Making Ends Meet

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"You must really be feeling guilty if you want to take me for ice cream with it being just us." Baler snickered, poking at Simon with a mischievous gleam in his eye while he grasped the strawberry cone with his right hand.

"Take advantage of the moment and enjoy your ice cream, lad," Simon grumbled, stuffing his wallet into his back pocket before grasping the vanilla ice cream cone he had ordered for himself. "Your mum will be home later instead of at four. Figured we'd go out into town and get some ice cream."

"Dad, your logic doesn't make sense," Baler shook his head. "It's the beginning of the year and you're taking me to get ice cream. Fuckin' Brits-" He snickered.

"What was said about cursing?" Simon scoffed, arching his brow.

"No cursing around mom or the twins. She never said anything about cussing when she's not around..."

Simon couldn't help but breathe a laugh at his remark, "Fair point. Just don't make a habit out of it," He warned, joining the teenager outside at the nearby table, looking around at the nearby tourists as well as well as many vehicles driving through downtown Main Street. "We've had good weather all week. Might as well take advantage of it before the second half of winter comes back."

"Thoughtful. I'll give it to ya." Baler shrugged.

"Don't get used to it," He huffed. "Best eat your ice cream before it melts."

"I see the military demands never left."

"Never will, unfortunately."

"Wha-?"

Suddenly, both Simon and Baler looked at each other, Simon's gaze falling to the mound of strawberry ice cream that had fallen from Baler's cone - a clear indication that he had been eating the ice cream from the cone at its base, quite literally licking it right off the cone and onto the pavement below. "Here, take this." Simon offered, not hesitating to give the kid his own, even if it was Baler's mistake in the first place.

"Hope you like vanilla."

"It's basic," Baler shrugged. "But it'll do."

Simon couldn't help but breathe a chuckle, "That'll do." before he furrowed his brows in a snicker. "What?"

"You're so British, dad."

"Last I checked, I am British," He huffed. "Better eat that ice cream. I spent two dollars on that cone and as much as I hate to complement a stranger, these transplants sure know how to make bloody good ice cream. I'm glad I got to enjoy it while I had the chance before somebody dropped theirs for not knowing how to eat it right." 

"Must not have had as much practice as you," Baler retorted back with a heavy arch in his brow, enjoying just how far he could get under Simon's skin. "But on a serious note, what's a transplant?"

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