Blessing in Disguise (MM)

Chapter Twelve

NICK'S POV

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"Els," I call out as I make her a packed lunch. "We're going to be late."

Feeding a five year old seems impossible some days. I'll pack a sliced apple for Monday but by Thursday she hates it and will only eat strawberries. Honestly I can't win. I've been tempted to pay for her school meals at the canteen but then I can't be certain that she'll eat. She's fussy as it is and the thought of her not eating doesn't sit well with me at all.

At least this way I can be sure she can nibble on things she enjoys.

"Daddy," she rushes in from her bedroom down the hall and I huff out. "I need you to plait my hair. I've got PE today. Miss Shelton doesn't like it when my hair is down."

"What did I tell you about running? Especially in socks."

She glances down at her feet and then smiles. "Sorry."

I zip up her lunch box and set it on the counter. "Come here," I pat the stool as she hops up on it. My hands run through her dark brown hair, it's soft and thick. Every single father's worst nightmare. "Hair band."

Elodie's fingers snap in my direction with a green glitter hair tie. I take it from her hold and slide it onto my wrist before taking her hair at the back of her head and begin to plait as neatly as possible.

When I found out that my ex partner was having Elodie, it came as a shock. Neither of us planned to have a child and in my eyes, I still see myself as being young. I was twenty-four and the thought of having a kid at twenty-five was a shock to the system.

As soon as Elodie was born, I knew her mother, Daniella, was not fit to look after her. She made the choice to spend all of her money on cocaine and bottles of wine instead of looking after her daughter.

That's when I took full custody after winning in court. There was no fucking way I'd let Daniella ever look after Elodie again–not when I can't be certain she's sober. I've heard one too many horror stories about children getting into things they shouldn't. I would never put my daughter in that danger.

When Elodie turned eight months old, I was officially her only responsible parent. I cried of relief in that courtroom and vowed to myself that I would be the best father I could to my little girl.

That included knowing how to style hair and what clothes she should wear. I learnt pretty fast. I had to. Braiding didn't come easily to me but I managed to get the hang of it whilst practising as we sat and watched movies.

"Daddy," Elodie grasps my attention as I plait with as much precision as possible. "Why was Aris so sad yesterday?"

I frown at her question. "I don't know, pumpkin. What do you mean?"

He seemed fine when I got in just after seven. Elodie wasn't in bed yet which gave me the opportunity to put her to sleep and read her a book, something that I feel I haven't done in a long while.

"He was crying. But he said he wasn't. I think he was lying and you know we don't like it when people lie," she twists her head slowly to look at me over her shoulder as I secure the band around the end of her hair. "I saw a tear roll down his face."

My brows dip even more as she continues to talk. "Did you ask him?"

"He said it was because of the onions," Elodie twists to jump down from the stool and glance up at me. "But he wasn't standing near the onions. I watched him look at his phone, then I saw him cry."

The thought of him being upset is disheartening but even if Elodie asks, she's the last person he should be explaining himself to. She's only a child and I wouldn't want any kind of sadness or trauma being dumped on her.