Page 158 of Daddy's Pride
There was a trembly bottom lip that made Isla’s lip want to tremble too.
“I’ve an idea,” she said. “Why don’t you get into bed, and I’ll tuck you in and read you a story and stay with you until you fall asleep. And then I’ll leave. That way you can go to bed Little, and be Big when you wake up, without any of the anxious sad bits in between.”
“Okay,” said Rachel, and even though she still looked sad, Isla could see that the suggestion was one that she welcomed.
“You go get into your pajamas and brush your teeth, and I’ll see if I can find a book to read you in the meantime.”
Rachel scampered off, and Isla searched the internet for some books, and, discovering that some of the Peter Rabbit stories were public domain, picked one a starring naughty bunny to read to Rachel.
Dressed in freshly laundered jammies, with little bunnies on them, Rachel was delighted to see the story that Isla had picked out and curled up in bed, sucking her thumb.
“You don’t mind, Daddy?” she asked, suddenly anxious, and Isla reassured her that not only did she not mind, she was actually rather looking forward to it.
The book was longer than she’d expected, and as charmed as she was by the pictures, Rachel’s reaction was even cuter. She fought to keep her eyes open, finally asleep far before the end of the story.
Isla bookmarked where they were on her phone for the following night, and vowed to pick up the entire Beatrix Potter book set as soon as possible.
Gently kissing Rachel’s forehead, she made sure her girlfriend was all tucked in before quietly tiptoeing out of the apartment, closing the door as carefully as she could, and heading back to the van.
It was only when she hit the motorway that Isla started to cry. She had to blink tears back rapidly, so that she could concentrate on the road, and no matter how much she willed them away, they continued to fall.
Somehow, it still felt like a loss, like she was losing something by returning to London. But her job was there, her friends were there, and uprooting your life for a person was never a good idea, and yet Isla still couldn’t help but fantasize about what would have happened if she had stayed. What would have happened if they’d gotten a place together, and started this new stage of Rachel’s life together?
It was tough, and more than a little heartbreaking.
Chapter Thirteen
Settling into a new city felt strange, after all these years living in London. Things had definitely changed, and it felt odd to try and reenter circles that she’d stepped away from a decade before.
But a large number of her university friends still lived in Brighton, and they welcomed Rachel back with open arms.
And besides, she hardly had time to consider how scary a new beginning was, because so much of her time was taken up with planning for the Littles’ Market.
Cat had handed over the topic of vendors to Rach, and she’d thrown herself into it wholeheartedly. Isla’s referrals—Wyn, Aubrey and Skylar—had all been super enthusiastic about the prospect of being involved, and Morgan—Susie’s kink carpentry recommendation—had sounded surprised, but pleased to be invited.
One of her friends from university, Emma, had set up a jewelry business, and made day collars on the side, and she seemed a perfect fit, and very keen to have a stall.
Then it was a matter of speaking to friends, getting recommendations, and trawling through a whole load of websites and FetLife profiles to find vendors with the right kind of vibe. They’d added a corset designer, and someone who made onesies and baby clothes for adults, before Cat pointed out that they needed some more stalls that weren’t just Little- specific.
In the end Rachel managed to find vendors specializing in rope, floggers, harnesses, pet play and sex toys who were all openly queer. It was shaping up to be a really fun event, and she was looking forward to meeting everyone in person and possibly spending too much of her own money at each and every stall.
Even with all the organizing, Cat and Rachel found that it was pretty hard sorting everything else out on their own, and Emma had offered to help.
“I don’t really have any experience with Littles,” she said. “Other than the two of you, I’m not sure I’ve even met any before, but I imagine that we’re going to need to have some fairly strict rules about behavior and dress codes. It’s on a Sunday afternoon in the middle of Brighton, and you don’t want the businesses surrounding the hall to complain. That’s the biggest problem with events like this—the neighbors are always way too nosy, and then equally as outraged when they discover what’s going on.”
That made sense, especially when Rachel considered how some of the venue managers had responded to their proposals. “So perhaps we need a changing space? That way people can change if they wish to, without causing wider consternation in the community.”
Cat mumbled something about fragile vanillas needing to get a life, but she was half joking and agreed to the proposal.
That meant going back to Tel and working out how to manage that aspect of it.
“We’ve got individual toilets in the basement,” said Tel. “There’s about 20 of them and they’re all single-entry rooms, and are all-gendered, so that might work?”
“And we’ll need one of your security guards working that area as well then, just in case of any issues—you know what some people can be like,” Cat pointed out.
“I think,” said Rachel, “that if transphobes attend this event, with all the marketing and packaging that I’m doing, then they will be well aware of the kind of space this is, so we need to prepare for the fact that they might try and crash it with the intention of causing issues.”
It was a risk that they were all aware of, especially with the proposed new school guidance fanning the flames of transphobic rhetoric; banning any discussion about gender identity in schools felt like a return to Section 28, when it was illegal to ‘promote’ gay activity in schools and thousands of teachers in the 90s were forced back into the closet or face losing their jobs.