Brea
“Do you want me to start carrying things to the table?” I ask Amy as she puts the finishing touches on tonight’s beautiful dessert. It’s a carrot cake. I’ve never had a carrot cake, but it has made the entire house smell divine all afternoon.
“That would be great. Thanks.” Amy purses her lips as she squeezes adorable orange carrots onto the top of the cake out of frosting. My mouth is watering.
Tonight is beef stew night and that scent has also been wafting into the air all day. She started it this morning. Homemade bread and honey butter too.
When I moved to Blossom Ridge three weeks ago, I took the biggest gamble of my life. I arrived with almost nothing but the clothes on my back. The only reason I have a state ID and a social security card is because Craig helped me apply for them when I got here.
Craig and Leah and everyone else at Blossom Ridge have saved my life. Literally. Or at least rescued me from hell. I don’t know what would have happened to me if they hadn’t offered me this lifesaver.
I still haven’t told them much about my past, mostly because I’m embarrassed, but they know enough. They’ve given me a place to live, food to eat, and clothes to wear.
It’s weird living in the small cabin behind the mansion. Until I arrived here, I’d never spent a single night of my life alone. I’ve never even had my own bed.
I haven’t slept well yet. It’s too quiet, and I get scared when I wake up in the night alone. But every night it gets better. I’m finding myself. And I’m learning a lot.
I’m so ignorant about the world that I don’t have a clue what normal is, but I don’t think Blossom Ridge is the definition. This place is more of a haven. A place where grown adults come to relax and regress. They’re called Littles. They have a caregiver who is a Mommy or a Daddy, someone who takes care of them entirely.
It’s mesmerizing to watch, and I have to admit I’ve been envious of everyone I’ve seen. I’ve learned there are a ton of reasons why an adult might like to spend time pretending to be younger. Some of them simply enjoy the simplicity. Some loved their childhood so much they wish they’d never had to grow up. Some thrive on being naughty and getting disciplined.
But some missed out on all or part of their childhood for an assortment of reasons. Like me. Maybe this is why I find it attractive. Childhood? Ha. I never had one.
I carry the plates to the table and set them on each placemat. We have three couples staying at the Ridge this week, so I set the table for twelve. That’s the maximum number of people who can sit at the kitchen table, and it’s a bit tight. It was built for ten. When we have more than six guests, we set up another table in the giant room for additional seating.
There’s plenty of space. The kitchen is huge. There’s also a dining room off the kitchen, but we rarely use it. It has an even longer table that will seat far more people, but the owner of the mansion wants the guests to feel like they’re at home. He likes the kitchen to have a relaxed vibe where any guest can come and go and grab a cookie or a piece of fruit.
I totally agree. The dining room would be stuffy and not as inviting for Littles and their caregivers. It’s saved for special occasions. I can’t wait to be here for Christmas or Thanksgiving or a wedding. It will be magical. But for everyday use, Master Roman is right. The kitchen is perfect.
I’ve met Master Roman, the owner, and his wife, Lucy, two times. She’s also Little. They came for a few hours one day and then last weekend for two nights. They’re so kind and friendly, just like every other person living here and visiting.
After I arrange the plates, I head for the silverware and napkins. I’ve only recently started helping Amy in the kitchen. I was technically hired as head of housekeeping, which Lord knows I’m beyond qualified to do. But most days it doesn’t take very many hours to keep things in order, so I’ve started helping Amy.
I’m a pro when it comes to housekeeping. My skills in the kitchen are lacking. Well, that’s not entirely true. I can and have cooked for and fed far more people than we’ve ever had staying at Blossom Ridge so far, but I did so on a shoestring budget. Nothing like the gourmet meals Amy creates.
I’ve eaten more food here than I’ve ever eaten in my life, and I’ve learned about so many vegetables and fruits and meats. Every day is a culinary delight.
After placing the silverware exactly as Amy taught me two weeks ago, I head for the glasses. I arrange for ten adult glasses and six plastic cups like a child would use. I leave them all on the end of the island. When the couples arrive for dinner, the caregivers can decide what cup or glass to use for their own Little.
“Water, tea, and milk are ready,” I inform Amy as I set those pitchers out too. “Anything else?”
Amy is done with the cake and scoots it to the center of the island. “You can grab the butter. I’ll grab the bread.”
We both glance at the giant steaming pot of stew on the stove and giggle. It’s not like we couldn’t ladle it into serving bowls and carry them to the table, but Foster, Amy’s significant other whom she calls Daddy, would lose his mind. He doesn’t like either of us to lift heavy things. Or hot things. Or awkward breakable things.
After I set the butter down at both ends of the table, I glance at Amy. She’s smiling. “I love your giggle,” she says.
My cheeks heat. Until recently, I’m not sure I ever giggled in my life. I didn’t have time. Nor did I have a reason.
Amy removes her apron. “Did you meet Daddy’s friend Niko earlier?”
I shake my head, but my cheeks heat further. Hopefully, she won’t notice. “I saw him this afternoon while Foster was giving him a tour of the property, but we didn’t actually meet.”
“I talked to him for a while when he first arrived. He’s super nice. You’ll like him.”
Niko might be super nice. I don’t doubt that. But he’s also super tall and super big and super intimidating. When I first saw him across the pool, I nearly tripped over my own feet. I know Foster is six-four, and Niko was almost the same height. Maybe six-three. His hair is thick and brown with a slight tinge of gray at the edges. His eyes are a deep brown too.
I only glanced for a few seconds but I didn’t miss any of those fine points. Nor did I miss the slight beard on his face. Either he grooms it intentionally like that or he hasn’t shaved for a few days. I’ve been rubbing my palms together ever since, fighting the weird urge to rub them against his cheeks.
Absurd. I have no idea why on earth I reacted to him so viscerally. There’s no explanation. He’s just a man like any other man. I’m not so naïve that I’ve never met men. I just haven’t met many, nor have I spent much time with them. And never alone.
I know I lived a rather isolated existence for most of my life, but I did leave the house. I ran errands. I took my brothers and sisters to the park. I was finally actually working at Stella’s café for several weeks before I took this job.
The point is I’ve never reacted to a single man in my life before this afternoon, and I’m unnerved by the prospect of seeing Niko again and sitting down to eat dinner with him at the table.
I’ll probably spill something down the front of me or drop beef stew in my lap if I have to sit across from Niko Giles.
Voices fill the kitchen a moment before people enter from the hallway. Our guests. They all speak at once about how good it smells and how hungry it makes them and how beautiful the cake is.
Amy beams at the praise, and I can’t blame her. She’s so talented. She isn’t just an amazing chef, but she also manages to have everything ready at the exact perfect moment. Timing is a huge part of her job.
Foster comes in through the back door that leads out to the pool deck. Niko is with him.
Foster heads for Amy, tips her head back, and kisses her so sweetly it’s impossible not to feel their love. As soon as he meets her gaze, she shifts seamlessly from the adult woman who’s been working in the kitchen to the Little who obeys her Daddy. It’s fascinating.
As Foster moves to ladle the stew into the serving platters, I glance at Niko and stiffen. He meets my gaze and smiles. I hold my breath as he comes closer and extends his hand. “Sorry we didn’t get to meet earlier. I’m Niko Giles.”
I set my trembling hand in his and clear my throat. “Brea Hopson.” I’m glad I’m able to eke out that much and not sound like a fool. At least I remember my name.
“I love that name. Brea. It’s so pretty.” It sounds like a symphony when he says it.
“Thank you, sir.” It’s not hard for me to address the people I meet here with appropriate respect. I may not be book smart, but my father taught us to call him and every other man sir as soon as we could make a sound. It comes naturally, and it’s fitting since all the Littles address their caregivers respectfully.
He’s slow to release my fingers, and I feel bereft when he does so. “It smells amazing in here.”
“Amy’s a fantastic chef. Everything she cooks makes my mouth water.” There. I used an intelligent full sentence.
Craig and Leah have joined us and they’re pointing out where everyone should sit, placing the guests at one end of the table and the rest of us at the other end.
Leah assigns me to a seat next to Niko. I’m not surprised. After all, we are the two unattached people at this dinner. But I’m nervous. What if Niko wants to engage me in conversation? I’m about to run out of words. I’ll surely verbally trip over myself and look foolish.
It’s Niko who pulls out my chair and pushes it in as I sit. “Can I get you a drink?” he asks.
I nod and mutter, “Thank you.” I’m not used to being served. I’ve never been served. Ever? It’s possible. It’s strange.
“Water? Tea? Milk?”
I tip my head back to meet his gaze. “Water, please.”
“Do you prefer a glass or a sippy cup?”
My entire body responds to his question. I’m trembling now. “A glass is fine, sir,” I murmur.
He nods and heads for the island. It’s hard for me to focus on the rest of the room. Most of the Littles are seated, and their Daddies—we don’t have any Mommies here this week—are preparing them drinks.
I’m not a Little of course. I mean I don’t think I am. But every Little in the room is handed a sippy cup, including Leah and Amy. Most of them have been served milk. I feel kind of strange when Niko sets a glass of water before me, which is silly since I’d feel a lot weirder if he gave me a sippy cup.
All the men are still standing. They grab bowls and lean over the table to fill them with stew. I’m used to being the odd man—or woman I suppose—out at the Ridge. I’m female and I don’t have a Daddy. Foster and Craig go out of their way to make sure I have what I need, but they’re careful not to treat me like a Little.
I suddenly worry that Niko feels forced to take care of me simply by virtue of being a man while I’m clearly without a partner. The thought makes my stomach hurt. I don’t want him to feel obligated. I’m not a charity case.
“You don’t have to serve me,” I point out as he sets a bowl in front of me.
He winks. “Humor me, Little one. I may be a bit rusty as a Daddy, but I would never let a Little girl serve herself even if she weren’t mine.”
My mouth opens. I need to tell him I’m not a Little. But the moment passes as he puts a slice of bread in front of me and adds a pat of butter to my plate.
I can’t relax until he finally sits next to me, his own food now also in front of him. “Go ahead, kitten. Eat.”
My heart. I think it stops. Kitten?
“What?” he asks, his brow furrowed. “You don’t like that nickname?”
I can’t help but smile. “I like it,” I murmur. “Why kitten?”
He taps my nose. “Your little button nose, I guess. And the way you’re so quiet and kind of bashful. Like a kitten. Seems fitting. Yeah?”
My cheeks heat as my smile grows.
Niko reaches for my ponytail and strokes his fingers through it before giving it a playful tug. “I once had a kitten almost the same auburn color as your hair too. Though I’m not sure his fur was as soft as your pretty locks.” He strokes it again and then releases it and leans back. “Sorry. I’m being too familiar. We hardly know each other.”
We don’t know each other at all. Not even a tiny bit. We met ten minutes ago, and yet both times he touched me sparks went through my system as if he’d shocked me. It’s irrational, but I wish he was still stroking my hair. “It’s okay,” I inform him. “I’ve never had a kitten. I’ve never had any pet.”
I have no idea why I share this information. I’ve never thought much about it, but I bet it would be nice if I had a kitten. I wouldn’t feel as lonely if I had something to pet, a cat who would crawl up into my lap. An animal who would look at me like I hang the moon, reliant on me.
“Ah. Well, you’ve been missing out. Pets are great.” He winks.
I flush. It’s odd having him pay so much attention to me.
He finally turns toward his meal and takes a bite of the stew, moaning around it. “That’s amazing.”
As I lift my own fork, wondering how I’m going to chew and swallow with him so close to me, his hand suddenly wraps around my wrist over the bowl. “Be careful. Blow on it. It’s very hot.”
I flush deeper. So many things about this situation are jarring. First of all, no one has ever cared if I got burned by food. Second of all, I’ve never once had hot food before arriving here, so I wouldn’t know what it might feel like to burn my mouth. Thirdly, Niko’s huge hand is still gripping my arm. Not unwanted. His palm is so large it nearly spans from my wrist to my elbow. His hands are rough from years of hard work. Since he’s come here to help Foster finish part of the basement, I assume he’s a carpenter.
The most shocking thing is that I like his touch. It’s warm and caring and I don’t want him to let go. That’s absurd of course, and though his fingers linger longer than necessary, he does eventually release me.
I glance at him, swallowing back my nerves.
He winces. “Sorry again. I’m overstepping. Way overstepping. Something about you brings out the dormant Daddy in me. I can’t help myself. I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable.”
Oddly he’s not. He’s making me wonder about myself though.
“You are Little, right?” he asks.
I release my fork, afraid I might drop it if I don’t. “Uh, I don’t think so. I don’t know.” That’s as true as it gets. I’ve watched and learned for the last three weeks, but that doesn’t make me Little.
Niko’s fingers come to my cheek next. “Okay.” He smiles warmly. “As long as I’m not upsetting you, that’s all that matters.” He winks.
“You’re not, sir.”
“Good.” He points at my food. “I don’t think it will burn you anymore.”
I hesitate, afraid I will seriously dribble the stew down the front of me if I try to eat. Eventually, I manage to lift the fork again and take a bite. I moan around the flavor.
Niko chuckles, a deep belly laugh that brings goosebumps to my skin. “It’s good, isn’t it?”
I nod, still chewing, not wanting to talk with my mouth open.
I’m relieved when Craig speaks from across the table, interrupting us. We’ve been in a bubble over here as if no one else exists. “What did you think of the unfinished rooms in the basement, Niko?” Craig asks.
Niko shifts his attention to Craig and Foster. “So much potential. All the support beams are accounted for. I have an idea for the larger room. I’ll sketch it up tomorrow and show you.”
Craig chuckles. “Any hints?”
“Nope. Wouldn’t want any Little ears to hear.” I glance at him in time to see him wink at Leah and then me. “It would ruin the surprise.”
Leah’s eyes light up. So do Amy’s. “Tell us,” they both beg at the same time.
“Nope.” Niko shakes his head. He’s got a playful side. It endears him to me even more. All the men I’ve met here have a playful side now that I think about it. It’s foreign to me. Playful men?
“When are you going to start?” Leah asks. She twists around to look at Craig. “Can I watch him work sometimes, Daddy?”
Craig frowns at her. “Not likely, silly girl.” He gives her braid a tug. “Too dangerous. The last thing Niko needs is a Little girl underfoot while he works.”
She pouts, pushing her bottom lip out. “I won’t get in the way. I promise. I just want to watch sometimes and see how it’s going.”
Craig chuckles. “You mean you want to snoop around and try to figure out what he’s building.” He lifts a brow.
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “That’s not true.”
“Do you know what is true?” Craig asks.
Leah’s shoulders drop. “I’m about to get my butt spanked,” she murmurs.
“Indeed.” He points at her dinner. “Eat.”
I’ve watched this dynamic for three weeks. It’s not as shocking as it was at first. It’s how they interact. Amy and Foster too. Most of the guests who come also. Leah and Amy have explained age play to me enough for me to understand. It’s a type of dominance and submission. A power play.
Yes, both of them get spanked on occasion. I’ve even seen it a few times. They like it. They wouldn’t talk back or get into trouble if they didn’t. They also enjoy the odd humiliation of being reprimanded or put into time out in the naughty corner in the kitchen where the hardwood is worn from a century of Littles standing there.
This mansion has been in Master Roman’s family for over a hundred years. Apparently, his ancestors were all involved in the fetish community in some fashion. Even though no one had used the property for several years until Craig and Leah came to open it under the new name—Blossom Ridge—the evidence of Littles from the past remains in various places around the house.
The guest rooms are unlike any place on earth. Half of them are normal rooms with king-sized beds and regular color schemes. The other half look like children’s rooms with twin beds, pastel colors, ruffles, and toys. They aren’t for kids, however. They’re for adult Littles.
When I clean those rooms, I feel deep envy. I never had anything like that growing up. I’ve never had my own room. Never slept alone in a twin bed. Never had a toy box. I never had the time to sit and play either.
For most of my life, I didn’t know any different and didn’t resent what I missed out on. But as I grew older and learned more about the world around me, I began to feel the loss. Now that I’ve left that life behind, I’ve started to feel bitter about what I missed out on.
My bowl is half empty when Niko sets his hand on my wrist again, startling me. He leans close to whisper in my ear. “Slow down, kitten. You’re going to choke.”
I swallow my bite and release my fork to take a drink of water. He’s right. I eat too fast. It’s a habit that comes from a lifetime of necessity. For two decades I’ve often eaten quickly or after the rest of my siblings finished.
I glance at Niko as I set my glass down. “I’m sorry, sir.” For some reason, I don’t want to disappoint him. “I’ll try.”
His brow is slightly furrowed as he strokes my ponytail again. He doesn’t say another word, but he does stare at me for a moment longer.
I force myself to eat at a more reasonable pace, watching everyone else at the table for social cues. They’re all talking and eating as if their food isn’t going to disappear if they don’t hurry.
Suddenly, I feel overwhelmed. A lot about Blossom Ridge has been a learning curve, but I’m particularly out of my element tonight. No one here has tried to boss me around since I arrived. Not until Niko.
It’s not that I’m upset. Not with him, at least. I’m just unnerved and feel like I stand out like a sore thumb. My appetite disappears and I spend the rest of the meal nibbling on my bread, wishing it could be over so I can go back to my lonely room and regroup.
If I could get away with it, I would excuse myself and leave the table now, but that would be rude and make me stand out even more than I already do. I don’t want anyone to notice me. I want to be a wallflower. I want to watch people and learn from them without them pointing out how different I am.
I know I’m different. I’m practically not from the same planet as other people. My background is weird and embarrassing. I don’t know normal social cues. I don’t know how to fix my hair. I’ve never worn makeup. I don’t have a style. There’s no way for me to know what I might even like or not like. Based on what?
Most of the time, I’ve felt as at home and welcome as possible at Blossom Ridge. It helps that the guests and even the other female employees don’t have fancy hair or makeup either. They don’t choose their clothes most of the time. They have obvious favorite colors and outfits, but they certainly don’t judge others. It’s apparent that Littles, and from what I hear, the fetish community in general, are by and large not judgmental people.
Tonight feels different. Niko is paying attention to me in a way no one has so far. Maybe it’s because we’re the only two unattached people at the table. Maybe it’s in his nature to Daddy those around him. He suggested as much.
I’m concerned about my reactions to him. Unnerved. Confused. Overwhelmed. It’s not that I necessarily dislike him noticing me. It’s just unexpected and awkward.
He’s going to be staying here for a while. At least a month. I’m pretty sure he’s been assigned to the cabin to the right of mine. I’m in the one Amy used for only a few nights before she and Foster hooked up and she moved in with him.
I glance at Amy, remembering what she’s shared with me. When she first arrived, she didn’t see herself as a Little. Foster set her straight quickly. They had some sort of instantaneous attraction that turned into more so fast her head was spinning.
She’s so happy. Everyone can see it in her eyes, and the way she looks at Foster like he hangs the sun and the moon is the sweetest thing ever. I’ve never in my life dreamed of loving someone like that. It’s never been in the cards for me. Not even a blip on my radar.
Still isn’t.
I glance back at Niko. He looks chagrined as he glances at my unfinished meal but he says nothing. That’s a good thing. I’m too confused to carry on any more conversation with him. I can’t think with him next to me, hovering. Daddying me. I don’t know what to make of it.
I hope I haven’t made some sort of social blunder. Things are awkward between us now, and I’m pretty sure it’s my fault. Great. What should I do? Apologize?