Crush — 246. Dad

As she sauntered off, victorious, Elena poked her head from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “How’d it go?”

Leo closed his book. “My… type?”

He took a slow, measured breath. He thought about his wife, about the comfortable silences and shared grocery lists. Then he looked at his daughter, her earnest, searching face. The crush wasn’t about romance. It was a question. She was trying to assemble a map of the future, and she was using him as the compass.

“You’re so good with your hands, Dad,” she said one evening, watching him carve the Thanksgiving turkey. 246. Dad Crush

“What’s your type?”

“Dad,” she said, her voice soft. “Can I ask you something?”

Elena kissed the top of his head. “Too late, honey. You’re already a dad. You never stood a chance.” As she sauntered off, victorious, Elena poked her

“Relax. She’s not in love with you , Leo. She’s in love with the idea of a man who is safe, and kind, and fixes things. You’re the prototype. She’s just practicing.”

But Leo couldn’t relax. When Mia asked to watch his old college wrestling videos, he felt a cold sweat. When she started wearing his old flannel shirts as dresses, he hid the rest of his wardrobe in a suitcase under the bed.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, and for a moment, the weird tension vanished. It was just a dad and his daughter on a rainy day. He thought about his wife, about the comfortable

“Elena,” he whispered that night, lying in the dark. “She’s got a dad crush. On me.”

Leo picked up his lawn care book. “I think I need a hobby. Something very unsexy. Like competitive taxidermy.”

“Supermodels leave their socks on the floor, too, honey. But no. Not my type.”