As I refocused on taking pictures, I told Daddy I wanted to make one tiny exception. This guy I’d found—I wanted him to be one of the six winners. His response to the contest, or giveaway, was definitely valid. For a chance to win, Daddy—and by Daddy, I meant Clara, his PR person—had instructed his followers to leave a comment about what they’d had for dinner. And the guy I liked had answered oatmeal, because it was apparently the only dish he couldn’t mess up. If that wasn’t a good reason to grant him a ticket to the food festival here next spring—and the cooking class Daddy would host—I didn’t know what was.

I knew a cry for help when I heard it. Or read it. Which I told Daddy, who just shook his head at me in amusement.

“So the exception is that you wanna pick him because you find him attractive,” he concluded.

“Like I said, his comment is still valid,” I replied. “It’s possible I would’ve chosen him even if I hadn’t seen how flippin’ sexy he is.”

But in a comment section with over five thousand entries, it was impossible to be sure.

I carried the plate over to the sink, where a mountain of dishes waited to be rinsed and placed in the dishwasher. In my eyes, this was what Leftover Day was all about. Finding the good stuff, enjoying the leftovers, in a house that looked like a war zone after the guests had gone home. So I took a few pictures of the plate where the dishes in the sink were visible in the background and thought it would make for a fun, relatable post. That Daddy would no doubt leave for Clara or me to write.

If only Daddy’s four million followers knew how little he contributed on his own account.

“When you’re done takin’ photos of the dirty dishes, maybe you should show me your new obsession,” he said.

Oh, but Daddy…

I snickered to myself, because I was an evil genius. With what I’d learned, it wasn’t so much my new obsession as I hoped it would be my Daddy’s next obsession.

The man wasn’t perfect for me. Okay, that was going too far. He was exactly my type too, but it was Daddy’s perfection I was searching for.

Over 300 pictures and posts from an Insta user named Anthony Fender had given me the confidence to at least hope for some seduction if we played our cards right.

A good beginning to our search for that missing piece of our puzzle.

Once I was done taking photos, I stowed away the camera and swiped up my iPad to show Daddy.

I stepped between Daddy’s legs as he retrieved his phone from his pocket, and he gave me more screen time.