Author's Note: This story is set in the Symmetry universe - although not in the same timeframe. I highly recommend reading Symmetry before you read this story. Happy reading and happy belated Valentine's Day!

"You… what?"

He must have heard her wrong. That's the only possible explanation. As much as it pains him to admit it, he is growing older and perhaps his hearing isn't as good as it used to be. He really should get those ears checked…

"Daddy, weren't you listening to me?" she repeats. "I'm going to the movies with Frankie. He's picking me up in an hour."

Darn. Turns out his hearing's working just fine. Even though he desperately wishes it wasn't. He's not so sure about his heart, though. He can definitely feel it beating faster. Yes, he must have palpitations at the very least…

"Daddy," his daughter laughs. "You don't have to worry. It's not like we're getting married. It's just one date."

His baby, his Emma, going on a date? She's only sixteen years old. And going to the movies with a boy? Why, he didn't go on his first date until…

Well, he was fifteen. But that doesn't count because he was the teenage boy. He knows that teenage boys are bad news. He used to be one, after all. He can't have his little girl going out with a teenage boy!

He has to distract her. He has to bribe her with something that sounds more enticing than a date at the movies. A date at the movies with a teenage boy. He keeps repeating it, but some part of him is still hoping it's not true. Maybe it's an April Fools Day joke… eight months early.

"What if we stay home instead and have our own movie night instead?" he suggests lamely. "We can watch anything you want. Even if it's a chick flick. We can order pizza, your mum can make her special caramel popcorn…"

"Leave me out of this," his wife says with an amused smile. "If you're going to try bribe our daughter, you can do it on your own."

She plants a kiss on Emma's head. "Have fun, sweetie. You know I trust you."

"Thanks, Mum," she says gratefully. "Now if only Dad did…"

"Come on, sweetheart, you're being a bit unreasonable," his wife chides him. "She's sixteen years old. She's not a baby anymore."

"She is a baby. She's my baby and I want to make sure it stays that way," he says stubbornly, but knows he's not saying anything that will convince Emma to break her date.

He sneaks a glance at her. Sure enough, his daughter is already scowling at being called a baby.

Suddenly he's struck with a brainwave. "OK, instead of a movie night at home, I could take you to The Ivy for dinner. You can get all dressed up and everything…" he suggests hopefully.

"Daddy," Emma giggles, rolling her eyes. "I have a date with Frankie and I need to get ready. Stop kidding around."

His face falls. "Who's kidding?" he shoots back, but his reply falls on deaf ears. He watches mournfully as his daughter disappears into her bedroom.

"You are so funny," his wife laughs as he looks at her with an unhappy puppy dog expression.

"When did she grow up?" he asks sadly. "It seems like only yesterday that she was born and we were holding her for the first time."

Her eyes soften and she leans her head against his shoulder. "I know, darling. I know. This is hard for me too. But we have to accept that she's growing up. We can't keep her at home forever."

"I would if I could, you know," he mutters, putting his arm around her and drawing comfort from their closeness.

"I would too," she assures him. "But we can't."

At six o'clock on the dot, the doorbell rings. If nothing else, he has to admit that the boy is punctual.

He draws himself up to his full height and tries to look imposing as he opens the door. His wife has already headed out to dinner with her sister, so it's his responsibility to make sure that Frankie knows what he's getting into.

On the other side of the door is a clean-cut young man that looks nothing like the tattooed motorcyclist in the black leather jacket he's secretly been picturing. He feels oddly relieved, but he's still not convinced that young Frankie should be allowed to go out with his daughter. He may look innocent, but that doesn't mean he is.

"Yes?" he says in his deepest voice, as though he doesn't know who Frankie is and has no plans to let him in.

Frankie looks genuinely terrified, and he feels his chest puff out a little bit as he blocks the door and crosses his arms.

"H-h-h-h-hello, sir," Frankie manages to stutter. "I'm here to pick up E-e-e-Emma."

"E-e-e-Emma? I don't think we have anybody by that name here," he says coolly. "You must be at the wrong house."

Frankie's eyes widen and he almost feels a little sorry for him. Almost.

You can practically see the wheels turning in Frankie's head. Is he really at the wrong house? Did Emma give him the wrong address?

He feels a little smug. Maybe this was the secret to keeping teenage scumbags away from his baby girl – sending them away before they even got to see her.

"Daddy, cut it out," his daughter orders, and he sighs. He turns and his mouth opens a little.

She looks so beautiful. So like her mother. So grown up.

Her blonde hair, normally in a messy ponytail or haphazard waves, has been straightened, making her look a few years older than sixteen. She's wearing a black chiffon top with her jeans, and her mother's aquamarine pendant that makes her hazel eyes look blue. Instead of her usual sneakers or ballet flats, she's wearing a pair of heels that look very feminine and elegant.

"Dad, this is Frankie," she says.

Frankie presents Emma with a long-stemmed rose wrapped in cellophane that he's somehow managed to keep hidden behind his back and her eyes light up.

He sees the sparkle in her eyes, the rosy flush of her cheeks, and realises that his daughter is happy. For better or worse, he doesn't know, but she is definitely happy.

All of his concerns, fears and worries suddenly seem petty in the light of that obvious happiness.

He loves his daughter. He trusts his daughter. And oh, how he wants her to be happy.

He swallows the list of questions he had already been planning to interrogate Frankie with.

"Nice to meet you," he manages to say in a cordial tone, and his daughter looks visibly relieved as they shake hands.

"Have her home by ten, please. And take care of her."

"I will," Frankie promises.

He's pacing back and forth in the living room, anxiously looking at the clock.

9:45. Only fifteen minutes until that little punk is meant to have her home. That is, if he keeps his word. He clenches his fists slightly.

"I thought you said he seemed like a nice boy and that you weren't worried anymore," his wife teases. "That pacing makes you look pretty worried."

"I thought he seemed like a nice boy at 6:00," he protests. "It's almost ten. Where are they? How long do movies take, anyway? They don't take this long!"

"They've probably gone to get some food or dessert or something."

"At this hour?"

"When did you become a grandpa?" she laughs. "She doesn't have school tomorrow and ten is her curfew when she's out with her friends on the weekend too."

"But not with a boy," he counters. "And don't call me Grandpa. I don't want anyone calling me Grandpa – not for another decade at least."

"Emma's going to be back any minute now," she reproves him. "Do you really want her to find us waiting by the door for her to get home? Can we at least wait in our room?"

He considers the point, and nods reluctantly. He allows his wife to take him by the hand and lead him to their bedroom. But he insists that she keep the door open a crack and now his eyes are glued to the bedroom clock instead of the living room clock.

Tick, tick, tick.

Even though he's been waiting for it, he still jumps a little when he hears the front door close softly.

"Mum, Dad, I'm home!"

9:57. Cutting it a little close, but his Emma is home safe and sound. He breathes a sigh of relief.

"How did it go, honey?" his wife asks as his daughter pads upstairs and peeks into their room.

"It was great," she says simply but her nonchalant tone can't hide the sparkle that lingers in her eyes.

"Do you think you'll go out with him again?" It takes tremendous restraint for him to ask that question, but he needs to know.

She blushes prettily. "Yes, I think so."

Then she takes him by surprise as she comes over and kisses him on the cheek.

"I love you, Dad. I always will. You know that, right?"

He feels a lump in his throat as he accepts her hug. His wife has less self-control and tears are already unashamedly glittering in her eyes.

"I know," he says gruffly, his voice thick with emotion. "And we will always love you, E.J."