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But Sebastian was no longer a sixteen year old awkward, gangly, hormonal tornado. He was a self-sufficient relationship veteran. But tact was not in Walter's vocabulary. He was an up at dawn, meat and potatoes, pioneer of political incorrectness. The kind of man with a no filter frankness that could only fly in the comforts of retirement. If you talked like that back in the 9-5 world, you'd get charbroiled.

But Sebastian hadn't driven to Colorado to have his sensibilities shocked. Especially not at the dinner table. "Dad, do you want me to die of embarrassment?"

"Really dear, how about some tact? This isn't casserole conversation," Clementine insisted, still clinging to manners. Sebastian's Mother was the perfect counter point to her husband. If Walter was too salt of the Earth, Clementine peppered their relationship with a touch of class. Clementine was a Teen Corn Queen runner up two years running after all. And not that Clementine was above judging. Hell, she'd filled up Sebastian's voice mail box twice over gossiping about their bocce champion braggart of a neighbor and his lustful glances at the retirement villas resident housekeeper. Clementine just did her judging behind people's backs, not over dinner rolls and scalloped potatoes.

Keith meanwhile took the steamrolling in stride. He looked like an old pro of parental probing. The grizzled veteran of ice breaking with ball busting overprotective Dad's. That was one of the reasons Sebastian had fallen for him. He was always cool under pressure. Be it finding a raccoon in the attic or a busted tire on the interstate, Keith had the cool of someone who'd had a life jumping from uncomfortable situations. "Mr. Fabulous, I can assure you Sebastian is in good hands."

"Oh God. I don't want to know what you're doing to my Sebastian with your hands," Walter squawked.

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