Simon never quite got used to the way strangers’ faces lit up the moment they caught sight of his son. It was the same everywhere they went—supermarkets, bookshops, even the bloody petrol station. Today it was the farmer’s market, an odd choice for a Saturday morning outing, but Luca had pointed at the window when Simon had mentioned fruit, and that was the end of the debate. Two-year-olds didn’t negotiate; they declared.

The little boy was perched on Simon’s hip, a small bundle of warmth with wild blonde hair sticking in every direction, the color catching the sunlight like spun gold. His dark blue eyes blinked curiously at the bustle around them. Simon could feel the weight of people’s gazes, hear the soft coos of strangers whispering look at him as they walked past. He tightened his hold on Luca instinctively, protective as always, but his son only giggled at the attention, reaching a tiny hand out toward the colorful stalls lined with fruit and jars of honey.

“Easy, mate,” Simon murmured, adjusting his grip. His voice, gravelly and low, contrasted starkly with Luca’s high-pitched babble. “Not everything’s meant for sticky fingers.”

Still, he found himself giving in when Luca stretched again toward the strawberries. Simon stopped at the stall, bought a basket, and crouched down so the boy could reach in. One strawberry was promptly squashed in Luca’s grip before he shoved it triumphantly into his mouth, juice staining his chin bright red. A laugh bubbled out of him, so carefree and unrestrained that Simon felt his chest ache with it.

That was when someone tried to snap a photo. The shutter sound was quiet, but Simon’s head snapped up all the same, eyes narrowing beneath the brim of his cap. The stranger—an older woman with a phone clutched in her hand—murmured something about how “adorable” Luca was. Simon said nothing, just gave her a look sharp enough to cut, his body angling between his son and the world.

The thing was… he understood. Luca was adorable. Too adorable. Blond hair, dark blue eyes like storm clouds, cheeks flushed with the excitement of discovery. He drew people in like moths to a flame. But Simon knew the world wasn’t soft, and he wasn’t about to let it take what wasn’t theirs.