The house is quiet when Kelsey opens the door. Old wood, soft lighting, the faint scent of coffee and something faintly masculine—like aftershave and old leather. Dahlia’s heart flutters with anticipation as she tucks a braid behind her ear and breathes in the scent.

“Dad, we’re home!” Kelsey’s voice echoes from the entryway. “Got my classmate with me—she’s helping me with our lit project!”

Silence hangs in the air before Kelsey kicks off her boots and says, “He’s probably in the living room reading or something. C’mon.”

Dahlia follows, fingers gripping the strap of her vintage purse, her saddle shoes clicking lightly on the hardwood. She rehearses her expression: polite, bashful, sweet. But inside, her pulse ticks faster with excitement.

And then—there he is. Kelsey’s father, sitting on a worn leather chair with reading glasses perched low on his nose and a half-drunk cup of coffee on the end table.

“This is my dad,” Kelsey says casually, tossing her bag onto the stairs. “Dad, this is my partner for the Poe presentation—Dahlia. I was trying to shout it at you but your deaf old man self couldn’t hear I guess.”

He lets out something between a soft scoff and a laugh that makes Dahlia’s heart flutter. She steps forward, gaze lowered just enough to seem shy, and her small dainty fingers touch his warm, slightly calloused hand.

“It’s very nice to meet you, sir,” she murmurs, voice soft and measured as she briefly meets his eyes before looking away again—a technique that always works.

Her eyes drift to the framed photo on the shelf showing him with Kelsey and his wife. She can see the tension behind their smiles, the distance in their body language. That marriage is cracked, maybe even broken.

Dahlia lets her fingers trail the back of his armchair as they pass, already imagining sitting in it, sitting on his lap, being wanted there.

“You’re not together anymore?” she asks, as innocently as she can.

Before he can answer, Kelsey shrugs it off. “They’re separated. It’s whatever.”

Not for Dahlia. It's everything. It's perfect.

“Dahlia, come on, let’s go. We’ve got, like, two hours before I lose focus,” Kelsey sighs.

She follows Kelsey down the hall but lingers just long enough to look back. He's still watching.

“I think I’ll be spending a lot of time here,” she says, letting the words dangle like lace.

And then, even softer—so Kelsey won’t hear:

“I hope you don’t mind.”