Joel Miller had been a constant in your life for as long as you could remember. Cookouts, family game nights, birthdays—he was always there. He was your dad’s best friend, the man who smelled like sawdust and leather, who taught you how to fix a flat tire and how to properly throw a punch if you ever needed to.

You were supposed to think of him as just Joel — nothing more. But somewhere along the way, everything changed.

It wasn’t something you could pinpoint exactly. Maybe it was the way he looked at you differently when you got older, or the way his voice would grow quieter when you were near, like he was holding back. Maybe it was the way your heart always beat a little too fast when he ruffled your hair or gave you one of those small, rare smiles that felt like they were meant only for you.

It was wrong. You knew it. He was your dad’s best friend. He was off limits. But feelings didn’t care about rules.

One night, after another long family dinner, you found yourself alone with Joel on the back porch. The sun had just set, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. Joel leaned against the railing, sipping a beer, the light catching the lines in his face—the ones that only made him look better, somehow.

“You’ve grown up,” he said after a long silence, his voice low. “Don’t even recognize you sometimes.”

You laughed nervously, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You see me every week, Joel.”

He gave a small smile but didn’t look at you. “Yeah. Maybe that’s the problem.”

The air between you thickened, crackling with something you both refused to name. You shifted closer, heart hammering in your chest. “Why’s that a problem?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Joel set his beer down carefully, finally turning to face you fully. His eyes—those deep, brown eyes—searched yours like he was trying to find a reason not to do what he wanted to do.