“Sure. What’s up?”
“I wanted to bring you this.” Derek crossed the small space and held out a short stack of papers.
Taking the stack, Connor glanced at the neat, careful handwriting. “Hayleigh’s survey?”
“Yes. As you know, all the submissives have to fill one out when they come to the Ranch. It has her likes and dislikes, hard limits, etc.”
“This is helpful, thanks.” Leaning back in his chair, he looked up at his boss. “Word’s gotten out already, huh?”
“Well, Hayleigh checked with Nanny J that it was okay for her to have dinner with you.” Derek shrugged. “Good news travels fast.”
“Probably for the best. Saves us from awkward conversations if things go the way I’d like them to.”
“It won’t, however, save you from curious Littles with lots of questions.”
“Shit.”
Laughing, Derek clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. You always handle them well. They respect you and they have a healthy fear of your spoons, but they’re not scared of you.” His expression sobered. “I’m trusting you with her, Connor. That’s not a decision I make lightly. I trust you won’t make me regret it.”
Connor weighed his words carefully before replying. “I can’t promise I won’t hurt her, Derek. You know how I feel about her, but there is always a chance that things won’t work out and one of us will get hurt in the process. I can promise I will treat her right while she’s mine. You have my word on that.”
“I suppose that will have to do for now. I’ll let you get back to work.”
When the door closed behind Derek, Connor turned his attention to the stack of papers he’d been handed. It almost felt like cheating but getting this information at the beginning would certainly help him plan their evening.
It was both a relief and a disappointment to see she wasn’t a novice in most of the areas on the list. There wasn’t much he’d be able to introduce her to, which was always a treat, but at least she knew what she liked and knew her limits. The list reminded him of all the delicious fantasies he’d had about her over the last few months – and inspired a few he’d never considered.
Dinner suddenly seemed impossibly far away.
Luckily, he was off most of the day, so there was no possibility of him getting distracted during food prep again.
Two hours later, he’d managed to work through his supply orders. It should have only taken about thirty minutes, but he’d found himself picking up her questionnaire to study it several times as he’d worked.
Leaving his kitchen in Julie’s more than capable hands, he made his way back to the small cottage that was part of his compensation for working on the Ranch. He’d spent a considerable amount of time mentally planning their dinner for tonight. Lasagna, made from scratch, because Hayleigh favored Italian food when given the choice. She didn’t seem to be a hugely picky eater, but he knew she wasn’t a fan of Mexican food. And, like a lot of their resident Littles, she had to be bribed into eating vegetables. The chocolate mousse he was planning to whip up should do the trick for getting her to eat the salad he’d prepare later.
Or he’d just have an excuse to get her over his knee, which wouldn’t exactly be a hardship.
With the old-school country music he preferred blasting in the background, he went to work preparing the lasagna. The process soothed him. Some people thought of cooking as a chore, but for him every step was part of a dance he’d long ago memorized, and each one gave him joy. Even the mundane parts, like chopping the vegetables or measuring out the ingredients. Each step was a part of the whole, and the dance couldn’t be performed correctly if the chef half-assed a single one.
By the time he’d finished this particular dance, it was nearly time to pick Hayleigh up. After a quick shower, he threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and headed for the front door. His reflection in the entryway mirror made him pause. Swearing under his breath, he turned on his heel and went back to the bedroom.
“This is a date, you big oaf. Dress like it.” Jesus, should he have gotten her flowers? Maybe the gift shop was still open and he could find her something.
He kept the jeans but switched the t-shirt out for a pale blue button-down shirt with thin, navy blue stripes running vertically through it. A Christmas gift from his sister the year before; she had insisted the color made his eyes pop.
Whatever the hell that meant.
But it looked nice enough. Though perhaps a little stuffy for a casual dinner at home. He unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled the sleeves up over his elbows.
“Well,” he told his reflection, “you’re not going to win any beauty contests, but I suppose you’ll do.”
The gift shop, to his immense relief, was open and he was able to snag a pretty bouquet of colorful flowers he couldn’t have named if his life had depended on it. Give him a garden full of herbs and he could identify each and every one, but flowers eluded him.
When he walked up to the counter, the cashier’s eyes went wide behind her thick glasses. “Um, hi, Chef. Is that all?”
Well, he’d thought it was until she asked. Should he get something else? Fighting back a rising wave of panic, he glanced around, looking for anything else he might have forgotten. His gaze landed on a package of individually wrapped chocolates and he reached over to grab it. “This, too.”
Becky, according to her nametag, gave him a polite, if somewhat confused smile, but thankfully didn’t comment. It wasn’t until he was halfway to the Littles’ wing that he realized she’d just been asking if he needed anything else and was not judging him for only getting flowers.