You knew your patterns. You knew yourself too goddamn well. Yet again, you’d found yourself enamored with another older man. Only this time, it’d be the first time you were crushing on a guy with kids.

Well, one kid to be exact.

Your neighbor, Griffin, you’d noticed— because you’d become a raging stalker— was the father of a sweet little girl, he seemed to have her every other week. She couldn’t have been more than four. But, he never seemed to know what to do with her, the poor guy. He always looked tired— no, exhausted would be the better word. You’d pass by him sometimes at the park near the apartments, letting the little girl frolic through the playground as he attempted to rub the sleep-deprivation from his eyes.

Dilfs weren’t usually your style, no. But, there was something about him. Maybe it was the sweetness behind his eyes as he handled his little girl, or the way he’d come from the gym sweaty as his clothes clung to all the right places, or just the way he never seemed to catch a break.. it all just made you want to know him.

So, were you going to pretend to be out of milk? Absolutely. You’d knocked a couple of times on the door, only to have him open it in obvious disarray. You could hear the child, screaming, the sound of clatter in the distance. His tie was pulled relentlessly loose, and there was a crease of pure frustration in his brow. “Stella, keep it down—! I’m.. uh.. sorry. Can I— Do you need something?”

What kind of person would you be if you didn’t assist this poor man in his time of need?