Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
They should both envy me, to be honest, because what Gael served me was heavenly. I was extremely fond of the grilled tomato halves, something Walker had never understood. I absolutely loved tomatoes. As long as they were kept off my burgers.
“You make the best grilled tomatoes I’ve ever had, pet.” I finished my last one and savored it. “My brothers used to poke fun at me for being obsessed with tomatoes when I was younger. For every Mother’s Day, I bought my foster mother a tomato plant.”
Gael got comfortable on his bottom instead, and he rested his chin on my knee. And that fit better—he shouldn’t be kneeling. He should sit comfortably.
“I had them once when my parents and I had breakfast in a British pub in San Francisco,” he said. “I guess it’s common in a full English breakfast.”
I nodded and took another sip of my coffee.
“Do you consider yourself more European than American, Sir?”
Hmm. My childhood had been undeniably American, not counting my earliest memories. “I’d say fifty-fifty,” I replied pensively. “When my mother died, I foolishly tried to forget everything about my heritage because it simply hurt too much. A wonderful woman had taken me in, and it wasn’t long before Walker and my other brothers followed. I tried to be as Southern as they were.”
“Did it work?”
I smiled ruefully. “While I was a child, I suppose. But I grew up during the last peak of the Cold War, and when the Soviets invaded Afghanistan, it triggered memories and questions. I wanted to know why we had fled, why my parents had fought and sacrificed so much for their country—that I couldn’t stop trying to understand. Every chance I got, I was at the library.” Those memories came back to me now too, and it felt wrong to have Gael at my feet. I wanted him closer. “Come on, let’s go have a seat in the living room instead. If I’m going to bore you with childhood stories, I want you in my arms.”
He gasped animatedly. “I could never be bored by your stories, Master!”
Well, he did like history, and mine was practically ancient compared to his.
Not that my sweet Gael had history. He had current events.
Gael rushed ahead, with my plate, and I refilled my coffee before I joined him on the couch in the living room. A place that looked much homier already with paint on the walls and books and knickknacks on the shelves. Joshua’s next project was to assemble the dining room table, and Gael wanted to unpack Joshua’s records and movies.
The boy had marveled at Joshua’s DVD collection.
“Have you heard of something called Netflix, Daddy? Everyone streams today!”
Not everyone. Hmpf.
“Master, can I ask you something that’s not about your childhood?”
I chuckled and sank down on the couch with a grunt. “Of course you can.”
I noticed he was hesitating a bit, and he grabbed my coffee from me and set it on the coffee table while he thought about what to say. To my surprise, he crawled up in my lap and locked his arms around my neck, effectively hiding his face so I couldn’t read his expression.
What on earth?
“Is somethin’ wrong, pet?” I rubbed his back and kissed his shoulder.
He shook his head. “I was j-just wondering…” he whispered. “Could I maybe—I mean, sometimes… It’s just—crap.” Poor boy, what was so awful to ask that he became so flustered? “I love these mornings, Sir,” he admitted softly. “I was only thinking…the way you c-come across to me, and how I react…you’re kind of also like, um, a Daddy…?”
Fucking hell, that was all? With the amount of fumbling and stammering, I’d grown tense, and now I had to restrain myself so that I didn’t laugh in sheer relief.
My darling boy—I squeezed him to me and couldn’t contain my grin.
Rivers of contentment flowed through me, and I let out a long breath. I had to see his face. I bet it was a nice shade of pink.
“I love our mornings together too.” I kissed his neck, then coaxed him back so I could get a look at him. True enough, a sweet blush covered his cheeks. “If you feel like Daddy is a more fitting title—”
“Sometimes,” he said, rushing out the word. “I want both titles for you, if you don’t mind.”
I smiled and nudged up his chin. “I don’t mind a teensy little bit.”
I’d already discovered I was taking a gentler approach with Gael, because that’s what felt natural with him. And I adored his Little-isms. I could think of worse things than being called Daddy by this little sweetheart. In fact… Hell.
He grinned shyly. “Are you sure?”
I leaned in and brushed my lips to his. “Absolutely certain.” Heat slithered through me as he squirmed on my lap, and we’d have to postpone our chat about my upbringing. One day, I would tell him that I was American enough to be a football fan and Northern European enough to find it a travesty that we didn’t have floorball in the US, and he’d snicker at me. Or wonder what the hell floorball was.