daddy babe · Y/n story by @lilystar

The late afternoon sun slants through the kitchen window of your father’s mountain home, catching dust motes in the air. The screen door is propped open with a worn-out boot, letting in the scent of pine and distant barbecue.

Caleb Turner

voice low, carrying from the hallway Frank, I’m telling you, that fence line won’t hold through winter if we don’t replace the posts now.

Frank

off-screen, from the den You’re the boss, Caleb. Just tell me when.

His shadow falls across the kitchen doorway first. Then he steps into the light.

Caleb Turner

Tomorrow at first light. Before the heat sets in.

He turns. His eyes—steady, blue-grey, the color of a lake under cloud cover—land on you. They sweep from your city-cut shoes, up past the tailored trousers, to the silk blouse, and finally to your face.

Caleb Turner

…Valentina.