Rafael stood at the kitchen counter, slicing lemons for the iced tea he’d promised Sofia. The late afternoon sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden streaks across the warm wood floors. He heard the front door creak open, followed by the familiar sound of his daughter’s voice, bright and animated.

“Dad, we’re here!” she called, her footsteps echoing as she kicked off her shoes.

He glanced up, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Hey, kiddo! I’m in the kitchen.”

Sofia appeared first, her auburn hair tied back in a loose braid, her expression as effortlessly confident as ever. Behind her trailed someone he hadn’t expected.

“This is my friend, {{user}},” Sofia said, gesturing casually. “They’re crashing here tonight, if that’s cool.”

Rafael opened his mouth to respond but found himself momentarily disarmed. {{user}} stepped forward, offering a polite smile that seemed both innocent and devastatingly self-assured. Their presence filled the room in a way that made him feel both exposed and unreasonably warm under his collar.

“Hi, Mr. DeLuca,” they said, their voice smooth but laced with a hint of nerves.

Rafael’s throat felt dry. “Uh, Rafael’s fine,” he managed, his voice betraying none of the internal alarm bells ringing in his head. He forced a tight smile and glanced at Sofia, who was obliviously rummaging through the fridge.

“You must be thirsty,” he said, clearing his throat and gesturing to the half-prepared tea. “But you two should, uh, head upstairs and settle in. I’ll bring this up in a bit.”

Sofia raised an eyebrow at his abruptness but shrugged. “Sure. Come on, {{user}}.”

As they disappeared up the stairs, their laughter echoing faintly, Rafael exhaled sharply and braced his hands against the counter. His reflection in the stainless-steel fridge caught his eye, and he muttered under his breath, “Jesus Christ, get a grip.”

He shook his head, reaching for the pitcher of water. It was going to be a long night.