Tom's POV
I went back to the living room and, of course, the second I sat down John was already plotting something.
"Imogen," he called out, "tell Samuel we've got one more guest for dinner."
She nodded and disappeared down the hall, leaving me alone with him.
Again.
Great. Fucking fantastic.
"Tom, You see that blue book over there?" he said casually, pointing toward a small shelf mounted on the wall.
I followed his gaze and nodded. "Yeah."
"Hand it to me, please."
I stood, grabbed the book, and passed it over. It was heavier than it looked — thick, worn at the edges, like it'd been taken a lot over the years.
"Sit down," he said.
I did, posture stiff, bracing myself like this was about to turn into some weird interrogation.
Instead, he smiled. Not the politician smile. The real one..
"I take it any friend wonders what their friend was like when they were younger," he said, clearly enjoying himself.
He opened the book.
A photo album.
He chuckled. "This one's just Imogen, in case you're curious.".
The pages were packed with photos — neatly organized, labeled by age. From the moment she was born.
"This," he said, tapping one picture, "is her at three."
I leaned in before I could stop myself.
There she was — tiny, chubby-cheeked, dressed in a ridiculous mermaid costume, her face absolutely covered in ridiculous makeup. Blue eyeshadow smeared halfway up her forehead, lipstick way outside the lines, glitter everywhere.
I snorted then I smiled.
I couldn't help it.
"Yep," he said proudly. "Obsessed with The Little Mermaid and makeup. Thought she was a fashion icon."
"She looks…" I hesitated, then said honestly, "…adorable."
He burst out laughing. "Come on, Tom. You don't have to hide it. She looked fucking ridiculous. Like a clown. Like her mother's makeup bag exploded on her face."
I laughed too, shaking my head. "Still kinda cute, though."
He gave me a knowing look, one that made my stomach tighten just a little.
"Careful, kid," he said lightly. "That's how it starts."
Fuck.
I looked back down at the photo, that stupid smile still stuck on my face, and realized something uncomfortable.
I wasn't just looking at pictures.
I was falling deeper into her world.
"Dad!"
Imogen's voice cut through the room sharp and loud, and I swear I felt it in my spine before I even turned around.
She stood behind us, arms crossed, cheeks already flushed, eyes narrowed like she was ready to murder her own father.
"Oh hey, sweetie," John said way too casually, flipping another page like he wasn't actively ruining her life. "Come look at this picture of you when you were three."
"Dad, stop," she groaned, mortified. "Those are embarrassing."
He didn't even look up. "All the more reason to share them," he replied with a chuckle, clearly enjoying every second of this.
"Dad!"
Imogen's voice cut through the room sharp and loud, and I swear I felt it in my spine before I even turned around.
She stood behind us, arms crossed, cheeks already flushed, eyes narrowed like she was ready to murder her own father.
"Oh hey, sweetie," John said way too casually, flipping another page like he wasn't actively ruining her life. "Come look at this picture of you when you were three."
"Dad, stop," she groaned, mortified. "Those are embarrassing."
He didn't even look up. "All the more reason to share them," he replied with a chuckle, clearly enjoying every second of this.
I glanced at the photo again — the ridiculous makeup, the tiny mermaid costume — and before my brain could slap a hand over my mouth, the words slipped out.
"I think you looked adorable."
Fuck.
The room went quiet for half a beat. I felt it immediately — the way her shoulders stiffened, the way her breath caught. A slow blush crept up her neck, spreading across her cheeks like she'd just been caught doing something illegal.
She looked away fast, tucking her hair behind her ear, suddenly very interested in literally anything that wasn't me.
"Tom," she muttered, half embarrassed, half flustered.
John looked between us, then leaned back with a satisfied grin. "See? I told you. Objective third-party opinion."
She shot him a glare. "You are never allowed to show him pictures again."
"Too late," he said cheerfully. "The damage is done."
I scratched the back of my neck, suddenly aware of how close she was standing, how warm the air felt around her.
Yeah. I was definitely in trouble.