The front door swung inward with a familiar creak, and Tori stepped across the threshold with her bag dragging from one shoulder and dropped the suitcase from her hand, her cheeks still warm from a thought she had been trying very hard not to revisit. It had been nothing more than a fleeting fantasy during the drive, an unwanted little flash of herself on her knees, looking up through her lashes while a familiar voice spoke close to her ear. She had spent ten minutes in her car gripping the steering wheel and silently informing herself that she was twenty-two years old, an educated woman with a functioning brain, and entirely capable of thinking about literally anything else.

Apparently, she had not been capable of that.

The moment the door closed behind her, the thought was replaced by something much more honest and much harder to hide. She was home. The word settled warmly in her chest as she drew in a deep breath, catching the familiar scent of the house beneath the faint traces of her perfume and the clean, warm smell of the lotion she had used that morning. Her mouth curved into an unguarded smile.

"Home."

She let her bag fall onto the foyer floor, followed by the smaller tote she had been carrying, then glanced down at herself as though only just remembering what she had worn for the drive. The distressed jeans fit tightly over her wide hips and thick thighs, soft denim pulling across her curves whenever she moved. Her loose cropped tank top was comfortable enough for a long trip, though the spaghetti straps had slipped slightly down her shoulders and the neckline left the deep swell of her cleavage even more visibly prominent.

She had told herself she had chosen the outfit because it was easy to travel in. She had also spent far too long deciding between three nearly identical tops that morning, which was not evidence she intended to present in court.

She pushed her dark auburn hair behind one ear, then looked toward the empty living room. The house was quiet. Too quiet, considering she had given herself another hour before expecting to arrive. Her smile turned mischievous as she stepped farther inside, already imagining you somewhere upstairs, completely unaware that she had beaten her own schedule.

"Daddy..." Her voice carried through the house, deliberately sweet at first, before she stretched the next words into an exaggerated announcement. "IIIIIIII’m hohhhhhhhhhhhhhme. Where you be? Your greatest source of sunshine and pride needs a hug after those finals."

She laughed at herself, the sound bright and familiar in the quiet room. Calling herself your greatest source of sunshine and pride was objectively ridiculous, especially when she had spent half of finals week complaining, threatening to drop out, and sending you increasingly dramatic updates about her professors. Still, she knew you would understand the joke. You always did. That was part of what made coming home so easy. She could be loud, annoying, affectionate, sarcastic, exhausted, and completely herself without having to explain any of it.

Her gaze moved toward the staircase. Maybe you were in your room. Maybe you were working. Maybe you had fallen asleep and would be deeply offended that she had interrupted a peaceful afternoon. The thought made her grin as she started upstairs, one hand sliding along the banister while the other adjusted the strap of her tank top. She was still smiling when she reached the hallway, but the expression softened as she noticed the open door.

Her steps slowed, though she could not have explained why. She had walked into your room countless times over the years without thinking twice about it, borrowing chargers, stealing hoodies, complaining about professors from the doorway, and once spending forty minutes sitting on the floor while explaining why a man in one of her classes was an idiot. There was nothing unusual about seeing the open door, and she told herself that twice before continuing down the hall.

She was almost at the doorway when she heard movement inside. The sound was ordinary, just the shift of someone moving around, but Tori’s expression brightened with sudden mischief. You had not heard her come in. That meant she had one opportunity to make the entrance memorable.

She stepped past the doorframe, lifted both hands above her head, curled her fingers into ridiculous claws, and threw herself into the room.

"GIVE ME ALL YOUR MONEY!"

The threat came out loud enough to startle even her, but the rest of it disappeared when she saw you standing there in nothing but a towel. Her raised hands stayed frozen for half a second as her eyes dropped in one quick, involuntary sweep before snapping back toward your face. The sight was brief, but it was enough to steal the air from her lungs and send a rush of heat through her cheeks.

She had expected to scare you. She had not expected to be the one left struggling to remember what she had intended to say.

Her hands lowered slowly as she turned away, pressing her lips together to keep the startled laugh from becoming something more revealing. The familiar room suddenly felt warmer than it had a moment earlier, and she became acutely aware of the loose tank top against her skin and how the other strap had fallen off her shoulder, the tight denim around her hips, and the fact that she had absolutely no business remembering the way the towel sat against you.

"Seriously, Daddy?" She shook her head, staring firmly at the opposite wall. "I can’t even jump-scare you without being emotionally damaged for life?"

Her giggle came out lighter than she felt. She tucked a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear, then pointed vaguely over her shoulder without turning around.

"Put some clothes on before I have to sue you for psychological distress."

She made it another second before adding, with a little more confidence, "And close your door. You’re going to damage your baby girl."

The teasing sounded effortless, but the warmth still spreading beneath her skin made it difficult to believe her own performance. She kept her back turned, refusing to give herself even one excuse to look over her shoulder. It was ridiculous. You were familiar. You were home. You were the same person who had listened to her complain about finals, helped her prepare for college interviews, and encouraged her to pursue her MBA when she had been convinced she was not ready.

None of that explained why one accidental glimpse had left her pulse moving too quickly.

"Get dressed and meet me downstairs. I need a hug. A real one. A long one. Finals kicked my ass." She shook her head, putting on an exaggeratedly betrayed expression even though you could not see it. "‘Get your MBA,’ he said. ‘You’ve already done the hard part,’ he said. Lies. All......lies."

She gave you no time to answer before stepping back into the hallway, though the smile tugging at her mouth had become smaller and more private. She had come home expecting familiar comfort, familiar jokes, and the easy relief of being around someone who knew her better than almost anyone. She had not expected her own imagination to follow her through the front door, or for one accidental glimpse to make that familiar comfort feel dangerously different.

Still, she wanted the hug. More than she wanted to think about anything else.

So she headed downstairs, trying to look perfectly composed while quietly wondering how long she could keep pretending that the strange flutter beneath her ribs was only excitement about being home.

The next morning, Tori dressed with the kind of casual care she would have denied under oath. The loose short shorts were soft and comfortable, though they climbed high along her thick thighs whenever she moved, and the cropped T-shirt had a medium plunge that showed just enough of her cleavage to make the choice feel slightly more deliberate than necessary. She told herself it was hot outside, that she had spent most of the morning unpacking, and that there was nothing unusual about wanting to look good in her own house.

The fact that she checked her reflection twice before leaving her room was irrelevant.

She made her way down the hallway with a grin already forming, still carrying the energy of the gangster movie they had watched together the night before. She had spent half the film mocking the dialogue, repeating the dramatic lines in increasingly ridiculous voices, and insisting that she could have handled every criminal situation better than the characters. Now, with the memory fresh in her mind, she pushed open the study door without knocking.

"What up, Daddy?..." She threw both arms into the air, nearly hopping into the room as she laughed at herself. The movement made her shirt shift against her body, her cleavage swaying with the exaggerated greeting, but she was too busy enjoying the joke to care. She had barely taken two steps toward the desk when she noticed quickly closing something on his laptop.

Her smile sharpened.

"Ohhhhh, are we hiding things now?" She pointed at him with mock suspicion, then placed one hand against her chest as though deeply offended. "Nuh uh. Not in this house, he said."

She paused, squinting at him. "Okay, maybe you didn’t say that, but whatcha hiding?"

She did not wait for an answer. Tori crossed the study with the confidence of someone who had never once believed a closed door or a private screen was enough to keep her curiosity away. As she reached the other side of the desk, she pointed two fingers toward her eyes, then toward you, holding the gesture while trying not to laugh.

"I’m watching you." The threat lost most of its effect when her mouth twitched.

She moved around the desk and stopped behind your chair, close enough to catch the familiar scent of your cologne and the warmer scent of the study. The nearness made her briefly aware of the bare skin of her thighs, the loose hem of her shirt, and the fact that she had chosen to stand there instead of giving you room. She leaned forward, intending to look over your shoulder, and her chest brushed lightly against the back of your head.

The contact was brief. Accidental enough to excuse. Not quite accidental enough for her to ignore.

Her breath caught, and she immediately focused on the laptop instead. Before she could think better of it, she reached around you and took the mouse from your hand, her fingers brushing yours for a fraction of a second.

"Let’s see what we have here..." She clicked the minimized browser.

The page opened. For a moment, Tori forgot how to breathe.

The dating profile sat plainly on the screen, complete with photographs, questions, and the unmistakable shape of a man making yourself available to someone new. Her stomach tightened so quickly that the playful expression on her face almost disappeared.

'No, Daddy. Please don’t.'

The thought arrived before she could stop it, raw and immediate. She stared at the screen, then forced herself to remember the obvious. You are single. You are allowed to date. You allowed to meet someone, flirt with someone, fall in love with someone. She had no claim on you, no right to object, and certainly no reason to look as though the discovery had struck her somewhere tender.

That did not stop the disappointment from spreading through her chest.

She tilted her head, keeping her gaze on the profile while trying to rebuild her usual expression.

"Dating?"

The word came out lighter than she felt. She bit the inside of her lip, then leaned slightly closer to inspect the screen as though she were evaluating a badly written college application.

"Oh my..."

She glanced down at you, then back at the laptop. Her fingers remained loosely curled around the mouse, although she had stopped clicking. She needed something clever. Something funny. Something that would make this look like harmless curiosity instead of the sudden, unpleasant awareness that she might have waited too long to figure out what she wanted.

"Soooooo, what’s the type?" She gave the screen a critical look. "You’d better be clear in that profile. You come with baggage."

The joke earned a laugh from her, but it sounded slightly forced. She shifted her weight, the movement drawing the shorts higher along her thighs and her heavy breasts to press further against your head, and tried to study the profile without appearing to study it too closely.

"I mean, are you actually looking for someone, or are you just bored?" She glanced at him again.

"Because there’s a difference. One means you’re emotionally available. The other means you’re about to waste some poor woman’s time because you got restless on a Tuesday."

Her tone was teasing, but the question underneath it was more serious than she wanted to have you notice. She wanted to know whether this was casual. Whether you were lonely. Whether someone had already caught your attention. Whether you were looking for the kind of woman who would fit easily into your life while Tori was still standing at the edge of her own feelings, pretending she was only curious.

The following day after seeing your dating profile, the smell of breakfast reached Tori before she even thought about going downstairs, warm coffee and buttered toast mixing with the sweeter scent of syrup. She had been awake for nearly an hour, though she had spent most of that time staring at the two outfits laid across her bed as if they represented two entirely different versions of the day.

The first was casual and shamelessly fun: Daisy Dukes, a soft blouse tied above her waist, and sneakers she could wear to TopGolf. The second was a slip dress with thin spaghetti straps, something comfortable enough for a show but flattering enough to make her feel beautiful. The Mentalist was only in town until Monday. TopGolf would still be there next week.

She had finally settled on neither.

Instead, she came downstairs wearing a loose silk pajama set, the top unfastened at the first two buttons and the shorts riding high enough to show the strong curve of her thighs. The fabric shifted softly over her body as she entered the kitchen, catching the morning light whenever she moved. She had pulled her dark auburn hair into a careless knot, leaving several layers loose around her face, and the faint scent of sandalwood lotion followed her beneath the sweeter trace of YSL Libre Intense.

“Good morning.”

Her voice was quieter than usual. Not cold, exactly, but still carrying the awkwardness left over from yesterday. She crossed toward the counter and reached for a mug, stretching just enough that the silk pulled across her breasts and exposed a narrow strip of midriff. The movement was innocent in execution, though she was painfully aware of it afterward. She lowered herself onto the nearest stool and wrapped both hands around the mug without anything in it.

For a moment, she watched the steam rise from the coffee machine. She had rehearsed this conversation upstairs, and every version had sounded either too dramatic or too honest. She had planned to apologize for being jealous, explain that she had only been surprised by the dating profile, and then ask whether he was genuinely looking for someone. Instead, the familiar kitchen, the smell of breakfast, and the knowledge that she had an entire summer ahead of her made the words catch somewhere behind her ribs.

“Daddy?” The nickname came out lower than she intended. Dejected, almost. Tori glanced toward him, then immediately looked down at her mug.

“About yesterday, I’m sorry. I know I was being weird about the dating thing.” She rubbed her thumb along the handle, gathering momentum before she lost her nerve.

“I just thought this summer was going to be our thing. You know? I come home, we get breakfast, argue about movies, go places, and I steal your weekends before you can make other plans.” A small, reluctant smile touched her mouth. “Which is apparently a very reasonable adult daughter activity, by the way.” She tried to laugh, but the sound faded too quickly.

“And then I see the profile and suddenly I’m thinking that if you meet someone, she’s going to want your time. Which is fair. Obviously. You’re allowed to date. You’re allowed to have a life that doesn’t revolve around me.” Her gaze lifted again, green-hazel eyes searching his face before she could stop herself.

“I just don’t want to keep you from doing what you want. I don’t want you thinking I’m going to get upset every time you go out with somebody.” She paused, then exhaled through her nose.

“But I also don’t want to spend the whole summer feeling like I’m waiting for you to become unavailable.” The honesty made her cheeks warm. She could already feel herself regretting the last sentence, which meant she needed to do what she always did when a conversation became too emotionally dangerous: take control of it.

She set the mug down and straightened, her expression changing with visible determination.

“Actually, no. You know what? I’m hijacking your Saturday.” She reached for her phone on the counter, unlocking it with a quick tap.

“Full pamper day. You and me. Breakfast is already happening, so that part is handled. Then we’re getting a couples massage.”

She said the words with such brisk confidence that they almost sounded like an item on a business agenda. Almost. Her thumb stopped moving across the screen, and she glanced at him from beneath her lashes.

“Don’t make that face. It’s not weird. Couples get massages. We are a couple of people who are kind of related and enjoy being comfortable, so technically the branding is flexible.” The corner of her mouth lifted, pleased with herself and not entirely pleased with how closely she was watching for his response.

“After that, lunch. Somewhere with actual cloth napkins, because I’m feeling generous with your money. Then you have two options.”

She held up two fingers. “TopGolf, because you keep insisting you’re better at it than you are, or The Mentalist, because it’s only here until Monday.”

She lowered one finger. “TopGolf isn’t going anywhere. The Mentalist is. Therefore, the obvious choice is The Mentalist, unless you’re secretly terrified of spending an entire evening with me in a dark theater.”

She leaned her hip against the counter, silk shifting softly around her thick thighs as she studied him with a familiar, challenging look. “And before you say anything, this isn’t me trying to stop you from dating. You can still go on dates. You can still talk to women. You can still find somebody who thinks your terrible movie opinions are charming.”

Her smile softened despite herself. “I’m just claiming one Saturday. One whole day before somebody else starts taking all your time.”

The words escaped more quietly than the rest. Tori looked away, suddenly fascinated by the phone in her hand. “Besides, I already picked out what I’m wearing.”

She glanced down at her pajama shorts, then back up with a faintly embarrassed smirk. “Not this. Obviously. This is my sophisticated breakfast ensemble.”

She pushed away from the counter and began scrolling again, pretending the decision had already been made. “So, favorite person, are you going to let me spoil you with your money, or do I have to start making executive decisions?”

By the time Tori stepped out of the shower, the bathroom mirror had fogged at the edges and her skin still carried the warmth of the water. She stood there longer than necessary, brushing her fingers through damp auburn hair while the scent of sandalwood lotion settled over her skin, followed by the richer, warmer trace of YSL Libre Intense she had applied with far more care than she wanted to admit. She had chosen the perfume because it made her feel confident, though the confidence lasted only as long as she stayed busy.

The silk camisole lay against her body in a soft, cool layer, its narrow straps resting over her shoulders and the neckline dipping low enough to make her reconsider the entire plan. The matching shorts were one size too small, something she had bought with intent and then hidden beneath other clothes because purchasing them had been easier than admitting why she wanted them. They hugged her hips and thighs closely, the silk pulling smooth over her curves whenever she moved, leaving her feeling exposed even before she reached the bedroom door.

She had spent the entire evening trying to convince herself that The Mentalist had helped. The show had been entertaining, the food had been good, and she had laughed at his terrible commentary often enough to pretend that the familiar rhythm between them was still untouched. But every time she remembered the dating profile, every time she imagined some woman sitting across from him and learning the small things Tori already knew, the ache beneath her ribs had returned stronger than before.

It had only been a few days. That was the part that frightened her most. She had expected the feelings to settle once she had spent time with him, expected the jealousy to burn itself out once she remembered that he was still the same person who had taught her to drive, helped her prepare for college interviews, and listened to her argue about books as if her opinions mattered. Instead, every familiar thing had become another reminder of how much she wanted to remain close to him.

She drew in a slow breath, lifted her chin, and walked toward his room before she could change her mind. “Don’t mind me. I’m here to steal your body warmth and, of course, to thank you again for taking me out.”

Her tone tried for casual, but the words came out softer than usual. She crossed the room with a faint smile, carrying the clean warmth of her shower and the intoxicating perfume with her, then slipped beneath the covers before she could give herself time to become embarrassed by what she was wearing.

The sheets brushed over the silk with a quiet whisper. Tori shifted closer, lifted his arm with careful familiarity, and tucked herself beneath it as though she had done it a hundred times before. The position should have felt ordinary, comforting, almost childish in its familiarity, but her body reacted to the closeness with a rush of heat that climbed from her stomach to her throat. She settled her head against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him while the warmth beneath her cheek made it harder to remember the confident speech she had practiced upstairs.

Her breasts pressed softly against him through the thin silk of her camisole, the fabric warming between them as she adjusted herself. One of her hands rested lightly against his chest, fingers spread as if she needed the contact to steady herself, while her other hand gathered a small fold of the sheet near her waist. She could hear the quiet rhythm beneath her ear, and the steadiness of it made her own heartbeat feel embarrassingly loud.

She let out a small, involuntary sound as she relaxed against him, then immediately felt the heat rise into her cheeks.

“Daddy?” This time, the nickname carried none of its usual innocence. It came out breathless and uncertain, softened by the way her mouth rested close to his chest and the fact that she had already crossed a line she could not pretend not to see.

“It’s still bothering me,” she whispered, her fingertips beginning to trace idle patterns over the fabric beneath them. “A lot more than I thought the possibility of you dating would.”

She lifted her head enough to look at him, her green-hazel eyes searching his face while the loose strands of her hair brushed against her cheek. The silk shifted over her body as she moved, and she became aware of every point of contact between them, especially the warmth of his arm around her and the way her camisole had gathered slightly beneath her chest.

“I know what I said at breakfast. I meant it. If you want to date, I’m not going to stop you. I’m not going to make you feel guilty for wanting someone, and I’m not going to act like I get to decide what you do with your life.” Her voice faltered, though she tried to disguise it by smoothing her palm over his chest.

“But I keep thinking about it anyway. I keep imagining some woman who barely knows you taking up all your time, learning the things I already know, becoming the person you call first. And I hate that it bothers me this much.” She swallowed and shifted closer, her thigh sliding against his beneath the covers.

For a moment she hesitated, then hooked one thick thigh over his with deliberate care, the warmth of her skin meeting him through the thin silk. The position made her feel bolder and more vulnerable at the same time, as though she had placed the truth of her body beside the truth she was struggling to say aloud.

“I don’t think I’m only jealous of your time.” The admission left her staring at him. She had imagined saying it with confidence, maybe even with one of her usual crooked smiles, but the reality of it made her chest tighten.

“I think I’m scared that somebody else is going to give you something I’ve spent years wanting to give you.” Her thumb slowed against his chest. The words seemed too large for the room, too honest to hide behind a joke, and Tori felt the fragile confidence she had built in the shower begin to shake.

“I know how that sounds. I know what this is, and I know it isn’t simple. I’m not confused about the fact that you’re my stepfather, or that I’m twenty-two, or that I have my own life and should probably be capable of handling a crush without turning it into a full emotional crisis.” She gave a small, humorless laugh, but her eyes stayed on his.

“I’ve tried to handle it. I’ve tried to tell myself that I admire you, that I’m comfortable with you, that I’m just afraid of things changing. Maybe all of that is true, but it isn’t all of it.” Her breath caught as she raised herself slightly, bringing her face closer while keeping enough space for him to turn away or stop the conversation. The scent of her perfume lingered between them, warm and floral against the clean cotton of the sheets, and her hand remained open against his chest rather than gripping him.

“I don’t want you to think I’m saying this because I expect something from you.” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper.

“If you don’t feel the same way, I’ll survive it. I’ll be embarrassed, and I’ll probably want to move to another state for about a week, but I’ll survive it. I won’t punish you for it, and I won’t pretend you owe me anything just because I finally said the truth.” She held his gaze, forcing herself not to retreat into another joke.

Her thigh remained hooked over his, her body warm beneath the covers, but the deliberate seduction she had imagined upstairs had dissolved into something far more frightening. She was not performing confidence anymore. She was waiting to find out whether the person she trusted most could still look at her the same way after this.

“But I need to ask you something.” Her fingers curled slightly against his chest before relaxing again.

“Have you ever thought about being with someone younger?” The question trembled despite her effort to keep it steady. She watched him carefully, then continued before she could lose the nerve.

“Someone who knows you already. Someone who admires you more than anyone, who knows your habits and your moods and the things you don’t tell everybody else.” Her cheeks burned, but she did not look away.

She shifted her weight just enough for the silk to whisper against the sheets, her hooked thigh tightening lightly against his as though the contact could keep her from falling apart.

“Someone who wants to drop to her knees?” The words settled between them, intimate and unmistakable.

Tori’s pulse hammered beneath her skin, and for one terrible second she could imagine every possible ending at once: the possibility that he had felt the same quiet tension, the possibility that he had only ever seen her as family, and the possibility that she had just taken something safe and familiar and made it impossible to return to.

She lowered her eyes, then forced herself to look back up through her lashes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she was no longer certain whether she meant the confession, the question, or the fact that she had wanted an answer so badly. “I just couldn’t keep pretending it was going away.”

❤️‍🔥