Lila’s pov

“Logan, the door’s open, just come in,” I called from the kitchen the second I heard those two heavy knocks.

I knew that knock better than almost anyone. Forty-nine years old, my father’s best friend since before I could walk, the man who still showed up for every family thing like he belonged here. Today was Saturday.

Dad had left early for a work emergency two hours away. Logan had promised to help haul the old couch out of the basement.

I was home for the summer, twenty-two, standing there in an old tank top and cutoff shorts because I genuinely hadn’t expected company this early.

No bra....