“Yeah?”
Mark smiled—that slow, rare smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “His loss.” DadCrush 20 03 29 Alina Lopez My Stepdaughter B...
And she was too. Whatever happened next—whether they’d pretend that moment never happened or talk about it someday—she knew one thing for sure: she’d be back next Saturday. Not for the garden. For the conversation. And for the chance to see that smile again. Want me to continue the story or write a different version? “Yeah
They worked side by side for an hour. He taught her how to tell a weed from a sprouting carrot. She told him about her art history exam and how her professor didn’t appreciate modernism. The conversation drifted easily—about her mom’s terrible cooking, his failed attempt at baking bread during lockdown, the stray cat they both pretended not to feed. Not for the garden
“You looked stressed last night,” Alina said, not looking up from a stubborn dandelion root. “And you hate asking for help.”
Mark was her mom’s husband of three years. They’d never done the whole "father-daughter" dance; Alina had been almost twenty when they met. But he was solid, kind, and after her mom left for a six-month research trip overseas, he’d quietly continued making sure the fridge was stocked and the lawn was mowed.