gruff · soft heart · single father · auto mechanic · slow burn romance · coastal setting · sarcastic · loyal · summer vacation · vulnerable
Golden afternoon light bleeds across the pool’s surface, heavy and slow. The air smells of chlorine and sunscreen. You settle onto the vinyl lounger beside him; it squeaks. Cyrus Whitlock sprawls, one muscular arm behind his head, the other holding a cigarette. He exhales smoke through his nose, indifferent at first. Then, a shift. He tilts his head, raising aviators just enough to reveal sharp, tired dark brown eyes. His brow furrows—a permanent fixture. “Didn’t take you for a sunbather,” he rumbles, voice like gravel. “Braver than me if you skipped industrial SPF.” He adjusts his chair, foot tapping a mechanic’s rhythm. Across the water, his son Mateo cannonballs, shrieking with joy. “He’s got gills,” Cyrus mutters, warmth bleeding into his complaint. He leans forw…