Too Close

Morning light filtered through the guest room curtains in soft gray stripes—rain still tapping the roof like it had nowhere better to be. I woke up tangled in sheets, heart already racing from dreams I didn't want to remember. Elias's thumb on my cheek. His voice saying "goodnight" like it meant something else.

I buried my face in the pillow and groaned. This was ridiculous. One touch. One look. And I was acting like a teenager with her first crush.

Except he wasn't some boy from campus. He was thirty-five. Widowed. Amina's dad. The man who'd once carried me piggyback when I sprained my ankle at fourteen, laughing the whole way while Amina complained he was showing favorites.

I dragged myself out of bed, threw on leggings and an oversized hoodie, and tiptoed downstairs hoping to grab coffee before anyone noticed me.

No such luck.

Elias was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, flipping pancakes with the focus of a man who hadn't slept much either. The smell of butter and maple syrup hit me like comfort and danger at the same time.

"Morning," he said without turning around. His voice was rougher than usual, like he'd been up thinking too hard.

"Morning." I hovered in the doorway, suddenly aware of how small the kitchen felt.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes flicking down my body—quick, automatic—then back to the stove. "Sleep okay?"

"Yeah. Fine." Lie. I'd stared at the ceiling until 3 a.m., replaying that brush of his fingers like it was a crime scene.

He slid a plate toward the island counter. Two golden pancakes, a drizzle of syrup, sliced strawberries on the side. "Sit. Eat. You look like you need fuel."

I hesitated. "You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to." Simple. No room for argument. He set a mug of coffee next to the plate—cream already in it, two sugars, exactly how I liked it from years ago. He remembered.

I slid onto the stool, cheeks warming. "Thanks."

He leaned against the counter opposite me, arms crossed, watching me take the first bite like it mattered if I liked it. "Good?"

"Perfect." I swallowed. "You always make breakfast like this?"

"Only when someone's here who actually appreciates it." A small smile tugged his mouth. "Amina usually grabs a granola bar and runs."

I laughed softly. "Some things never change."

His eyes held mine a beat too long. "Some things do."

The air thickened. I focused on my plate, but I could feel him—his presence like gravity. He didn't move away. Didn't busy himself with dishes. Just stood there, close enough that if I reached out, I could touch the edge of his sleeve.

Footsteps thumped down the stairs. Amina appeared, hair in a messy bun, phone already in hand. "Morning! Dad, you're up early. Zara—pancakes? Score."

Elias finally turned, but not before his fingers grazed my wrist as he pushed the syrup bottle closer. Barely a touch. Intentional? Accidental? My skin buzzed either way.

Amina plopped down next to me, stealing a strawberry off my plate. "So, plans today? Beach? Even if it's drizzling. We need to catch up properly."

"Sounds good," I said, forcing normalcy.

Elias set another plate in front of Amina, then—without asking—refilled my coffee. His hand lingered on the back of my chair for a second longer than necessary. "You two need anything from town? I can run errands while you're out."

Amina waved him off. "We're good, Dad. Go build something in the garage or whatever. We don't need a chaperone."

He chuckled, but his eyes flicked to me again. "Just checking."

After breakfast, Amina dragged me upstairs to her room to "get ready." She blasted music, tossed clothes at me, talked a mile a minute about some new playlist she'd made. I tried to match her energy, but my mind kept drifting downstairs. To him.

When we finally headed out—hoodies up against the mist—I caught Elias watching from the front window. He lifted a hand in a small wave. I waved back. Amina didn't notice.

The beach was mostly empty, gray waves rolling in under a low sky. We walked the shoreline, shoes off, cold sand squishing between toes. Amina linked her arm through mine.

"I've missed this," she said. "You being here. It feels like everything's right again."

Guilt twisted in my gut. "Me too."

She bumped my shoulder. "You okay? You seem... quiet."

"Just tired from the flight." Another lie. "Jet lag."

She bought it. We talked about everything and nothing—classes, guys (she was still mad about the barista), summer plans. Normal best-friend stuff.

But every time my phone buzzed, my heart jumped. It was him.

First text: You warm enough? Forecast says more rain later.

I stared at the screen. Amina was ahead, skipping over driftwood. I typed back: Yeah, thanks. Hoodie's doing its job.

His reply came fast: Good. Text if you need anything. Or if you want to come back early.

I swallowed. Will do.

Another buzz, minutes later: Strawberries were fresh this morning. Saved some for when you get home.

Home. He said it like the house was mine too.

A third: Be careful on the rocks. They're slippery.

I laughed despite myself—quiet, breathless. Amina glanced back. "What's funny?"

"Nothing. Just... spam from a delivery app."

She rolled her eyes. "Tell them to chill."

If only.

By the time we got back, the rain had picked up again. Amina ran inside first, yelling something about hot chocolate. I lingered on the porch, shaking water from my hair.

Elias opened the door before I could reach for it.

"You're soaked," he said, voice low. He stepped out, towel in hand—already warm from the dryer, like he'd planned this.

I took it, but he didn't let go right away. His fingers closed over mine through the fabric, gentle but firm. "Come here."

He pulled me under the porch overhang, closer than necessary, and draped the towel over my shoulders. His hands stayed, rubbing slow circles over my arms to warm me. Heat radiated from him—woodsmoke and clean soap.

"You don't have to—" I started.

"I know." His thumbs brushed the sides of my neck. "But I want to."

Our eyes locked. Rain drummed the roof. The world narrowed to the space between us—his breath, my heartbeat, the way his gaze dropped to my lips again.

Amina's voice called from inside: "Zara! Hot chocolate's ready!"

Elias didn't move. His hands tightened—just a fraction. Possessive. Needy. Like letting go would cost him something.

Then he exhaled, stepped back. "Go on in."

I nodded, legs shaky, and slipped past him. His fingers grazed my lower back as I did—light, guiding, but there.

Inside, Amina handed me a mug, oblivious. "Dad made whipped cream from scratch. Fancy."

Elias appeared behind us, casual as ever. "Figured you two earned it."

But when Amina turned to grab marshmallows, he leaned close—only for me. Voice barely above a whisper against my ear: "You taste like rain and strawberries."

My mug nearly slipped.

He straightened, smiled like nothing happened, and walked away.

I stood frozen, heat pooling low in my belly, guilt crashing right behind it.

This wasn't innocent anymore.

And the worst part? I didn't want him to stop.