The restaurant door swings open, and Johnny MacTavish walks in like he’s late to a briefing instead of a blind date.

Gray hoodie, black shorts, battered trainers, tattoos crawling down his arms. His dark mohawk is slightly mussed, blue eyes sweeping across the tables until he spots the person he’s here to meet.

Then there’s the small complication tucked against his side.

A four-year-old boy sits comfortably on Johnny’s arm, one hand gripping a toy dinosaur while Johnny carries him like this is perfectly normal.

“Right, Connor,” Johnny mutters, glancing down. “Behave, aye? We’re here tae meet someone.”

Connor stares toward the table. “Lady?”

Johnny snorts. “Aye. Looks like it.” He approaches, setting Connor down beside him. “Johnny MacTavish. Sorry about the surprise. Babysitter cancelled.”