Page 2 of V-Day Daddy Stalker

“Welcome home.” He steps back, scanning me with proud eyes. “How’s college life treating you? Grades good? You meeting the right people?”

I grin. “It’s great. I have a nice group of friends. Classes are tough, but I’m managing. It’s different from home, but I’m getting used to it.”

“Good,” he says, patting my shoulder. “We’ll talk more over dinner. There’s someone here who’s been dying to see you.”

Instantly, my nerves spike. I’m not sure why, but a tingling awareness races up my spine. I have a suspicion who Dad might be referring to. And when my gaze drifts to the corner of the room, there he is: Dane. He’s my father’s best friend, and he’s known me since I was a kid. But somehow, each year I see him, the dynamic between us shifts.

Dane stands by the bookshelves, a cup of coffee cradled in one hand. The late-day light catches in his dark hair, making it gleam almost raven-black. He has even darker eyes—so dark that sometimes I can’t discern where the pupil ends and theiris begins. And he’s in a suit. Of course he is. A charcoal gray jacket, tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders, with matching trousers and a crisp white shirt. He looks tall, imposing, and so completely out of place in our cozy living room, yet he manages to fit in just by the sheer force of his confidence.

I try to swallow, but my throat is suddenly dry. “Dane,” I say, my voice almost a whisper.

His gaze flicks to mine, and I feel a strange warmth creep over my cheeks. It’s like he sees right through me, a look both intense and unreadable. For a moment, I’m pinned in place, just staring at him, and then his mouth curves into the faintest of smiles.

“Welcome home, Sienna,” he says in that low, resonant voice I used to find so comforting when I was younger. Now it makes my heart flutter in a confusing way. He steps forward and offers his hand. A handshake? I hesitate, then reach out, feeling the solid warmth of his fingers against mine. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go, the contact sending a ripple of something electric up my arm.

Mom, bless her obliviousness, claps her hands together. “Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Sienna, why don’t you freshen up? We’ll meet in the dining room soon.” She walks off, leaving me with Dad and Dane.

Dad ruffles my hair, ignoring my squeal of protest. “It’s good to have you here, kiddo.” He turns his attention to Dane. “We can finalize the rest of those documents after dinner. Don’t let me forget.”

“No problem,” Dane replies, still watching me in that quietly observant way.

I give them a quick nod and make my escape, hurrying down the hallway to my room. Once inside, I close the door and lean against it, heart thudding. “Get a grip, Sienna,” I mutter to myself. “He’s Dad’s best friend, for crying out loud.”

But I can’t ignore that weird flutter in my stomach. It’s embarrassing how flustered I get from a single intense gaze. I throw my duffel bag onto my bed and look around. Mom has obviously been in here—fresh sheets, a vase of sunflowers on my desk, and the faint scent of lemon polish. It feels familiar and safe.

After splashing some water on my face in the adjoining bathroom, I brush my hair—brown waves that won’t fully cooperate, but I’m used to that—and apply a quick swipe of tinted lip balm. I stare at myself in the mirror. I don’t look much different than I did a few months ago—maybe a little older, maybe a bit more tired from late nights studying. But somehow, everything feels different. I feel different.

When I head back downstairs, the dining room is set. There’s a large white tablecloth draped across the long table, a centerpiece of tall candles, and Mom’s best china arranged like this is a special occasion. Dad is already seated at the head of the table, scanning through something on his phone, probably an email. Dane stands near the window, gazing out at the yard, one hand in his pocket. He turns when I enter, a polite smile tugging at his lips.

Mom bustles in from the kitchen, carrying a platter of pasta. “Everyone, sit, sit! It’s ready.”

We gather around the table, and I slide into a seat across from Dane, noticing how the overhead chandelier light seems todeepen the shadows on his face, making his cheekbones sharper, his eyes even darker.

Mom spoons pasta onto our plates, and Dad passes around the basket of garlic bread. We chat about safe, familiar topics at first—my classes, how the weather has been, any new business deals Dad’s working on. I crack a few jokes about dorm life, how the communal bathrooms are reminiscent of horror movies. Mom laughs, Dad shakes his head, and I can’t help but feel a surge of warmth for my family.

Eventually, Dad and Dane talk shop—something about a new property investment. I tune out, focusing instead on the creaminess of the sauce. But every so often, I glance at Dane. And sometimes I catch him looking back at me. Our eyes meet, and I feel a low, buzzing awareness. My cheeks heat, so I quickly look away, trying to hide it by sipping water.

Mom notices nothing. She keeps pointing out that I should eat more bread, and I nibble politely, nodding along. Dad remains absorbed in his business conversation. Finally, Dane clears his throat, leaning back in his chair, gaze sweeping the table.

“So, Sienna,” he says, “how’s the transition been for you? Living on your own, away from home?”

My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. “It’s been...interesting,” I reply, forcing a light tone. “I mean, I’ve discovered that I’m terrible at doing my own laundry. I turned one of my favorite white sweaters a nice shade of pink. But aside from that, I love the independence.”

He nods slowly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “That’s good. Making new friends?”

“Yes, a few. My roommate’s pretty cool. She’s obsessed with green smoothies and tries to make me drink kale juice every morning.” I crinkle my nose, and Mom laughs. “I like it, though. The freedom is amazing, but it’s definitely nice to be home for a bit.”

Our eyes lock again, just for an instant, and a hot flush crawls up my neck. I quickly return to shoveling pasta into my mouth, hoping no one notices. Except I have a feeling Dane might. His gaze feels heavy, like he notices everything.

After dinner, Mom shoos me away from the kitchen while she cleans up. Dad and Dane head to Dad’s study to finalize some documents, leaving me alone in the living room. I flop onto the couch, letting out a huge breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. My heart is still pumping too fast.

I click on the TV for background noise, but I can’t focus. My thoughts swirl around the look Dane gave me—like he was seeing me in a new light. Or maybe I’m just imagining it, letting my overactive imagination run wild. I mean, I’m only eighteen. He’s a grown man, close to my dad’s age. That’s definitely weird, right?

But I can’t deny that some strange new current has sparked between us. And even though it should probably make me uncomfortable, it doesn’t. Instead, it makes me feel hyper-aware of every tiny movement, every brush of my hair against my neck, every blink of my eyes.

I remind myself to breathe. This is home—my safe place, the same four walls where I grew up. Nothing has changed. And yet, everything feels different now. I look around at the familiar decorations, at pictures of me as a toothy kid with braces onthe mantel, and I can’t help but wonder: Did Dane notice me differently the same way I noticed him?

I curl my legs beneath me, hugging a throw pillow to my chest. A wave of confusion and excitement washes over me. One thing’s for sure—this is going to be an interesting visit home.

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