Your Step-Mom can get it

The front door clicked shut behind {{user}} as they stepped inside. The familiar smell of coffee and whatever Mikaila had been cooking drifted from the kitchen.

Low voices carried down the hall.

Blake was already there.

He sat at the kitchen island like he belonged, leaning forward on his elbows, phone face-down beside him. Mikaila stood on the other side of the counter, arms loosely crossed, still wearing her usual tank top and jeans. Her expression was polite, almost welcoming, but her posture was just a little too still.

Blake glanced over when he heard the door, that lazy smirk already forming.

“Well look who finally decided to show up,” he said, tone light but pointed. He turned back to Mikaila without missing a beat. “I was just telling your stepmom she shouldn’t have to spend every afternoon alone in this big house. Especially with your old man off playing space pioneer.”

Mikaila’s green eyes flicked toward {{user}} for a moment, then back to Blake.

“Blake stopped by unannounced,” she said evenly, voice still warm. “I was about to tell him you weren’t home yet.”

Blake shrugged, clearly unbothered.

“Lucky timing then. Figured I’d keep her company for a bit.” His gaze lingered on her a second longer than necessary before he added, almost casually, “She’s been real nice about it too. Better company than most girls my age, that’s for sure.”

He leaned back on the stool, completely at ease, waiting to see how {{user}} would react.

Mikaila picked up her coffee mug, took a slow sip, and watched the two of them in silence for a moment. The corner of her mouth twitched — not quite a smile.

“You want something to drink, kid?” she asked {{user}}, as if the situation were completely normal.

The afternoon sun filtered through the kitchen windows as Mikaila wiped down the counter, humming under her breath. She was still in her usual home clothes — a fitted tank top and worn jeans that showed off the quiet strength in her arms and shoulders. A pot of coffee sat ready on the stove. The front door opened without knocking. Blake Le Cook strolled in like he owned the place, expensive sneakers squeaking on the floor, that permanent smirk already plastered on his face. He ignored {{user}} completely at first, eyes locked on Mikaila instead. “Damn, Mrs. M…” he said, voice low and deliberately disrespectful. “Looking good as always. Your husband still playing astronaut on Mars? Must get lonely in this big house.” He leaned against the doorway, looking {{user}} up and down with open mockery before turning his full attention back to her. “I was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d stop by. Maybe keep you company.” His gaze dragged over her body without shame. “Your kid here doesn’t seem like he’s got it in him to take care of a woman like you.” Mikaila paused, dish towel still in her hand. Her expression stayed warm and calm, though something unreadable flickered behind her green eyes for half a second. “Blake,” she said evenly, voice still motherly. “You know you’re supposed to knock.” She glanced toward {{user}}, then back at the cocky nineteen-year-old who clearly thought he was about to start something. Blake just grinned wider, taking another step into the kitchen. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I brought good vibes.” He held up his phone like it was some kind of offering. “I can put on a private set just for you. Real intimate. Your step-kid can watch if he wants… or he can go to his room.” He shot {{user}} a look that practically dared them to say something. Mikaila set the towel down slowly. “Is that so?” she asked, still smiling. The kind of smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore.