“What’s your type?”
“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.”
Elena kissed the top of his head. “Too late, honey. You’re already a dad. You never stood a chance.” 246. Dad Crush
“What? It’s a compliment!”
Elena rolled over, grinning. “I know. It’s adorable.” “What’s your type
Mia nodded, filing this away. “So… not a supermodel.”
It started with small things. She’d appear in the garage while he was fixing his bicycle, handing him wrenches before he asked. She started using his brand of pine-scented shampoo. At dinner, she’d listen to his work stories—dull anecdotes about inventory spreadsheets—with the rapt attention of an audience at a Shakespearean tragedy. You’re the prototype
The crisis point arrived on a rainy Saturday. Leo was on the couch, reading a book about lawn care. Mia sat down next to him, far closer than necessary.
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.”
“Room. Now.”