15. Ice My Cookies

Zelda

" F isting farts, that stings!" I cry out as I pull my hand from the piping-hot oven rack. Bringing my burning finger to my mouth, I suck it in, hoping to alleviate some of the pain. This is what I get for trying to do something out of my comfort zone.

The last few weeks with my new Daddies have been absolutely fantastic. After our ridiculously insane first time together, I've pretty much moved into their bedroom with them. But if you're thinking it's one colossal sex-fest, you are utterly mistaken.

This girl has a strict bedtime.

And dammit, they are really strict about it too. I need all my sleep, have to eat all my veggies, exercise for health, not weight—and a healthy work-life balance. Whatever the hell that meant.

But even if I'm not being kept up into the morning hours with two men double-teaming me, that doesn't mean we haven't found the time for some amazing play. They're even talking about taking me to a club. And that would just be thebestfreakingthinginthewholewideworldever!

And to say thank you, why not do something sweet and special for them? You know, something neither of them can do as far as I know.

So I looked online for a few foolproof recipes, got the ingredients from the local grocer, and even sacked off work for the afternoon to give it all my attention.

Three hours and many attempts later, I'm thanked with a burnt finger, a messy kitchen, and a ridiculous number of underdone or way-too-crispy cookies.

Pushing down the overwhelming urge to burst into uncontrollable tears, I kick at the stupid oven door and stick out my tongue at the alarming noise it makes when it bangs shut.

It serves it right for hurting me.

"Tut-tut-tut, little girl. Is that any way to treat the kitchen appliances?"

Oh, sizzling sausages.

Twisting around with my finger still in my mouth, I try to put on my best 'I'm a good girl' face for Brennan. He isn't supposed to be home for a few hours still.

"What are you doing at home?" I ask, but with my finger still in my mouth, it sounds more like 'whtdadonghme?'.

Brennan takes in my tear-filled eyes, the finger in my mouth, and the messy kitchen about half a split second before he's spurred into action and rushes to me. Worry quickly overwhelms the amusement that was on his face to start with. "Sugarplum, what did you do?"

Very carefully, he pulls my hand away from my face, and a short hiss of pain escapes as he looks down at the quickly blistering digit.

"That looks like it hurts," he whispers before guiding me to the sink. "You're such a brave girl for not crying."

My chest swells with pride at his sweet words. "It's ouch, Daddy," I respond, my voice now wobbling with relief at having him there to take care of me.

"Of course it is, darling girl. I'll make it all better," he promises me before opening the cold tap and moving my hand to rest under the running water. "Keep it there for Daddy, will you?"

Nodding in response, I watch as he opens the cupboard under the sink and takes out a small first aid kit. It doesn't take him long to find what he's looking for, but when he turns back to me, he just holds me while I keep my hand in the cold water.

"What were you doing?"

Biting down on my bottom lip, I look at the mess in the kitchen before turning my attention back to him. "Baking cookies." I answer with the obvious, considering the hundreds of failed attempts littering every single surface.

"Uh-huh. And how did you burn your finger? Did you forget to use the oven mitt?"

"No!" I cry vehemently. I might be a little forgetful at times. And I definitely agree that I need a keeper. Or two. But even I know you need protection from hot oven dishes. "It has a hole!"

Brennan frowns at my exclamation before pulling me tight against him so my head can rest on his chest. "We'll have to throw it out then," he muses before kissing the top of my head.

I nod before pulling away. "The cookies are still in the oven, Daddy."

While he works on getting the offending objects out of the meanest oven in the whole world, I stand there staring at him being awesome. "You're awesomesauce."

Oops. I guess I said it out loud. Oh well.

His blinding smile lights up the kitchen, completely taking my breath away. Still struggling to get my heartbeat back into rhythm, I don't notice him moving closer with a tube of cream until he has my hand out from under the water.

Oh-so-softly, he blows on it to dry the water from the enflamed spot before looking at it. "Good, the blister isn't broken," he whispers before opening the lotion and putting on a big glob.

And with how careful he is being, I barely feel a thing.

After wrapping it in a bright purple bandage he kisses my palm before smiling down at me. "There. All fixed up, sugarplum."

And like magic, it doesn't hurt at all. I swear. It's all better.

Want to know why?

Because I have a Daddy. Nope. I have two. And they're the most bestest thing in the whole world that's ever happened to me.

We're still at the beginning of our story, and although no one knows how long it will take us to reach our happily ever after, I know we will.

"Thanks, Daddy," I respond before leaning back in for a cuddle. "What are you doing home early?"

He chuckles before tightening his arms around me. "Kaz and I have been trying to phone you to invite you for dinner tonight. When neither of us could get through, we figured your phone was on silent. Again."

Oops. Brennan is probably right, too. I have a terrible habit of turning the ringer off when I need to work and forgetting to put it back on when I'm done.

He takes my silence for what it is, an admission of guilt, and continues explaining. "As Kaz has a full afternoon with clients, I offered to come by while getting groceries for the firehouse."

"I'm glad you did, Daddy," I offer up, my words muffled against his chest.

"Now, I don't think we can go to dinner tonight," Brennan says, his tone laced with mock regret.

Pulling away, I frown at him, not even bothering to verbalise my displeasure and ask him why.

"Why?" he says, pausing to hold his finger to his chin. "We have all these cookies to eat." His expression remains stoic, and I have to tell you, he's incredibly lucky I love his stupid face, or I'd kick him in the balls.

Brennan chuckles at the mutinous glower on my face before looking around him. "Right. I need to get back to my shift. Can you manage clean up, or do you need me to send the probies up here to help you out?"

As tempted as I am to take him up on his offer, I know it's my mess, and I need to be responsible for it. The sweet gesture also cools my ire as effectively as a fireman dousing a flame with his hose.

"It's okay, Daddy. But when you come home, I am going to need help with something else," I say, a brilliant idea coming to mind.

"Yeah?"

I nod in response.

"What's that then?"

"Would you mind covering my cookie with your icing?"