Page 40 of Viking Ink

Greg smiled beatifically. “Someone who appreciates fine instruments. You want to give the Martin a go?”

I looked back at the guitar and smiled. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“All right, then.” Greg grabbed the Martin from the display stand and handed it to me.

I slid the strap over my shoulder and immediately relaxed under the familiar weight. My fingers ran through the scales, just slowly picking at the strings, until I looked over at Simon watching me. A song I had stuck in my head from the time before we met came to mind, and I slowly started to hum and play the chords to the song.

I did as I always did, and let myself get caught up in the music, swaying as I played. I went from humming the words to Perfect by Ed Sheeran to singing them, watching Simon the whole time. Playing guitar and singing had always been my escape, the way I was most comfortable expressing myself, and here, in this small music shop, I was telling Simon how much he meant to me.

It probably wasn’t the place to announce I’d fallen head over heels for my big Daddy bear, but seeing the smile light up his face and the way his eyes shone, I was glad I’d done it. As the song came to its end, I let out a soft breath. It felt so good to be playing again.

“We’ll take it,” Simon announced, causing my eyes to widen and my mouth to gape like a sideshow clown.

“No, you can’t. Do you know how expensive this guitar is?” Of course he knew how expensive it was. The price was written on the placard right next to it. As for whether Simon could and would do it? Well, given the set to his shoulders and the stubborn way he jutted out his jaw, it was going to take a better argument than you can’t to stop him.

“It makes you happy, you need to replace your mum’s guitar, and I want to do this for you.” Simon ticked off each reason on his fingers. I wanted to both yell at him and kiss that soppy grin off his face.

Greg slipped the guitar into a soft gig bag. I couldn’t believe that beautiful guitar was mine.

“I’m going to pay you back, even if it takes me ten years,” I said.

“You can do that if you want, but I’m not expecting it,” Simon answered as he slid his bankcard over to Greg.

I huffed in frustration. “You are an impossible man.” I stood on my toes and reached up to kiss Simon’s cheek, blushing when I caught Greg and the sales assistant both smiling at me.

I was walking on air. I wanted to pinch myself but that would mean setting my guitar down, and I couldn’t stop touching it. I traced the mother of pearl inlays on the fingerboard. I strummed practice cords, letting my muscle memory take the lead. It had only been two weeks since the bashing and the trashing of my guitar, but it felt like forever since I’d played. I could hear Simon bustling away in the kitchen getting lunch ready. I’d have to put my guitar down for that.

My fingers flowed over the strings as I lost myself to the sound. I didn’t even realize Simon had walked into the room until I heard him softly clear his throat.

“I didn’t want to disturb you, but lunch is ready, and I get the feeling if I don’t stop you now, you’ll probably forget to eat.” Simon had changed out of his jeans and Henley and now wore a soft grey tee and dark sweatpants. “We can also have a look at this.”

Simon held a sheaf of paper in his hand. It had to be the checklist he’d talked about. My stomach fluttered with excited nerves. I’d been so distracted about my guitar I’d forgotten Simon’s promise that I would have the afternoon for little time.

Quickly, I packed my guitar back in its gig bag.

“You can put that in our room if you want. I also put some things on the bed for you.” Simon gave a mysterious smile as he turned and walked back into the kitchen. Our room. Well, that answered the question of where I would be sleeping. I did a quick little happy dance once Simon was out of the room.

Looking around our room—I wasn’t going to get tired of thinking that anytime soon—I found a spot where my guitar could sit safely. On the bed I saw some clothes. That must have been the mysterious items Simon had picked up from Mags. There was a super soft pair of red and black pyjama pants that I couldn’t wait to put on, they felt so soft and comfortable, and next to them was a baby blue cotton tee. I chuckled when I saw the print on the front. It was a teddy bear sitting in a diaper surrounded by play blocks, and written out in the blocks was ‘baby bear.’

Simon had gotten the perfect tee for me.

Those weren’t the only things he’d gotten me: there was also a pair of fluffy slipper socks with the grippy spots on the soles, and a pair of underwear with teddies dancing on them.

I stripped down as fast as I could, eager to get my new clothes on. Once dressed, I looked at myself in Simon’s large mirror.

I had to admit that I looked pretty darn cute.

“Rhys, have you fallen asleep in there?” Simon popped his head around the door.

I twirled around, grinning. “Sorry! I got sidetracked by the clothes. They’re perfect. How, when did you find them?”

Simon shook his head, laughing. “I think we might need to make some rules—one being pick up your clothes, and two, no running in the flat, especially when wearing socks.”

I wiggled, trying not to look guilty. The thought of sliding down the hallway in my new socks might possibly have crossed my mind. “My socks have grippy spots.” I lifted my foot to show him, but Simon wasn’t buying it by the look on his face.

I wasn’t in my little headspace, but I was feeling relaxed and happy and overwhelmingly safe. I somehow knew that if I wanted to be naughty or playful, Simon would keep me safe. Even the thought of punishments for being naughty didn’t scare me, as I knew Simon wouldn’t hurt me—not like my real father.

When I looked up from my feet, Simon had stepped into my space, and he was smiling down at me. His hand came up to cup my cheek and I leant into the touch. It was funny how addicted I was becoming to the feel of his skin against mine.

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