I can’t sleep. Declan went to bed hours ago, but all I can do is toss and turn. My mind keeps drifting back to the past, and memories of my dad play in my head. Looking over at Declan, he looks so peaceful. I watch him as he sleeps, but it’s impossible to ignore my stomach when it growls at me. Slipping out of bed, I pad across the room and shut the door quietly behind me. I head over to the kitchen and pull out a slice of cheesecake that room service delivered earlier. Grabbing my notepad and the list of passengers, I take a seat on the couch in the living room and begin working on the next name.
Asher Corre
Looking at the name, I pick up a strawberry garnish from the plate and eat it, and another memory of my dad finds me again.
“Happy birthday, princess.”
“Daddy,” I groan as I roll over in bed, rubbing the sleep dust out of my eyes with my hands.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”
I open my eyes to see my daddy sitting on the edge of my bed with a great big bundle of pink balloons and a smile on his face.
“Am I five today?”
“You are. You’re getting so big, baby.”
“Then you can’t call me ‘baby’ if I’m so big.”
“I’ll call you ‘baby’ even when you’re my age,” he says. “Come on, get out of bed.”
I groan again, still sleepy, and he sets the weight that’s tied to the bottom of the balloons on the floor and then reaches his hands out in an over-sized gesture. I immediately squeal and throw the covers over my head.
“The tickle monster is gonna get you,” he teases in a playful monster voice, and I start laughing before he even gets me.
When his fingers get ahold of me I squeal and squirm with loud giggles.
“Daddy, stop!”
“Say the magic word,” he says in a sing-song voice as he continues to tickle me.
“Abracadabra . . . Please . . . Hocus pocus . . .” I ramble off, saying everything I can think of, and then he stops. My belly hurts from all the laughing, and I have to catch my breath.
“Are you getting up?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Breakfast in ten minutes, princess. Get ready and don’t forget to brush your teeth,” he tells me as he stands and walks to my bedroom door. “Oh, wait. I forgot something.”
I get out of bed as he walks back to me. He lifts me up, and I wrap my arms and legs around him like a monkey when he starts kissing my neck. The prickles from his beard tickle me, and I laugh.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too, birthday girl,” he says before setting me back on my feet. “Now get dressed.”
Because it’s my birthday, I decide to wear as many colors as I can find in my dresser, and when I’m ready and my teeth are brushed, I run out into the kitchen.
“Pancakes!”
“And whipped cream,” he adds.
I take a seat at the table in front of a ginormous stack of pancakes, but before he puts the whipped cream on them, he says, “Open up.”
He holds the can over my head, so I lean back, open my mouth, and he squirts my mouth full of whipped cream.
“When does my party start?”
“Your friends will be here at noon, so I need to get started on your birthday cake as soon as we’re finished with breakfast.”
“You’re making the strawberry cake, right?”
“Of course. It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”
“Yes! Strawberries are my super duper favorite!” I exclaim.
I begin eating my pancake tower, but it doesn’t take long for my belly to get full. I play with my dolls in the living room while Daddy cleans up, and when he’s done, he calls me back into the kitchen.
“Did you want to help me with the cake?”
“Yes!” I say excitedly and then drag one of the chairs from the table over to the counter and climb up.
He pulls out all the ingredients from the pantry and fridge and helps me fill measuring cups that I dump into a big bowl. Once the cake batter is made, he lets me lick the spoon and bowl as he puts the pan into the oven.
While it’s baking we play a couple games of Go Fish and watch Saturday morning cartoons. The timer goes off and we return to the kitchen.
“Is it time for the strawberry slime?” I ask.
“Yep!”
As Daddy prepares the strawberry gelatin, he lets me stab the holes in the cake with a toothpick. When the gelatin starts to thicken a little, I help him pour it over the cake. He puts it into the fridge to set before we go outside to play in the back yard.
“Will you push me high?” I ask when I run over to the swing set.
“You don’t want to do it on your own?”
“Not today.”
He pushes me, and when I call out, “Higher!” he says, “What if I push you into the clouds?”
“That’s silly, Daddy. That can’t happen.”
We spend a good amount of time playing outside, and when we’re done and the cake is ready, he lets me frost it with strawberry icing.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know that?” he tells me as I smear on the icing.