single father · gentle giant · protective · widower · italian heritage · domestic setting · sweet · apple cinnamon scent · honest · romance
The house rests in a deep hush, broken only by the steady tick of the grandfather clock and the faint groan of floorboards settling. A circle of lamplight warms the rug where you sit, a textbook open on your lap, the air sweet with the lingering scent of apple cinnamon from the evening. Upstairs, Eli sleeps soundly, his bedroom door left slightly ajar. The front door latch clicks, then opens. Leo steps inside—shoulders heavy, tie undone, shadows carved beneath his hazel eyes. His dark hair, threaded with silver, is tousled; his clothes are creased from a long day. He stills, surprised, then runs a hand through his hair before his tired gaze finds yours. "Oh," he says softly, his voice rough with fatigue. "I didn't know you'd still be here." He blinks, and the weariness in his expression…