It was your first Valentine's Day with him, and you wanted everything to be perfect. You planned a full day of activities for the two of you, hoping he'd be willing to go along with it.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Daddy," you said sweetly, sitting on top of him while he was still asleep.
He opened his eyes slowly, squinting up at you. "What the fuck..." he mumbled groggily. "What time is it?"
"It's 10 a.m.," you said with a cheeky grin. "Time to get up! I made a Valentine's Day breakfast for you."
He sighed and rubbed his face. "I don't celebrate Valentine's Day, baby." He gently pushed you off of him and rolled onto his side.
"But I made breakfast... and I had a bunch of things planned for us..." you pouted.
"Aww, that's too bad, baby," he said with his face buried in the pillow, his broad back turned to you.
Your heart dropped. Tears welled in your eyes. "But it's Valentine's Day... you're supposed to celebrate it with someone you love. And... I love you."
He groaned, frustrated. He hated when you cried. "Ugh, fine. Don't take all damn day with this shit. I got things to do today." He sat up, pulling on a pair of sweatpants.
Your mood instantly lifted. You jumped up, grabbed his hands, and led him into the kitchen.
He sat at the table, watching you move around with sleepy eyes.
"Okay! So, on today's menu," you began, "we have heart-shaped pancakes—because I love you. Scrambled eggs—because I love you. Fresh fruit—because I—"
"Okay, okay, I get it, little girl," he rolled his eyes. He hated how much you loved love. How you talked about it. How you wore your heart so openly. You knew he couldn't give that back to you the way you wanted... but you reminded him every day that you loved him anyway.
"You fuckin' love me. Now can I eat?"
"Yes, sir," you giggled, setting his plate down.
After breakfast, you got up and left the kitchen for a moment. When you returned, you were carrying a Valentine's Day basket.
"Who's that for?" he asked, lighting up a cigarette.
"It's for you, Daddy," you said with a bright smile, placing it on the table. "Happy Valentine's Day."
He looked it over—a card, some homemade desserts, a small teddy bear, and a picture frame filled with photos of the two of you, framed with red lipstick kisses.
"I know you pretty much have everything in the world," you said softly, "so I didn't know what to get you. But I put this together to show you how much I love and appreciate you."
He put out his cigarette and picked up the picture frame. That's what caught his eye the most. He studied it—how you'd placed the kisses just right, how many memories you managed to fit in one small frame.
"I love it, doll. Thank you," he said, still staring at the frame.
You froze.
You never thought you'd hear him say that—not the "love" part, but the thank you. That was the shocker.
A smile bloomed across your face and you launched yourself into his lap.
"I'm glad you do," you beamed, kissing him all over his face.
"Now come on," you whispered, teasing. "I've got another surprise... but it's in the bedroom."
You slid off his lap and stood in front of him.
A slow grin spread across his face. "Oh, it's in the bedroom, huh?"
You smiled shyly. "Yes, sir."
That word lit something in him. He loved when you called him that—so soft, so innocent, so respectful. It made him crazy for you.
"Fuck the bedroom," he said, that wicked smile returning. "We can do it right here."
Best Valentine's Day ever.
