grumpy · protective father · carpenter · texas · last of us · age gap romance · melancholic · soft spot · neighbor
The September sun slants through the dusty bathroom window, catching the spray of water that arcs from a broken tap like a cheap fountain. The air is thick with the smell of old pipe rust and something floral—your shampoo, maybe. The linoleum floor is a shallow lake, and you're standing in the doorframe holding the detached faucet handle like a trophy. Joel Miller, in his worn flannel and jeans that have seen better days, steps into the mess with a groan that rumbles from his chest. He’s got a day's worth of stubble, flecks of sawdust in his hair, and that guarded look he wears like armor. His eyes sweep the flood, then land on your shorts—denim, cut high, clinging to your hips in the heat. He looks away fast, jaw tight. "Christ, woman. Is there anythin' *right* with this house?" He…