My co-worker told me of a similar situation so I wanted to try it out with the two boys.
Hope squinted at the small type on the sheet of paper. Schools these days were getting rather demanding in their needs. "Pens, composition book, felt tip markers, gum eraser, calculator, pencil case, report covers, three-ring binder, et cetera, et cetera…"
His daughter rested her chin atop the shopping trolley's handle, pushing it back and forth impatiently. Leonora was always so energetic; Hope couldn't remember ever being this restless at her age. (Most likely inherited it from her mother.) "I know what I need, Dad. Let's gooooo."
"Yes, yes…" Suppressing a smile, he followed her through the store as she careened through aisles. She was excited about school; bright and gifted, she was currently two grades ahead of the other peers in her age group. Hope had been initially worried how it would affect her (it had certainly affected him, at her age), but her outgoing, almost blunt, personality reamed away any doubts.
They stopped at an aisle which had a number of items they needed, and Hope dutifully checked off the list as Leonora chucked them into their cart.
"Markers, markers," she muttered to herself as she scanned the rows of office supplies.
As she searched, a display of children's schoolbags next to them caught Hope's attention. Leonora's current one was getting a bit worn, he had noticed. Since they were here, he may as well get her a new one for the new school year. (She was Daddy's little princess, after all. He spared no expense on her and was sometimes a little too indulgent toward her whims, much to his ex's irritation. It may have been partially due to lingering guilt over the divorce. It had ended amiably enough—they had been too young and naive—but Hope always wondered if he didn't work hard enough to save the marriage. Years had passed yet he still wondered that every time Leonora was dropped off into his care every other weekend.)
Pawing through the backpacks, Hope found a practical affair decked out in green and white chevron. He carefully inspected the workmanship; Leonora's gifted classes tended to be rather heavy in the textbook department. The last thing he wanted was the bag falling apart as she was heading to her next class.
"Honey, what do you think?" Hope asked, half turning to show Leonora his find.
But his daughter wasn't the one there. Horrified, Hope dragged his gaze up along long legs encased in ripped jeans to the face of a very surprised young man.
The surprise quickly melted into an easy grin, violet eyes curving with gentle amusement. "I dunno, babe, it looks a little small for you. But it does bring out your eyes."
"Dad," Hope heard Leonora call from a little further down the aisle on his opposite side. "I found the markers!"
(Shit.) Hope knew his entire face—hell, his entire body—was flushed with embarrassment. He wanted to look away, but like a deer in headlights, he kept staring at the young man. "M-my apologies, I thought my daughter was there—"
The young man chuckled, broad shoulders rolling in a dismissive shrug. "It's all right. It's not often that I get hit on by such a cute guy."
Hope was pretty sure his cheeks just invented a new shade of red. (A regular Casanova, this kid…) He didn't believe one iota of those flirtatious words. The young man was extremely handsome. (A face like that belongs in the movies. Cocky brat.)
"Daaaad," Leonora tugged on his sleeve, and he glanced down at her, startled out of his impolite gawking.
"I found the markers," she repeated and then her gaze slid past her flustered dad to the young man smiling (cheekily!) at them both.
A little frown creased her mouth as she glanced back at her father, identical to the one worn by Hope when he disapproved of something.
Warning klaxons suddenly blared in Hope's head. His daughter had next-to-no filters between brain and mouth (his ex-wife blamed that solely on him) and it looked like she was about to fire off something that was going to embarrass him further.
"Dad, he's way out of your lea—"
Hope shoved the backpack into Leonora's arms, cutting her off, and firmly turned her around, pushing her forward. Bobbing his head in apology to the young man (what the hell the kid's smirking!), Hope mumbled an incoherent pardon as he ushered his daughter over to the next aisle and away from the young man's long-lashed, smoldering gaze and full-lipped smile.
Leonora stared at him with that same frown. "Dad, we left our cart."
The rickety creaks of a rolling trolley followed her statement, and to Hope's horror, the end of it peeked around the corner. He could almost hear that velvet chuckle again, but luckily, none came. (He was a little disappointed that the young man didn't come either.)
"You know, Dad," Leonora huffed, tugging the cart toward them. "if you're going to pick up someone, you should find one in your league."
"I wasn't—I… what?" Having an overly clever daughter was a curse. (He wasn't sure who to blame for that. Both Elida and himself had excelled in school.)
"That guy was way too pretty and cool," she nodded sagely. "You need to aim lower if you ever want to get married again. I mean, you're such an old geezer, Dad, and totally uncool."
Hope could feel a headache balling behind his eyes. "... Nora, go fetch your markers," he said in his best I Am Your Father voice, "and not a word to your mother about this."
