Chapter Text
The front of St. John’s Elementary was usually chaos at pickup.
Parents parked far too close to each other, blocking the sidewalk and occasionally the bike lane. Car doors slammed. Children shouted. A few honks and uncivilised words were nothing out of the ordinary.
It happened every afternoon like clockwork.
Simon had gotten used to it.
He arrived five minutes earlier than he needed to, just as he always did. Years of working long shifts had left him with a deep appreciation for being early.
Besides, the best part of his day was watching Sam come barreling out of the school building.
Without fail, his son would spot him, grin, and immediately launch himself forward with enough force to nearly knock Simon over.
Every single day.
Simon pretended to complain about it.
Secretly, he loved it.
Today, however, he was exhausted.
His shift had run longer than expected. He’d spent most of it dealing with problems that should have been someone else’s responsibility and somehow weren’t. By the time he’d made it to the school, the parking lot was already packed.
Finding a space had been an ordeal.
Finding one within walking distance felt like a miracle.
Now he stood near the edge of the pickup area with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, staring at the front doors as the final bell rang.
Almost immediately, the building erupted.
Students poured out onto the front steps in a colourful flood of backpacks and noise.
Teachers followed close behind, directing traffic and calling out reminders that no one seemed interested in listening to.
Simon automatically searched for Sam among the crowd.
A familiar head of dark hair appeared near the entrance.
There you are.
To make himself easier to spot, Simon lifted one hand.
Not a wave.
Just a raised hand.
A marker.
A signal.
I’m over here.
Before Sam could even look up, a cheerful voice called out from somewhere nearby.
“Hi!”
Simon turned.
A teacher stood several yards away.
Curly blonde hair.
Bright smile.
Yellow rain jacket and dirty white converse.
The fourth-grade science teacher.
Mr. Grace.
And he was waving.
Enthusiastically.
At Simon.
Simon frowned.
Grace kept waving.
For a moment neither of them moved.
Then Simon slowly lowered his hand.
“…What are you doing?”
Grace blinked.
“What?”
“You waved.”
“Yeah.”
“Why.”
The smile faltered.
Only slightly.
Then Grace’s eyes flicked past Simon.
Toward the crowd of students.
Toward Sam weaving through them.
Toward the hand Simon had just lowered.
The realisation hit all at once.
“Oh.”
His entire face went red.
“Oh.”
Simon said nothing.
Grace lowered his hand immediately.
“That wasn’t for me, was it?”
“No.”
“Oh my god.”
“No.”
“I thought—”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you were waving.”
“I wasn’t.”
Grace covered his face with one hand.
For several seconds he simply stood there in visible horror.
Simon watched him.
Grace groaned.
“Please don’t.”
“You supervise hundreds of people every day. And you still did that.”
“Oh, this is terrible.”
Sam finally reached them.
He looked between the two adults.
Then at Grace, who still appeared to be dying of embarrassment.
Then at Simon.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” Simon said.
“Nothing,” Grace said at exactly the same time.
Sam narrowed his eyes.
Clearly unconvinced.
Grace pointed vaguely toward the parking lot.
“I have to go supervise something.”
“There is literally nothing happening,” Simon said.
“I know.”
And then, to Simon’s astonishment, the man actually fled.
Sam watched him leave.
“…Did Mr. Grace just run away?”
“Looks like it.”
“Huh.”
Simon looked after the retreating teacher.
The encounter should have ended there.
Unfortunately, it didn’t.
———————————————
The next afternoon Simon arrived at pickup to find Mr. Grace standing outside the school entrance again.
The second Grace spotted him, he visibly remembered.
Simon watched the realisation happen in real time.
The teacher’s eyes widened.
His smile vanished.
Then he looked away so abruptly Simon was surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash.
Interesting.
Simon continued toward his usual spot.
Sam was still inside.
Parents crowded around the entrance.
A pair of children were arguing loudly about Pokémon.
Everything was normal.
Except for the fact that Mr. Grace was now refusing to make eye contact with him.
Simon found this deeply amusing.
Not that he would ever admit it.
Several minutes passed.
Grace spent the entire time very obviously pretending Simon wasn’t there.
Simon was beginning to think the man might actually succeed.
Then a student tugged on Grace’s sleeve.
Grace turned to answer the question.
And accidentally looked directly at Simon.
For one terrible second they made eye contact.
Grace froze.
Simon raised a hand.
A small wave.
A deliberate wave.
This time it actually was for him.
Grace stared.
“…Are you waving at me?”
“I’m waving this time.”
The relief on Grace’s face was immediate.
“Oh thank god.”
Simon blinked.
“What.”
“I’ve been thinking about that interaction all day.”
Simon stared.
“Why.”
“Because it was horrifying.”
“You waved at the wrong person.”
“I waved enthusiastically at the wrong person.”
“That’s not much different.”
“It is when you’re lying awake at two in the morning remembering it.”
Simon looked at him for a moment.
“You sound dramatic.”
“I am dramatic.”
At least he admitted it.
Grace smiled.
Simon immediately regretted initiating the conversation.
———————————————
Sam emerged from the school a few minutes later.
The moment he spotted Simon, he broke into a run.
“Dad!”
The impact nearly knocked Simon backward.
“There he is.”
Sam grinned.
Then noticed Grace standing nearby.
“Mr. Grace.”
“Hey, Sam.”
Sam looked between them.
Then narrowed his eyes.
Dangerous.
Simon recognised that expression.
It meant his son was about to become a problem.
“You guys know each other now?”
“No,” Simon said.
“Maybe?” Grace said at the same time.
Simon sighed.
Grace laughed.
Sam looked delighted.
———————————————
The routine started after that.
Not intentionally.
Simon would arrive.
Grace would be outside.
One of them would wave.
Usually Grace.
Sometimes Simon.
The exchange never lasted more than a few seconds.
But somehow it kept happening.
Day after day.
Week after week.
Simon wasn’t entirely sure how.
———————————————
One Thursday afternoon Sam climbed into the car and immediately announced:
“Mr. Grace thinks you’re scary.”
Simon looked over.
“He said that?”
“Kind of.”
“What does kind of mean.”
Sam shrugged.
“He said you look scary.”
Simon started the engine.
“I do not.”
“You kinda do.”
Simon looked at his son. Thought about his own messy dark hair, almost always pulled back into a half bun, the way he stands waiting for his kid, not talking to the other parents.
…Okay, maybe he looks a bit imposing.
His son looked back.
Neither blinked.
“Traitor.”
Sam laughed so hard he nearly dropped his backpack.
———————————————
The following week Simon arrived earlier than usual.
The pickup area was still mostly empty.
Only a few teachers were outside preparing for dismissal.
Grace stood near the entrance wrestling with three large cardboard boxes.
Simon stopped.
“What are those?”
Grace looked up.
His face brightened immediately.
“Science fair supplies.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“It is.”
One of the boxes slipped.
Grace caught it against his chest.
Barely.
Simon watched for another second.
Then sighed.
“Move.”
“What?”
“Move.”
Grace blinked.
Then slowly handed over one of the boxes.
Simon carried it toward the entrance.
Grace hurried after him.
“You know, most people would say hello first.”
“You already know I’m here.”
“Still.”
Simon glanced sideways.
Grace was smiling again.
Always smiling.
It was suspicious.
“Hi.”
Grace looked absurdly pleased. His eyes sparkled even in the dull school hallway lights. Get a grip, Simon.
“Hi, Simon.”
The use of his name felt strangely deliberate.
Simon wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Probably badly.
Definitely badly.
Inside the box were hundreds of tiny foam balls.
Simon discovered this when Grace accidentally dropped it.
The bottom gave way.
Foam spheres exploded across the hallway.
For one glorious second there was complete silence.
Then Grace whispered:
“…Oh no.”
A teacher walking past stopped.
Looked at the mess.
Looked at Grace.
And immediately turned around and walked away.
Simon understood.
He wanted to do the same.
Instead he crouched down and started gathering foam balls.
Grace joined him.
“This is embarrassing.”
“You seem to do this a lot.”
“Do what?”
“Embarrass yourself.”
Grace pointed at himself, raising his eyebrows and then at Simon.
“See, that’s mean.”
“It wasn’t mean.”
“It absolutely was.”
“It was accurate.”
Grace laughed so hard he nearly dropped another handful.
And for some reason Simon found himself smiling too.
Just briefly.
Only for a second.
Unfortunately, Grace noticed.
His eyes widened.
“Wait.”
Simon immediately looked away, rolling his eyes.
“Don’t.”
“You smiled.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
Grace looked delighted.
“Oh my god, you did.”
Simon stood up.
“We’re done talking.”
“We’re definitely not done talking.”
They were.
Unfortunately for Simon, Ryland Grace seemed to disagree.
———————————————
The first thing Simon noticed was that Grace wasn’t outside.
Not because he was looking for him.
At least that’s what he told himself.
The school doors opened and students spilled out onto the front steps in a familiar wave of noise and movement. Teachers spread out across the pickup area, directing children toward waiting parents.
Simon’s eyes swept over the crowd automatically.
No curly blonde hair.
No bright smile.
No ridiculous cat or chemistry pun shirts.
No overly enthusiastic science teacher somehow managing three conversations at once.
Just unfamiliar faces.
Huh.
Before he could think much more about it, he spotted Sam.
The moment his son saw him, his face lit up.
“Dad!”
Simon barely had time to brace himself before Sam launched himself forward.
The hug knocked the air out of him.
“Hey, buddy.”
Simon laughed, wrapping an arm around him.
“Good day?”
“The best.”
“You say that every day.”
“Because every day is the best.”
Simon ruffled his hair.
“Fair enough.”
Sam grinned.
Then, before Simon could even ask about school, he announced:
“Mr. Grace is sick.”
Simon blinked.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Sam adjusted his backpack as they started walking toward the car.
“He wasn’t here today.”
“What happened?”
Sam shrugged.
“I dunno. Mrs. Rodriguez said he called in sick.”
Simon frowned slightly.
“Must be pretty bad if he stayed home.”
That got a snort from Sam.
“Exactly.”
Apparently they were both familiar with Ryland Grace’s tendency to ignore common sense.
———————————————
The ride home was filled with stories.
Mostly stories about school.
A little about soccer.
And somehow an alarming amount about frogs.
Simon wasn’t entirely sure how the conversation had gotten there.
One minute they’d been discussing math homework.
The next, Sam was passionately explaining why poison dart frogs were “objectively cooler” than tree frogs.
Simon listened anyway.
Because Sam always listened when Simon talked about ships and engines and things nobody else cared about.
That was how it worked.
———————————————
That evening Simon made chicken soup.
It wasn’t planned.
At least not consciously.
He’d gone to the grocery store intending to make something simple.
Then he’d seen the chicken.
Then the vegetables.
Then somehow he’d ended up standing over a stockpot while broth simmered on the stove.
The house slowly filled with warmth and the smell of garlic and herbs.
Sam wandered into the kitchen and immediately inhaled.
“Oh, that smells amazing.”
“It’ll be ready soon.”
Sam peeked into the pot.
His eyes widened.
“Dad.”
“What.”
“This looks fancy.”
“It’s soup.”
“It’s really good soup.”
Simon laughed.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
———————————————
Dinner ended with both of them going back for seconds.
Then thirds.
Which Simon considered a success.
As he was packing away leftovers, Sam appeared beside him.
Spoon still in hand.
“Dad.”
“Hm?”
“This is definitely Mr. Grace soup.”
Simon nearly dropped the lid.
“What.”
Sam pointed dramatically at the container Simon had just filled.
The smaller one.
The one he’d set aside separately.
“That.”
“It’s leftovers.”
“Dad.”
“It’s leftovers.”
“Dad.”
Simon sighed.
Sam grinned.
The grin was unfortunately very familiar.
He’d inherited it from Simon.
And learned how to weaponise it.
“You made sick-person soup.”
“I made soup.”
“After finding out Mr. Grace was sick.”
“Coincidence.”
“Sure… Correlation is not causation, dad.”
Simon shook his head. Why does his 10 year old know grown up words?
“Finish your homework.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“Homework.”
Sam laughed all the way back to his room.
———————————————
The next morning Simon arrived at school carrying a thermos.
Entirely by accident.
Probably.
The thermos sat in the passenger seat beside him for several minutes while he stared through the windshield.
This was ridiculous.
Grace probably wasn’t even back yet.
For all Simon knew, he’d be sick all week.
Still.
The soup was good.
And nobody should have to eat canned soup when they were sick.
Especially not someone who probably spent all day taking care of other people.
Simon frowned.
That thought had arrived suspiciously easily.
“You’re bringing it when you pick me up, right?”
Simon looked over.
Sam was watching him from the passenger seat.
Watching the thermos.
Watching him.
“I haven’t decided.”
“You brought it all the way here.”
“I might take it home.”
“You won’t.”
Simon sighed.
“No.”
“You won’t.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Sam’s mouth.
Then he reached across the center console and squeezed Simon’s arm.
The gesture was quick and casual.
Affectionate.
“You know,” Sam said, “I think Mr. Grace will really like it.”
For some reason, that made Simon feel unexpectedly nervous.
Which was ridiculous.
It was just soup.
Right?
———————————————
The thermos sat on Simon’s passenger seat the entire drive to school.
Every traffic light gave him another opportunity to reconsider.
Every stop sign offered an easy excuse to turn around.
By the time he pulled into the parking lot, he still wasn’t sure why he’d brought it.
It was just soup.
Homemade chicken soup.
Because Grace had been sick.
That was all.
Nothing more.
Certainly not enough to justify the strange nervousness currently settling in his stomach.
The school parking lot was already filling up.
Parents gathered along the sidewalk waiting for dismissal.
Children’s artwork decorated the windows facing the front entrance.
Teachers moved in and out of the building preparing for the afternoon rush.
Simon took his usual place near the pickup area.
The thermos remained in his hand.
Heavy.
Conspicuous.
Impossible to ignore.
A few minutes later the front doors opened.
Teachers began stepping outside.
And almost immediately, Grace looked up.
The reaction was instant.
His eyes found Simon in the crowd without any apparent effort.
The moment they did, his face brightened.
Not politely.
Not professionally.
Genuinely.
Like he’d been hoping Simon would be there.
Which was ridiculous.
Simon was there every day.
Yet Grace smiled anyway.
He lifted a hand.
Simon found himself returning the gesture automatically.
A small wave.
One that would have horrified him six months ago.
Grace’s smile widened.
After speaking briefly with another teacher, Grace headed toward him.
The closer he got, the worse he looked.
Not alarmingly so.
Just enough.
His skin was still pale.
His curls looked even messier than usual.
And there was a lingering roughness to his voice when he spoke.
“Hi.”
“You still look sick.”
Grace laughed.
The laugh immediately dissolved into a cough.
“Nice to see you too.”
“You do.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“I figured.”
For a moment they stood together in comfortable silence.
Children raced across the playground.
Parents chatted nearby.
The familiar noise of dismissal filled the air.
Grace shoved his hands into his pockets.
Simon tightened his grip on the thermos.
Then, before he could lose his nerve, Simon held it out.
“Here.”
Grace blinked.
“What?”
Simon pushed the thermos toward him.
“It’s for you.”
For a second Grace just stared.
Then looked down.
Then back up.
Then down again.
Like he couldn’t quite process what he was seeing.
“…What’s in it?”
“Soup.”
Grace’s eyebrows rose.
“Soup?”
“Chicken soup.”
The silence that followed was almost impressive.
“You made me soup.”
It wasn’t a question.
Simon shrugged.
“You were sick.”
Grace continued staring.
Simon was beginning to regret every decision that had led him here.
Finally Grace reached out and accepted the thermos.
His fingers brushed Simon’s for a brief second.
The contact was accidental.
Entirely innocent.
And somehow Simon became painfully aware of it anyway.
“You made me homemade chicken soup.”
“You looked terrible.”
Grace laughed softly. Simon missed it so much.
“I did.”
“You still do.”
“Wow.”
“It’s true.”
“You’re very bad at being nice.”
Simon considered that.
“Maybe.”
Grace looked down at the thermos again.
A strange expression crossed his face.
Something softer than amusement.
Something quieter.
When he looked back up, his smile had changed.
Less teasing.
More genuine.
“Thank you.”
The words were simple.
Sincere.
And somehow far more difficult to dismiss than Simon would’ve liked.
“It wasn’t a big deal.” Simon tried to avoid eye contact with the blonde.
Grace immediately shook his head.
“No.”
His hand tightened around the thermos.
“It kind of is.”
Simon opened his mouth to argue.
Then closed it again.
Because Grace was looking at him in a way that made arguing feel impossible.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
The sounds of dismissal carried on around them.
Children laughing.
Car doors slamming.
Teachers calling out reminders.
Yet somehow the world felt strangely distant.
Grace glanced down at the thermos once more.
Then smiled.
A small smile this time.
One that seemed meant only for Simon.
“I’m going to enjoy this.”
“You better.”
Grace laughed.
“I will.”
The front doors burst open again.
Students flooded outside.
The spell broke immediately.
Noise and movement rushed back into the moment.
Simon spotted Sam emerging from the crowd.
At the same time, Grace spotted him too.
“Looks like your ride’s here,” Grace said.
“Unfortunately.”
Grace grinned.
“Unfortunately?”
“He’s inherited a sense of humor.”
“Oh, that’s definitely your fault.”
“It isn’t.”
“It absolutely is.”
Sam was getting closer now.
Still weaving through the crowd.
Still a safe distance away.
Just enough time for one more thing.
Before Simon could think better of it, he spoke.
“You should come by sometime.”
Grace blinked.
“What?”
Simon suddenly found the parking lot very interesting.
“We usually make too much food.” Simon was lying through his teeth now but he wanted to convince the man.
Grace’s eyebrows rose. A challenging smile on his face now.
“We could have dinner.”
The words felt awkward the second they left his mouth.
Not because he didn’t mean them.
Because he did.
Entirely.
Which was somehow worse.
For a moment Grace simply stared at him.
Then his expression softened.
Not surprised.
Not amused.
Just warm.
The kind of warmth that always caught Simon off guard.
“I’d like that.”
The answer came immediately.
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
Just a genuine smile.
“I’d really like that.”
Something in Simon’s chest loosened.
Before either of them could say anything else—
“DAD!”
Sam came flying out of the crowd.
Simon barely had time to brace himself.
His son launched himself forward with complete confidence that he would be caught.
As always.
Simon caught him automatically.
One arm wrapping around him as the impact nearly knocked him backward.
“There he is.”
Sam laughed.
The bright, unrestrained laugh of a kid who’d had a good day.
The kind Simon would do just about anything to hear.
“Hi.”
“Hi yourself.”
Sam squeezed tighter.
Arms looped around Simon’s neck.
Face buried against his shoulder.
Without a hint of embarrassment.
Without caring who was watching.
Just happy to see his dad.
And god, Simon loved this.
Loved it.
Every single day.
The way Sam ran toward him like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
The way he trusted Simon to catch him.
The way he still hugged him like he was little.
One day he’d grow out of it.
Simon knew that.
One day there’d be awkward teenage nods instead of flying tackles.
One day Sam would stop reaching for his hand automatically.
But not today.
Today his kid was still his kid.
Simon smiled despite himself.
A real smile.
The kind most people never got to see.
Then he pressed a quick kiss against the top of Sam’s forehead.
Casual.
Automatic.
Done without a second thought.
“Good day?”
“The best.”
“You say that every day.”
“Because every day is the best.”
Simon laughed.
“Fair enough.”
Only then did Sam pull back enough to notice Grace standing nearby.
“Oh, hi Mr. Grace.”
“Hey, Sam.”
Grace sounded oddly soft.
Simon glanced up.
And found Grace watching them.
Not staring.
Just watching.
The thermos still tucked securely under one arm.
A smile on his face.
Not the bright, energetic smile he gave students.
Not the polite one he gave parents.
Something quieter.
More genuine.
For a brief moment, Simon saw himself through Grace’s eyes.
Not the intimidating guy who rarely talked.
Not the exhausted single father rushing to pickup after work.
Just—
A dad.
Holding his son.
Looking happier than he’d looked all afternoon.
Grace’s smile widened slightly. His eyes shined even brighter than they did since Simon ever spoke to the teacher.
There was something undeniably fond in it now.
Something that made Simon unexpectedly warm.
Then Sam grabbed Simon’s hand.
“Come on, Dad.”
Simon snorted.
“Bossy.”
“Yep.”
They’d only made it a few steps before Sam suddenly stopped.
“Wait.”
Simon looked down.
“Hm?”
Sam pointed behind them.
“We forgot to say goodbye.”
Before Simon could answer, Sam turned around and waved enthusiastically.
“Bye, Mr. Grace!”
Grace laughed immediately.
“Bye, Sam. See you tomorrow.”
Sam seemed satisfied with that answer.
Simon wasn’t sure why he found himself stopping too.
But he did.
He glanced back.
Grace was still standing near the entrance, one hand wrapped around the thermos.
Looking at both of them.
Smiling.
Simon lifted a hand.
A small wave.
Nothing dramatic.
Just—
See you tomorrow.
Grace’s smile somehow brightened even further.
“Bye, Simon.”
The words were simple.
Yet they landed strangely in Simon’s chest.
Warm.
Familiar.
Like something he was already looking forward to hearing again.
Simon nodded once.
“See you tomorrow.”
Then Sam tugged on his hand.
“Race you to the car.”
“You’re cheating.”
“I’m a child. It’s allowed.”
Simon barked out a laugh.
Before he could stop himself, he reached over and ruffled Sam’s hair.
Sam groaned dramatically.
“Daaad.”
“Get moving.”
“You’re the one who’s slow.”
“Keep talking and you’re walking home.”
Sam cackled and took off running.
Simon followed at a much more reasonable pace.
Halfway across the parking lot, he glanced back one last time.
Grace was still there.
Watching them go.
The thermos tucked safely under his arm.
Smiling to himself.
———————————————
The next afternoon, Grace was feeling significantly better.
Not completely better.
But better enough that he was back outside supervising pickup without looking like he might collapse into a pile of tissues at any moment.
The soup had helped.
A lot, actually.
He’d eaten two bowls the night before.
Then another for lunch.
Not that he’d planned to tell Simon that.
The idea felt strangely embarrassing.
The thermos had been washed.
Carefully.
Almost absurdly carefully.
And now sat beside him on the bench near the school entrance.
Waiting to be returned.
Grace spotted Simon the moment he arrived.
Which was becoming a problem.
A very specific problem.
Because somehow his eyes always found Simon first.
Every day.
Without fail.
Simon was standing in his usual spot near the sidewalk.
Hands in his jacket pockets.
Looking mildly annoyed by the existence of crowds.
As always.
Grace smiled before he could stop himself. He loved seeing him.
Simon noticed immediately.
Their eyes met.
And after a brief moment of pretending he wasn’t going to do it, Simon lifted a hand.
A small wave.
Grace’s smile widened.
A few minutes later he found himself walking over.
Thermos in hand.
“Hi.”
“You look less dead.”
Grace laughed.
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t really a compliment.”
“I know.” Grace pretended not to see how Simon’s mouth turned into a smirk, it was dangerous for his heart.
He held out the thermos.
“Your thermos survived.”
Simon accepted it.
“You washed it.”
“Well, yeah.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Grace stared.
“What kind of monster returns a dirty thermos?”
Simon considered that.
“Fair.”
For a moment they stood together in comfortable silence.
The noise of dismissal carried around them.
Kids shouting.
Parents talking.
Car doors slamming.
Then Simon cleared his throat.
Once.
Grace immediately became suspicious.
“What’s that look?”
“What look?”
“The one where you’re thinking.”
Simon frowned.
“I don’t have a look.”
“You absolutely have a look.”
Simon looked away.
Then back.
Then, with all the subtlety of someone attempting open-heart surgery with a shovel, said:
“So.”
Grace waited.
“So?”
“When are you free?”
Grace blinked.
“What?”
Simon appeared to be regretting every decision that had led him to this moment. But continued anyway.
“You said you’d come over.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
Grace hadn’t expected the invitation to come up again.
Certainly not like this.
Certainly not while Simon was looking at him with that awkward determination.
“Right, about that.”
Simon nodded.
“Right.”
There was a pause.
Then Simon added:
“And what do you like to eat?”
Grace’s brain stopped working.
For several seconds.
Completely.
“What?”
Simon frowned.
“For dinner.” Simon started to nod, trying to make him understand, while also giving Grace a look that oddly resembled a person who has lost the plot a bit.
Grace continued staring.
“You want to know what I want to eat?”
“Yes?”
The answer sounded obvious.
Like Simon couldn’t understand why this was confusing.
Unfortunately, Grace found it deeply confusing.
Nobody asked him things like that.
Not really.
Not because they cared.
Not because they wanted to make something specifically for him.
Friends usually ordered pizza.
Coworkers suggested restaurants.
Most people settled for “whatever works.”
Nobody had ever looked at him and asked what he’d like.
“Oh.”
The response came out softer than intended.
Simon immediately looked concerned.
“What.”
“Nothing.”
Grace laughed awkwardly.
“It’s just…”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before.”
Simon blinked.
“Pardon?”
The disbelief in his voice was immediate.
Grace laughed.
“I know.”
“Nobody’s asked what food you like?”
“Now when you say it like that it sounds depressing.”
“It is depressing, Ryland!”
Grace barked out a surprised laugh. Simon rarely used his name, Grace felt a hot rush through his body.
For a second Simon looked genuinely bothered by the information.
Which was somehow incredibly endearing.
Then the school doors burst open.
Students immediately flooded outside.
The moment shattered.
And seconds later—
“Dad!”
Sam came running down the steps.
He spotted Grace immediately.
Then noticed the thermos.
Then noticed both of them standing together.
His eyes narrowed.
“Oooooh.”
Simon sighed.
That was never a good sign.
Sam reached them.
Looked between the two adults.
Then pointed directly at Grace.
“Are you coming over?”
Grace nearly choked.
Simon closed his eyes.
“Sam.” Exasperated, Simon said rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“What?” The kid had the decency to act offended.
Grace was laughing too hard to help.
“So you are actually coming over!?”
Sam looked delighted.
“Oh, this is awesome.”
“Why?” Grace asked smiling.
“Because Dad cooks amazing food.”
Simon groaned.
“It’s true.” Sam ignored him completely. “And the desserts?”
He looked at Grace.
“You have no idea.”
“Sam.”
“He makes apple pie from scratch.” A big jump was added to accentuate the meaning behind apple pie from scratch.
“Sam.”
“He made cinnamon rolls once and I thought I was gonna ascend.”
Grace laughed so hard he had to put a hand over his mouth.
“Ascend?”
“Dad’s desserts are legendary.”
“They are not.” Simon’s hand was suddenly grabbed by Sam.
“They absolutely are.”
The blonde found the serious look the kid gave Simon hilarious. Then Grace looked at Simon. Simon looked away immediately.
The smile that spread across Grace’s face was impossible to miss.
“Well.”
He folded his arms.
“I guess now my expectations are extremely high.” He singsonged because he knew Sam would immediately tale his side.
“They shouldn’t be.” Simon sighed pained.
“They absolutely should be.” The youngest nodded with Grace.
For a moment all three of them stood there smiling.
The afternoon sun warm overhead.
The chaos of pickup swirling around them.
And for the first time, Grace found himself genuinely looking forward to next weekend.
Not because of the food. Not even because of the desserts. But because something about standing here with Simon and Sam felt easy.
Comfortable.
Like he’d somehow stumbled into something good.
And maybe—
If he was lucky—
Something worth holding onto.
———————————————
The entire drive home, Sam would not stop talking about dinner.
Which was impressive.
Because Sam could already talk for an Olympic-level amount of time under normal circumstances.
“Dad.”
Simon sighed.
“What.”
“Are you making the cinnamon rolls?”
“No.”
“A tragedy.”
Three seconds passed.
“Dad.”
“What.”
“The apple pie?”
“No.”
“Wow.” Sam looked exasperated at that.
Simon glanced at him briefly.
“What.”
“I didn’t know you hated Mr. Grace.”
Simon nearly missed a stop sign.
“I don’t hate him.”
“Then why aren’t you making the good desserts?”
“The good desserts?”
Sam looked personally offended.
“All your desserts are good.”
The compliment caught Simon off guard.
He tried not to show it.
“Thanks.”
Sam shrugged.
Like it was obvious.
Because to him it was.
“You make the best food.” The matter-of-fact certainty in his voice settled warmly somewhere in Simon’s chest.
“You’re biased.” Simon let out a chuckle.
“Yep.”
Simon laughed again.
“At least you’re honest.”
“I learned from you.”
“That’s concerning.”
“It should be.” The smile Sam had on his face made Simon’s heart warm, he absolutely loved his kid, even if sometimes he was a smartass.
The conversation somehow shifted from desserts to dinosaurs to soccer and back to desserts again.
By the time they reached home, Simon had learned that Sam apparently considered chocolate cake a valid breakfast food.
He was wrong and he knew that. But he was committed to the argument.
———————————————
That evening Simon found himself standing in the garden after dinner.
The sun was beginning to set.
Everything glowed gold.
The tomato plants needed tying up.
One of the pepper plants looked thirsty.
The roses were starting to bloom again.
Gardening had always helped him think.
Unfortunately, right now it was helping him think about Grace.
Specifically the look on Grace’s face when Simon had asked what he liked to eat.
Nobody’s ever asked me that before.
The memory made Simon frown.
How did someone get to Grace’s age without people asking things like that?
Grace spent all day paying attention to everyone else.
Students.
Parents.
Coworkers.
Random strangers, probably.
Yet somehow nobody seemed to return the favor.
Simon didn’t like that.
The realisation arrived unexpectedly.
And with uncomfortable certainty.
He really didn’t like that.
“Dad?”
Simon looked up.
Sam was standing on the patio.
“Yeah?”
“You’ve got the thinking face again.”
“I don’t have a thinking face.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
Simon threw a gardening glove at him.
Sam cackled.
“That means I’m right!”
“No, it means you’re annoying.” Simon began laughing.
“Mr. Grace likes me.”
Simon narrowed his eyes.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing. I’m just saying.”
Which meant it absolutely had something to do with something.
Simon sighed.
Being outnumbered by one ten-year-old was exhausting.
———————————————