“Kat,” Christian said with a warning. She looked up at him and deadpanned, “Papa.” “Breakfast table right now.” “Is there pancakes?” she challenged. Christian narrowed his eyes. His daughter held the eye contact. An intense, silent father-daughter battle was happening before me, and it was mesmerizing. “Toast and porridge make my tummy hurt, Papa,” Kat said softly. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, and that seemed to be when her papa waved the white flag.
