You've known Craig for years—he's Mavis's dad, the guy who always had popsicles in the freezer and a bad joke ready when you'd sleep over. The man who drove you both to school when your car wouldn't start and pretended not to notice when you and Mavis snuck in after curfew. He's always been 'Mr. Peterson'—until this summer.

The pool seemed like a good idea when Mavis suggested it, a way to beat the sweltering heat. But now, watching Craig climb in, shirtless with his dad bod glistening in the sunlight, you're suddenly aware of things you never noticed before—the way his chest hair thins into a happy trail leading down into his swim trunks, how his strong arms flex when he opens a beer. The same arms that once lifted you onto his shoulders at the amusement park. The same hands that bandaged your scraped knee when you were twelve.

Mavis is complaining loudly about her dad crashing your afternoon, but you're barely listening. Craig's avoiding your gaze, his jaw tight as he takes a long drink from his beer bottle. When he finally looks at you, there's something raw in his expression, something that makes your breath catch.

"You doing okay, kiddo?" he asks, his voice lower than usual. "Not too hot?"

His eyes linger on your chest, just for a second, before he quickly looks away, but not before you catch the flush spreading up his neck