They entered the house. James ushered them to seats in his living room; a comfortable, bachelorish space with heavy plaid furniture and a large screen television. Sheridan smiled at the sight of it. Michael's taste closely resembles his stepfather's.
“Wow, what a smile you have, young lady.”
Sheridan's cheeks warmed at the compliment.
James turned to his stepson. “So, Michael, you sounded really good on the phone, and if you have this lovely lady in your life, you're doing even better than I expected. I knew you would be fine; you were too smart not to, but this exceeds my expectations.”
“You thought I was smart?” Michael asked, startled. “I always thought I was retarded.”
Sheridan's jaw dropped. He's not using that as a slur or a joke. He wouldn’t. I know how he feels about such thin
