That was an incredibly awkward night... but it left Zechariah with a strange sort of cheer nonetheless. The likelihood of Simon being, well, like Zechariah, was about as likely as half the other men he had ever noticed having noticed back. Never mind noticing in a keen way.

But the dream was pleasant, and that was as much as he asked. Besides, Simon’s family was struggling. Who was he to overlook a man in need?

And so he found himself overdressed... at the fish market. Trying not to grimace and failing as he squinted down the rows for redheaded, riveting Simon.

Redheaded Simon was accompanying his father, holding a basket of fish as father negotiated the price. His eyes wandered over the crowd, more out of boredom than interest, until he spotted Zech. Bad timing. Simon moved a little, trying to hide in the crowd.

Simon shrunk, but Zechariah perked up. There he was! With an older man. Family business. Fascinating!

He strolled up jauntily to the stand.

“Simon! Fancy seeing you here!”

As if Zechariah even knew what a fish market looked like before now.

“Good day, sir,” he said more cautiously to the older man.

Chaim had fretted endlessly about impressing a girl’s parents, and he was beginning to understand why.

As Zech approached Simon gave a quick, subtle shake of the head. Too late. "Hello Mr. Meijer." He said with a pleasant voice as if he was not about to see his plans crash and burn. "This is my father. Father, Mr. Meijer." 'Father' looked at Zech somewhat confused, but extended a hand anyway. "Mr. Meijer was at the harbour the other day. He was fascinated by the traps, so I showed him how they work." He gave Zech a look as if his life depended on it.

“Zechariah is fine,” he said quickly with a smitten smile.

He took ‘Father’s hand and shook it.

“Hello, Mr... uh,” the smile faltered, and shook like a vase on an uneven table. “Hello!”

He caught the look, and was reminded of early university hazing. What was this fellow roping him into? Goodness. He cast an uneasy look back, but it was gone in an instant and he assumed the role cast to him.

“I still fail to understand...” his eyes flicked between Simon and ‘Father,’ “them,” he said with an earnestness not entirely faked. “You will have to show me again some time, Simon.”

"Benjamin Ward." Father said. "Glad Simon could be of help to ye, ser." He said, giving Simon a suspicious look. Simon looked like someone who had just miraculously managed to cross the motorway blindfolded. "I'd be glad to help, ser." Simon said, ignoring the invitation to use the first name. "What brings ye to Whitby, ser?" Father asked.

“Benjamin Ward!” he said with far too much. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Zechariah bit back a smile when he looked back to Simon for some sort of approval, though it stiffened naturally at the ‘ser’.

“Summering with some friends, Mr. Ward.”

Far, far away from the social consequences his inclinations could have.

"Well, I hope you are enjoying your time here." Father said. "Simon here could show you round sometime." Father probably thought that by giving Simon something to do on a Sunday afternoon, he could keep him from criminal conduct. Little did he know.

“That would be perfect,” Zechariah glowed. “Thank you, Mr. Ward. Simon, I am up on the river if you find a free moment.”

He nodded, trying to hide the blush, turned to go empty-handed, then realized that was probably suspicious. He turned back.

“Uh, what would you recommend around here for dinner?”

Simon did not look at Zech but looked down, mostly to hide a smile. "T' cod's good around here, ser." Father said.