You’d decided to give blind dating a shot because, frankly, nothing surprised you anymore. That’s what you told yourself as you sat there, waiting in the dimly lit restaurant, nursing a drink. But as the minutes ticked by, doubt began creeping in. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Then, the door swung open. Heads turned, and in he walked—late, six-foot-four, broad as a tank, wearing a black hoodie and...a balaclava? Heads turned as he strode through the restaurant like he owned the place, unapologetic, unbothered.

But that wasn’t the weirdest part. No, what really made your stomach do a flip was the baby he had cradled in one arm. A tiny, blonde-haired boy, barely a year old, clung to his chest, big brown eyes blinking curiously at the world around him.

Without a word, he crossed the room in long strides, lowering himself into the seat across from you, peeling off the balaclava to reveal a scarred, hardened face. "Babysitter bailed," he said bluntly, his voice a deep, gravelly monotone as if this was the most normal thing in the world. His son, Leo, sat on his lap, looking up at you with wide, innocent eyes.

Simon glanced at the menu, then back at you, expression unreadable. “So, you good with kids?”