Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 198235 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 991(@200wpm)___ 793(@250wpm)___ 661(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 198235 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 991(@200wpm)___ 793(@250wpm)___ 661(@300wpm)
He doesn’t look up from my phone, but I can see his little face screw up in disgust. ‘She’s putting on her party dress. It’s all frilly. Nana bought it.’
My eyes roll, knowing that I’m going to find my baby girl looking like candyfloss has exploded all over her. ‘Why does your mother think my daughter needs to look like she’s been attacked with the pink stick?’ I sit myself next to Jacob and put the jar between us so he can help himself. And he does. His chubby little finger dives right in and scoops out the biggest dollop. My chest swells with pride, and I exhale around my own finger, looking back up to Ava for an answer.
Her eyebrows are high as she shakes her head at Jacob on a fond smile, but then her eyes are on me and she’s not smiling anymore. What did I do? ‘Don’t wind her up, Jesse.’
‘I won’t!’ I laugh. I bloody will, and I’ll enjoy every moment of it.
‘Nana calls you a menace.’ Jacob looks up at me, his finger still hanging from his mouth. ‘She said you always have been and always will be. She accepts it now.’ His little shoulders shrug.
A burst of laughter escapes and now Ava is laughing with me, her dreamy chocolate eyes sparkling, her succulent lips begging me to take them. Then she ditches the apron, revealing her tight, tidy little figure. I’m not laughing now. I’m panting and reaching under the table to try and bash myself down. It’s a constant fucking battle. ‘I like your dress.’ My eyes take a lazy jaunt down the length of her black fitted dress as I plan on how I’ll remove it later. I might be kind and let her wear it again, she really does look amazing in it, but by later, I know I won’t be in any fit state to take my time.
‘You like all of mummy’s dresses.’ Jacob pipes up tiredly, snapping my eyes from that body—the one that sends me insane with want.
‘I do.’ I agree, giving his messy mop of blonde a ruffle. ‘Speaking of dresses, I’m going to find your sister.’
‘Okay,’ he agrees, turning his attention back to my phone and re-dipping his finger.
I jump up and go in search of Maddie, taking the stairs two at a time and bursting into her pink infested room. ‘Where’s my birthday girl?’
‘Here!’ she squeals, appearing from her wendy house.
I nearly choke on thin air. ‘You are not wearing that, little lady!’
‘Yes, I am!’ She runs across the room when I start marching towards her. ‘Maddie!’ What the fucking hell? She’s five! Five fucking years old, and I’m already ripping hot pants and cropped t-shirts from her tiny body. Where the fuck is that frilly pink thing?
‘Mummy!’ she screams, as I catch her ankle on the bed. She can scream the fucking house down. She is NOT wearing that. ‘Mummy!’
‘Maddie, come here!’
‘No!’ She kicks me—the little sod kicks me and dashes out the room, leaving me a pathetic heap of stressed out daddy on her pink, fluffy bed. I’ve been outdone by a five year old little girl. But that little girl is the daughter of my beautiful wife. I’m fucked.
I stand and straighten myself out before going in pursuit. ‘Don’t run down the stairs, Maddie!’ I yell, practically throwing myself down them after her. I watch her tiny little hot panted arse disappear into the kitchen as she searches for the back-up of her mother.
I skid to a halt and watch her scrambling up Ava’s body. ‘What’s going on?’ Ava asks, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. I might have.
‘Look at her!’ I wave my hands at my baby girl like a deranged screwball. ‘Look!’
Ava places her on the floor and crouches down, pushing my baby’s chocolate waves over her little shoulders and pulling the hem of that ridiculous t-shirt down. She can pull it down all she fucking likes. It’s not staying on my baby’s body. ‘Maddie,’ Ava’s gone into pacifying mode, something, perhaps, I should have thought about before blurting the death words. I should have learnt by now; don’t tell Maddie no. It’s rule number fucking one. ‘Daddy thinks your t-shirt is a little small.’
‘I do.’ I cut in, just for clarification. ‘Way too small.’
My little lady flips me a scowl. ‘He’s being unreasonable.’
I gasp and point an accusing glare at Ava. She has the decency to look apologetic. ‘See what you’ve done?’
‘Daddy has the power!’ Jacob sings, halting any chance I had of scoring a win.
It’s Ava who’s gasping now. ‘You need to remember, Ward. These little ears hear everything.’
I do the sensible thing and shut the fuck up. My wife can’t hide her exasperation, and I don’t expect her to. I expect her to remove that pathetic excuse of a t-shirt from my baby girl’s tiny body.