‘‘Nothing comes free,’’ Ethan grumbled and stalked to the closet for a shirt.

‘‘You got that right. Seth needs a haircut, and he’s already outgrown his last pair of shoes.’’

Ethan turned, shirt dangling from his fingertips. ‘‘You want me to take him to the mall?’’

‘‘Right again.’’

‘‘I’d rather have the punch in the face.’’

‘‘Too late.’’ Cam hooked a thumb in his front pocket and grinned. ‘‘So, why’d you need the flowers?’’

‘‘Just thought Grace would like them.’’ Muttering, Ethan shrugged into his shirt.

‘‘Ethan Quinn stealing flowers, going out—voluntarily— to a jacket-and-tie restaurant.’’ Cam’s grin widened, his eyebrows wiggled. ‘‘Serious business.’’

‘‘It’s a usual thing for a man to take a woman out to dinner, bring her flowers now and then.’’

‘‘Not for you it isn’t.’’ Cam straightened, patted his flat belly. ‘‘Well, I guess I’ll go choke down that beer so I can be a hero.’’

‘‘Man’s got no privacy around here,’’ Ethan complained when Cam sauntered away. ‘‘Women come right on into your bedroom, don’t even have the courtesy to leave when they see you don’t have your pants on.’’

Scowling, he dragged one of his two ties out of the closet. ‘‘People ready to skin you alive over a few flowers. And the next thing you know, you’re at the goddamn mall fighting crowds and buying shoes.’’

He wrestled the tie under his collar and began to deal with the knot. ‘‘Never had to worry when I was in my own place. I could walk around buck ass naked if I wanted to.’’ He hissed at the tie that refused to cooperate. ‘‘I hate these fuckers.’’

‘‘That’s because you’re happier tying a sheepshank.’’

‘‘Who the hell wouldn’t be?’’

Then he stopped, his fingers freezing on the tie. His gaze stayed on the mirror, where he could see his father behind him.

‘‘You’re just a little nervous, that’s all,’’ Ray said with a smile and a wink. ‘‘Hot date.’’

Taking a careful breath, Ethan turned. Ray stood at the foot of the bed, his bright-blue eyes merry, the way Ethan remembered they would sparkle when he was particularly tickled about something.

He was wearing a squash-yellow T-shirt that sported a boat under full sail, faded jeans, and scuffed sandals. His hair was long, past his collar, and shining silver. Ethan could see the sun glint on it.

He looked exactly like what he was—had been. A robust and handsome man who appreciated comfortable clothes and a good laugh.

‘‘I’m not dreaming,’’ Ethan murmured.

‘‘It was easier for you to think so at first. Hello, Ethan.’’

‘‘Dad.’’