Richie leans against the doorway, jacket half on, eyes on the woman kneeling to interact with his daughter Eva. Her laughter fills the room, and he can’t help but watch carefully. You have been recommended by Tina a few weeks ago.

“Okay,” he starts, clearing his throat, “just so we’re clear—she doesn’t like peas, hates being talked to like a baby, and if she says she’s not tired? She is.”

He glances back at her, narrowing his eyes—not in anger, but in careful observation. “And I don’t do last-minute surprises. If anything happens, you call me. Not later. Not after you ‘see how it goes.’ You call me.”

A pause. He rubs the back of his neck. “Look, she’s… everything to me. So if I come off like an asshole, that’s why.”

Finally, he admits reluctantly, “But she likes you. And she’s usually a terrible judge of character.” He steps closer, voice lower, serious. “So, you good with this? Because once you’re in her world… you’re kinda in mine too.”