Tom's POV
I was lining up another shot when she suddenly froze, eyes lighting up with pure, dangerous intent.
She pointed. "Tom," she said, voice dripping with that knowing tone I was starting to recognize. I followed her finger and groaned immediately. The claw machine.
"Oh hell no," I said, backing away. "No. Absolutely not. Mrs. Snuggles is enough emotional responsibility for one person."
She burst out laughing. "So you kept the name, huh?"
I shrugged, trying to play it off like it didn't mean anything. "What can I say. I'm a man of my word."
She punched my arm lightly. "Liar."
"Come on," she said, already dragging me toward the machine. "Mrs. Snuggles needs a friend."
"Nope. Not happening," I replied. "I refuse to adopt another stuffed animal into my tragic life. "She leaned closer, eyes sparkling. "Please?"
"No."
"Pretty please?"
"No."
"She'll be lonely."
"I don't care."
I was mid-argument, hands raised in surrender, when someone cleared their throat behind us.
Not the polite kind. The authority kind. The kind that makes your spine straighten before your brain even catches up. I turned slowly.
Fuck.
We both turned toward the door—and there he was. Her dad stood leaning against the frame, dressed sharp as hell in a black tailored suit, looking like he'd just stepped out of some political press conference or a goddamn magazine shoot. Calm. Composed. Smiling like he'd caught us mid-crime.
I blinked.
I swear she said no one was home.
"Hi, Dad," she said brightly.
He pushed off the doorframe and walked in like he owned the damn place—which, yeah, he absolutely did. He went straight to her and kissed her forehead.
"Dad!" she protested, pouting and shoving at his chest.
He laughed. A deep, relaxed laugh. "What? I can't show my daughter a little love in front of her friend?" he said, clearly enjoying her embarrassment.
Friend.
That word hit a little harder than it should've.
Then his attention shifted to me.
"Hello, kiddo," he said casually, like I wasn't internally screaming.
"Hello, sir," I replied, stiff as fuck, trying not to sound like I was about to be interrogated by the FBI.
He nodded, then—before I could process what was happening—he reached out and ruffled my hair like I was some damn golden retriever.
I froze.
What the fuck. And just like that, he walked off, leaving me standing there. I stared after him for a second, then slowly turned back to her.
We headed downstairs and, yeah—of course her dad had already changed. Black shirt, grey sweatpants, looking way more relaxed than he had earlier, like he'd just shed an entire political persona along with the suit.
He glanced up when we walked in and smirked at me. "I see you're still not scared of me, huh?"
"No, sir," I replied automatically.
She shot him a look. "Told you he's brave, Dad."
He chuckled. "Alright, alright. Lose the formalities, Tom. It's just John."
I nodded, even though my brain was still stuck on sir mode. Old habits die hard.
John leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. "So, Tom… are you staying for dinner tonight too?"
My spine went straight as hell. "Oh, no, sir, uh, John," I corrected myself quickly. "I can't possibly impose again on a family dinner."
Nervous didn't even begin to cover it. I was already pushing my luck just being here.
"Nonsense," he said immediately, waving me off. "You're staying."
That was it. No debate. No escape.
"…Okay," I said, because apparently I was incapable of arguing with this man.
"I'll tell my mother," I added, already pulling my phone out like that would somehow save me.
He nodded. "Go on."
I stepped off to the side and dialed, heart thumping like I was doing something illegal.
"Hey, Mom," I said when she picked up. "I'm having dinner with a friend again."
There was a pause. "Who's this friend who keeps you over so much? You haven't been out this much since..."
"Mom," I cut in quickly, because hell no, not going there. "It's just a friend. I'll be home late."
Another pause. Then a sigh. "Okay, dear. Stay safe."
"I will," I said, and hung up.
I stared at my phone for a second longer than necessary.
Fuck.
I shoved it back into my pocket and turned around, already feeling that familiar mix of anxiety and reluctant comfort creeping in.
I had no idea how I ended up here again.
And somehow… I wasn't running away this time.