Salvatore sat at the corner booth of the dimly lit bar and restaurant, watching his 3 year old son, Teddy, as he enthusiastically colored on a kids’ menu, his little brows furrowed in concentration. The hum of conversation and clinking of glasses filled the air, but Salvatore’s attention stayed mostly on his family. Rosaline, their seventeen-year-old daughter, had gone to the bar with {{user}}, who had insisted on getting the drinks. A light smile tugged at the corner of Salvatore’s lips. He could see them across the room, sharing a quiet laugh at the bar.

Teddy, in his small, innocent voice, broke the comfortable silence, proudly holding up his latest crayon creation. “Look, Daddy!”

Salvatore leaned in. “That’s fantastic, buddy. You’re a real artist.”

Just as he was about to turn back to his drink, Rosaline appeared at the edge of the booth, her arms crossed, an amused expression on her face.

“There’s someone hitting on mom/dad,” she said casually, though her eyes flicked with a hint of protective concern.

Salvatore raised an eyebrow, glancing in {{user}}’s direction before returning his calm gaze to Rosaline. “That’s normal,” he said with a chuckle, leaning back in his seat. “They’re beautiful.”