In the evening, in the time before the wedding…

They learned the details in the evenings; it had become their favorite game.Timothy rushed through his homework each afternoon, Patrick never stayed late at the surgery to finish paperwork. Hobbies, books, even the radio programmes they loved all took a backseat to their new favorite pastime: getting to know Shelagh.

Dad sat next to Shelagh, near enough to hold her hand, but no closer. Timothy knew they would move closer later, after he was told to go up to bed, Dad’s arm around Shelagh’s shoulder, her head against his chest. He watched them like that, feeling only a small twinge of guilt for spying. The obvious contentment on their faces was worth any possible telling off he might receive for spying.

“Favorite children’s book?” Timothy asked, grinning. Shelagh’s answers were always the funniest. Her choice for favorite film, “The Gunfighter,” still made Dad laugh. Shelagh claimed she liked the themes of  redemption and forgiveness, but Dad thought she just liked Gregory Peck.

“Oh, that’s easy…” Shelagh smiled.

“Apart from the Bible,” interrupted Patrick.

“Oh, well, then. I always liked “Alice Through the Looking Glass” as a girl. Preparation for this last month, I suppose,” she teased. “I know your’s Timothy, it’s Sherlock Homes. This week, anyway.” She turned to Patrick expectantly.

He made a face, concentrating, his dark brows drawn together. “I loved Rudyard Kipling’s stories. “Rikki Tikki Tavi” was my favorite. I used to beg my mother for a pet mongoose, but she said the cat wouldn’t approve.” His fingers played with the tips of hers.

“Oh, you had a cat?” Shelagh asked, “My mother loved cats. My father was allergic, though, so we never had one.”

This was why Timothy loved this game. One question always gave so much information.

“We should get a cat,” Timothy said, excited.

“We’ll see, Tim. Things are hectic enough as it is without another creature to care for,” his dad

cautioned. Timothy grumbled, then brightened as Shelagh asked,

“Favorite color? Mine is yellow—or blue. Oh, but I do like green,too.” They all laughed.

“Mine are red and blue,” Tim announced.

“That’s only because they’re England cricket colors,’ his dad returned.

“So? I can’t think of a better reason can you?” To Timothy, there were few things as important as the national sport.

“Actually,” Patrick answered smugly, “I can.”

“Dad’s favorite color is red,” Timothy told Shelagh.

“Not anymore. Now I like aquamarine.” The grin on his face grew very sly.

Timothy rolled his eyes, groaning.

Shelagh blushed fiercely. “Patrick, I’ve told you before. My eyes are an ordinary pale blue. Don’t be silly.”

“I am entirely within my rights to call your eyes aquamarine if I like. After all,  I’m the best judge. No one has looked into them as much as I have.” His finger tipped her pinkened face to his, his eyes looking deeply into hers.

“Ugh. Dad.”

“And,” Patrick continued, “ I’ll have you know I’m also quite fond of pink.”

“Pink?” Timothy cried, outraged. “You do not like pink. Pink is revolting. I mean, it’s all right for you, Shelagh, but honestly, Dad, you can’t say such things.”

Patrick shrugged. “Go and put the kettle on, please, Tim. I think Shelagh might like a cup of tea before I bring her back.”

Alone, Patrick turned to Shelagh, stroking his finger down her soft cheek. “This is an especially lovely shade of pink.” His lips followed his finger. “And, I’m rather partial to this shade,” he said as his finger slid to caress her lips.

“Patrick,” Shelagh demurred, remembering Timothy.

“Shelagh,” Patrick coaxed, his son forgotten, his head lowering to hers..

Peering through the hatch, Timothy decided something had to be done. Becoming a family was brilliant, he thought, but there was no reason why he would have to watch the two of them act like love birds in the process.  He knew just how to change the mood.

“I guess we have to forgive you your color choices, Dad. You do have all those horrid jumpers.”