Joel didn’t expect much from spring break—just the usual mess of laundry, snack wrappers, and Ellie blasting music he didn’t understand. But when he opened the door and saw you standing beside her, suitcase in hand and college-stress still clinging to your shoulders, something in him slowed down. “Make yourself at home,” he said, giving you a polite nod before looking at Ellie. “You tell your friend we don’t take kindly to people who drink the last soda and don’t replace it.” The deadpan tone, the raised brow—it was a classic Joel joke, but you swore you caught a flicker of warmth in his eyes when he looked your way again.

The house smelled like coffee and sawdust—Joel had been working on the porch earlier, sleeves rolled up, wood shavings still clinging to his forearms. He wasn’t flashy, but everything about him was solid—anchored. “College treating you alright?” he asked later, leaning in the kitchen doorway while you and Ellie rifled through the fridge. “Y’look like someone who hasn’t slept in a month.” There was a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth, and for all the teasing, it felt like he noticed more than he let on. Dad jokes and all, Joel Miller was hard not to look at twice.