Relief washed Simon’s heart back into place. He stroked the silky hairs on Parker’s head to distract himself, trying his best not to think about how awful it would have been had Shep heard what they’d been up to last night.
“Actually, I’m glad you brought that up.” Harlow cracked the knuckles of one hand, then the other. The gesture was deliberate—a warning. Shep scowled. “Ever since she was small, Evie has been an independent young woman who’s made her own choices, and her own mistakes. I’ve never stopped her from following her heart or pursuing what she wanted, as long as no harm would come to her from doing it. I just want you to know, since you’ve captured that heart, that I’ve raised Evie to speak her mind, and I know that no matter what, she’ll speak it. It’s going to be up to you to listen.”
Shep’s expression changed from steely and combative to confused. “What?”
Harlow folded his arms on the table. His voice was level, almost sympathetic. “If she decides that she wants to take things further with you, she’ll let you know. If she’s not ready yet, you’re damn sure going to hear about it. Your job as a man, and especially as her lover, is tolistento her. Do you understand?”
Shep’s toast popped. He jumped, then rubbed his arm and scrunched up his face, but said nothing.
“Evie is my daughter,” Harlow said plainly. “But her body is her own, as is her mind. The fact that she’s your girlfriend doesn’t change that. Treat her with respect. That’s all I ask.”
Silence fell. Shep, looking addled, busied himself by grabbing a plate from the cabinet. While he clattered around in the cutlery drawer looking for a knife, Evie returned from the bathroom and went to occupy her preferred spot by the counter. “What’d I miss?” she asked. “There’s like… a weird vibe going on right now. Is everyone okay? Did something happen?”
“Nah.” Shep hurried to transfer his toast onto his plate, then shook his hand rapidly as he hissed in pain. “Just morning stuff. I’ve gotta make a sandwich for lunch today—would you mind grabbing some lunch meat and stuff from the fridge?”
“I’ve got it.” Simon, who was glad for the distraction, moved to the refrigerator. He tugged the door open and let the chilled air inside cool his heated cheeks. Seeing Harlow as a professional—intimidating and powerful—was different from seeing him as a father figure, but Simon liked this new version of him just as much as he did the old. First with Parker, and now with Evie, he’d proved himself to be levelheaded and capable. Raising a child alone hadn’t inhibited him—it had built him up into something bigger and better than he’d been before. At least, that was what Simon was led to believe. Parenting skills like those had to be learned.
Maybe Harlow would teach him. If he did, then Simon might be able to get a handle on Shep.
In the fridge, Simon didn’t find lunch meat—he found a pre-made sandwich, already bagged. It looked like Jayne had gotten up early—it wasn’t often that he had time to make Shep’s lunch.
“Jayne made your lunch today.” Simon pulled the sandwich out of the fridge and handed it to Shep, who pumped the air with his fist in victory. “I’m leaving you in charge of packing it in your lunch box. You’ll need an ice pack.”
“Got it.” Shep snagged the sandwich, then waggled his eyebrow at Evie, who grinned. “So, Simon’s not a bad sandwich maker or anything, but there’s something about Jayne’s sandwiches that’skiller.”
“He cuts the sandwich diagonally,” Simon explained flatly. He closed the fridge and stepped back to the kitchen table. “I cut them straight across. It’s literally the only difference.”
“No, that’s not true. Jayne’s sandwichestastedifferent.”
“They don’t.”
“They do, too!” Shep tossed his sandwich in his lunch bag, then moved to the freezer to snag an ice pack. “You wouldn’t know because when you make food for yourself, it never tastes the same as it does for somebody else. It’s science. Like, apparently when other people make you food, it tastes better even if you make the exact same thing.”
While Simon couldn’t confirm or deny that science tidbit, hecoulddebunk Shep’s claim that Jayne was a better sandwich maker. “You’re full of it, Shep. You know why?”
“No. Why?” Shep rolled his eyes.
“One day, I got up early, cut your sandwich diagonally, and told you it was from Jayne. You told me it was the best sandwich you’d ever had.”
Evie giggle-snorted. Harlow held back a laugh. He caught Simon’s eye, the tiny smirk on his face telling. Simon’s heart nearly burst from his chest. It was a small thing, sure, but looks like that from Harlow—especially after the way Harlow had looked at him last night, in the bathroom—made Simon feel on top of the world.
“Fine, okay, you win.” Shep closed his lunch bag. When he was done, he folded one of his toasts in half—buttered in the time since Simon had turned to search the fridge for lunch meat—and jammed as much as he could into his mouth. “Buff you ohh wat?”
Crumbs flew everywhere.
“Ew, Shep!” Evie swatted at the air. “Gross!”
“Sohhy.” Shep chewed and swallowed. “But you know what?”
“What?” Simon asked.
Shep shrugged. “I bet, since you planned that experiment, that you were trying extra hard to copy Jayne, so, yeah, your sandwich would taste different.”
It was a fight Simon wasn’t going to win. He and Shep could roll their eyes at each other all day, but Simon had other things to worry about. Parker was starting to wake up, and that meant that before long, he’d want to get settled in to play. Before that happened, Simon needed to see Shep out the door.
“Your bus is going to be here soon,” Simon reminded Shep. “Let’s go.”
“Yes,Mom,” Shep complained. He jammed the second half of his toast into his mouth, then grabbed the remaining piece and took it on the go. He jammed his lunch bag around his math and science textbooks, zipped his bag, then shouldered it. While he worked, he chomped on his second piece of toast.
