“I told mommy I was spending the night with a friend, but that fell through. Is it okay if I spend the night?” she said impishly, giving me the impression that her “friend” was one of the male variety. “Or course you can Princess” I replied, reverting to the name I’d called her throughout her childhood. I was about to continue when she interrupted“Uh, dad, can we pull over? I think I’m going to—” she croaked. Say no more! I quickly signaled and pulled over just in time for her to hang her head out the door and lose her dinner. And it sounded like lunch and breakfast too. I hadn’t heard anyone that sick since my college days. She slowly straightened herself and looked over at me. “I’m okay now. You can go ahead.” I was suddenly very grateful that we were almost back at my house. She seemed to fall asleep on the way there, and as we pulled in to the driveway, I nudged her shoulder gently “Princess, we’re home.” “Okay” she muttered, not doing anything about it. I sighed and got out of. I kicked off my heels and ran my foot up her calf, feeling the smooth, cool leather of her trousers, so soft that they must have cost a fortune.The waitress arrived with our food, and we sat back to give her room to work. “Enjoy your meals, ladies,” she said with a knowing smile, then she was gone.We had both chosen the seafood linguini, and it was perfect, light and tasty, well-seasoned and so fresh. Ideal with the RoseThe waitress returned to clear the table and take our dessert orders. I was just toying with the idea of a crème Brulee when I felt Isabelle’s foot caress my calf. The tables small and intimate were no challenge to her long legs, and she could reach me easily.I tried to maintain eye contact with the waitress and pretend nothing was happening but that foot was sliding up my leg, a firm, warm pressure gliding ever upwards.I could hear the quiver in my voice as I ordered, rewarded by another oh so knowing look from the waitress.As she retreated to the kitchens, Isabelle’s.
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