, the stink has dissipated enough that it’s not souring the good smells of coffee and pancakes. Emily’s sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the purring cat with tears in her eyes while Logan squats behind her. He rubs her back while he talks into his cell.

“Maybe a third of the banana, mate. Couple inches.”

He listens to the reply and kisses Emily’s temple. “Okay, that’s good news. Thanks for taking my call, Ry. Really appreciate it.”

After he hangs up, he gathers Emily into his arms. “Sable’s going to be fine, baby doll. Ryan says banana won’t hurt him. He was a feral cat and Ryan says they learn to live off anything.”

“Aww, Emmy.” I go to a knee beside them. “Don’t worry about your kitty. My Ma had a cat who used to break into her pantry and eat her sourdough starter. Cat threw it up a few hours later and was absolutely fine. Lived until it was twenty.”

Emily blinks wet eyes at me. “Really, Master Mac?”

“Really, sweetie. Your kitty’ll be fine.”

Emily nods tearily before burying her face in Logan’s shoulder. I hear her whisper, “He’s so smelly. You won’t make me take him back because he’s smelly, will you, Daddy?”

I give Logan a sharp glance. He meets my eyes and nods calmly. He’s got this.

I hand him the robe, rise, and make my way to Bren. “Cold, girl?”

“I’m okay next to the stove, Sir.” She shifts eggs she’s scrambling off the heat and turns to wrap her arms around my waist. “Thank you for being like that with Emily,” she whispers in my ear.

“I’m just as fond of her as you are, sweetheart.”

She smacks a kiss on my cheek before turning back to the eggs. I help her assemble breakfast, grilling turkey sausage links and cutting up orange wedges while Bren creates a towering stack of pancakes.

Logan and Emily return from where he’s taken her to the bathroom to clean up, and probably to give her a quick orgasm to calm her down. She’s smiling as they set the table. I’m a little surprised, however, when they set the table for six instead of four.

Once the table’s set, Emily disappears upstairs and when she returns, she has Max and his little, Cynnie, an angelic Asian girl who reminds me so much of Naomi it makes my chest ache, in tow. Max greets me with a bear hug and Cynnie, who is in the cutest bumblebee onesie I’ve ever seen, gives me a curtsey and a cheery, “Good morning, Master Mac.”

“Good morning, sweetie. Are you on oat milk this morning?” I ask. Having stayed over at Max’s several times, I’m aware Cynnie has a dairy allergy.

“Yes, please.” She has a slight lisp this morning, which Max has told me means she’s in little space, which I could have guessed from her onesie.

Once we’ve got all the food on the table, I swathe Bren in terrycloth, so she doesn’t catch a chill from the open window. She pours me coffee and fixes it the way I take it without any instruction from me, a small service gesture I like almost as much as her ritual of kissing my cock goodnight. As she’s busy stirring, I see Emily swap out the coffee cup to the left of Brenna’s plate. She’s so quick she could be a professional pickpocket. I catch her eye and shake my head at her.

She dips her head and colors like the sunrise.

Beside me, Bren takes a sip of whatever’s in the mug to wash down a bite of pancakes and sputters all over her plate. “Damn-IT.”

“Language,” Logan growls, but it’s to cover his chuckle.

Bren pats her chin with a napkin while holding the offending cup out to Emily. “What even is that?”

“Turmeric tea,” Emily says. “It’s really good for you.”

“Welcome to hell, Bren,” Logan says, lifting his own cup of steaming, dark yellow water.

“That’s disgusting. Seriously, dis-gust-ing. If you’re going to play hide the coconut with my drink, at least give me the chai. I can stomach that. This tastes like a goat took a shit in my cup.”

“Language,” Logan and Max chorus.

“I thought hide the coconut was a euphemism for sex,” I say to Bren.