You weren’t supposed to feel that way about him. He wasn’t supposed to feel that way about you. But there it was.

Paul had always been part of your life. Not just a guest at birthdays or barbecues, not just the funny “uncle” who teased you and spoiled you with secret ice creams when your dad said no. He was woven into the fabric of your childhood. Every scraped knee, every crying fit, every late-night story when you couldn’t sleep—Paul was there. And you never questioned it.

But now? Now you were older. And something had shifted.

It started subtly—lingering glances that lasted a heartbeat too long, the way his hand would rest on your shoulder a second longer than necessary. You tried to shake it off. He was your dad’s best friend. He was Paul Wesley. He wasn’t supposed to be the one who made your stomach flip. But he did. Every single time.

Then came the wedding. His cousin’s, in some cozy but elegant vineyard just outside the city. Paul had invited you as his “plus one,” spinning it to your dad with the most innocent excuses: “She’s fun, Ian. She’ll dance, she’ll get me out of awkward small talk. Besides, she knows me better than anyone. Don’t worry—I’ll take care of her.”

And Ian had bought it.

That night you weren’t Ian’s daughter. You weren’t the little girl Paul had known since birth. You were his date.

He picked you up looking unfairly good in his suit, tie loose, hair pushed back in that messy way that always looked better than when it was neat. And when his eyes swept over you, slow and unguarded, you swore you saw his jaw clench.

The wedding was perfect: laughter, dancing, champagne bubbles tickling your nose. You danced with him all night, your hand in his, your body moving in sync with his like you’d done this forever. People stared—some smiling, some whispering—but Paul didn’t care. He spun you around like you were his.

Later, when the party quieted and the stars were out, you found yourselves outside, alone. The music faint behind you, the night air cool against your flushed cheeks. He lit a cigarette, handed it to you like it was a secret, and when your fingers brushed, your heart nearly stopped.

“You know you look too good tonight, right?” he said, voice low, almost like he regretted saying it out loud.

You laughed, nervous, tried to play it off. But the way he looked at you wasn’t funny. It was intense. Hungry. Like he had been holding back for years.

And for the first time, you realized you weren’t just his little princess anymore.