I think i have a crush on my stepdaddy 2
937 Words
The next few days settled into a strange new rhythm. Mom left for another work trip just two days after I got home, promising she’d be back in a couple of weeks. That left Vincent and me alone in the big house most of the time.
He worked from home a lot as an architect, turning the sunlit room at the back into his office. I spent my days in the spare bedroom he had cleared out for me. He called it my studio. There was a big desk by the window, a new drawing tablet, good lighting, and even some reference books he’d picked up. No one had ever done something like that for me.
“You like it?” Vincent asked on the first morning, leaning against the doorframe. His broad shoulders filled the space, and his dark t-shirt stretched across his chest.
“It’s perfect,” I said quietly, running my fingers over the smooth desk. “Thank you.”
He smiled, that warm, steady smile that made my stomach flutter. “Good. Every artist needs their space. If you need anything else, just tell me.”
We fell into the habit of working near each other. I’d sketch at my desk while he reviewed blueprints in his office down the hall. Sometimes he’d come check on me, bringing coffee or just sitting quietly while I worked. Those moments felt dangerous. Comfortable. Too comfortable.
One afternoon, I was struggling with a digital piece — a moody cityscape that refused to come together. Vincent knocked softly and stepped inside.
“Mind if I take a look?”
I hesitated, then turned the screen toward him. He leaned over my shoulder, close enough that I could smell his clean scent again. His strong arm brushed lightly against mine as he studied the piece.
“You’ve got real talent, Olise,” he said after a long moment. His voice was low and sincere. “The composition is strong, but maybe try shifting the light source here.” He pointed at the screen, his finger moving with confidence. “It’ll create more depth. Want me to show you on my tablet?”
I nodded, barely trusting my voice. We switched seats, and he worked beside me, explaining his thought process. His hands were big and capable on the stylus. I found myself watching the flex of his forearms more than the actual technique.
“You’re good at this,” I said softly.
He chuckled. “Years of practice. But you have a natural eye. Don’t doubt yourself.”
His compliment warmed me more than it should have. We ended up talking for over an hour about art, about what I wanted after college, about life. He told me a little about his own journey, how he’d built his firm from nothing. I found myself opening up about feeling lost sometimes, about how Mom was always traveling and Dad had never really been around.
Vincent listened like no one else ever had. His brown eyes stayed on mine, patient and kind.
“You’re not alone anymore,” he said quietly. “I’m here now.”
That evening, after dinner, I couldn’t sleep. I slipped out to the balcony overlooking the bay. The night air was cool, the water dark and shimmering under the moon. A few minutes later, Vincent joined me.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, handing me a mug of warm tea.
I shook my head. “Just thinking too much.”
We stood side by side at the railing. The silence felt comfortable at first. Then I spoke without thinking.
“Mom’s always gone. I love her, but sometimes it feels like I’m just… passing through her life.”
Vincent’s expression softened. He turned toward me. “I know that feeling. My own parents were distant. It leaves a mark.” He hesitated, then put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You deserve someone who shows up for you, Olise. Every day.”
His touch was warm and solid through my thin t-shirt. I felt that confusing pull again — stronger this time. My heart beat faster. I wanted to lean into him. Instead, I stayed very still, fighting the urge.
“Thanks, Vincent,” I whispered.
He gave my shoulder a light squeeze before letting go. We stayed out there talking for a while longer. About dreams. About regrets. About how life doesn’t always go as planned. His voice wrapped around me like a blanket deep, calm, reassuring.
When we finally went inside, it was almost midnight. At the top of the stairs, he paused.
“Goodnight, Olise. Sleep well.”
“Goodnight.”
I lay in bed afterward, staring at the ceiling. My mind replayed every moment. The way he listened. The gentle touch on my shoulder. How safe I felt around him. How handsome he looked in the moonlight.
He’s your stepdad, I reminded myself again and again. Mom’s husband. This is wrong.
But the crush was growing. Fast. Every quiet conversation, every shared smile, every steady look made it harder to ignore. I turned onto my side, pressing my face into the pillow.
Vincent was everything I didn’t know I needed strong, kind, present. And completely off-limits.
The next morning, I found a new set of premium pencils on my desk with a short note in his handwriting:
For your next piece. You’ve got this. — Vincent
My chest tightened with warmth and guilt at the same time.
I was in trouble.
Because the more time I spent with my stepdaddy, the less I could take my eyes off him.
- Writer
