1
THEO
“Daddy?”The word floated through the crack in my bedroom door like a threat. “Are you awake?”
“No…” I groaned and rolled onto my stomach, dragging my pillow over my head, hoping my energetic three-year-old would take the hint and let me sleep in.
Saturday mornings are supposed to be for sleeping in.
At least, that was the dream. But ever since becoming a dad to a pint-sized gremlin whose internal clock didn’t believe in weekends, I hadn’t slept past seven in over three years.
And right on schedule, the hinges on my bedroom door gave a soft creak before the quick patter of little feet crossed the carpet.
“Daddy?” Charlotte’s voice came again, closer this time. “Are you awake yet?”
I kept the pillow over my head for another half second, pretending I didn’t hear her.
But it didn’t matter. My daughter wasn’t the type to give up easily. With a giggle, she yanked the pillow away and let it fall to the floor.
So much for getting a few more minutes.
I cracked one eye open to find Charlotte inches from my face—bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, her pink nightgown rumpled, her dark curls in wild rebellion, and her stuffed raccoon, Bandit, clutched to her chest.
“Good morning, Daddy!” she chirped, far too cheerful for this hour.
“Hey, bug,” I mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. “You know it’s Saturday, right? That means Daddy gets to sleep until noon.”
“But we have Aspen’s birthday party,” she said, climbing onto the bed.
“That’s not until after lunch,” I said, wishing she had a better concept of time.
“But I’m hungry,” she announced, not seeming to listen. “Can we make pancakes?”
Of course. Our Saturday morning tradition. How could I forget?
But first…
“Did you go potty yet?” I asked when she nudged me over and snuggled under the covers.
And the guilty look she got in her green eyes told me everything I needed to know.
“Come on.” I sighed. “You know the rule. You have to go to the bathroom before you can climb in Daddy’s bed.”
A rule that had been made afterwaytoo many potty-training accidents.
Yep, there was nothing quite like waking up to suspiciously damp sheets at three in the morning to make a guy vigilant.
“Fine,” she said with a sigh.
So I rolled out of bed, scooped her in my arms, and carried her into the bathroom attached to my bedroom.
While she took care of business, I ducked into my closetand grabbed a white T-shirt and sweats. When I stepped back into the bathroom, Charlotte had already flushed and was up on her toes, stretching to reach the faucet.
I didn’t have a stool for her in here, so I turned on the water and lifted her to the sink.
“Soap?” I asked, holding out the dispenser.
She nodded and rubbed her hands together under the stream.