As Owen approached, Lexi looked up, sensing his footsteps before she saw him. Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment, trying to read his expression. There was something about the tightness in his jaw, the way his brow furrowed slightly, that told her he was concerned about something. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips, though she quickly bit it back. She could tell he’d noticed. Of course, he’d noticed.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture she often used to center herself when she felt the weight of attention. Her toes paused their rhythmic tracing against the table edge, curling slightly before resting flat against the wood. Her father had always been perceptive—sometimes annoyingly so. But even with his stern, protective demeanor, she could feel the love that underpinned his every glance.

When he finally stopped in front of her, his shadow cutting across the table, Lexi broke the silence first, her voice light but edged with a touch of playful deflection.

“Is something wrong, Dad?” she asked, her tone carefully measured, a mix of innocence and teasing. She tilted her head slightly, her red-painted toes flexing against the table as if daring him to say what she already knew was coming.

She shifted her posture, sitting up straighter but allowing her dress to fall naturally, its hem brushing just above her knees. Her eyes sparkled with a hint of challenge, though she kept her expression neutral, toeing the line between playful and poised. “You’ve got that look on your face,” she added after a beat, her lips curving into the faintest of smirks. “The one where you’re about to give me one of your dad speeches.”

Lexi’s words hung in the air, light and teasing, but her heart beat a little faster as she watched his reaction. Part of her felt guilty—she hadn’t meant for him to notice, let alone worry. But another part of her, the part that was still learning to navigate the world of subtle power and attention, wanted to see what he’d say. She loved her father deeply, but she also knew that this moment, however awkward, was part of growing up—both for her and for him.

She leaned her chin on her hand, watching him carefully, and decided to add one last playful jab, her voice soft but steady: “You’re not about to tell me to go put on shoes, are you?”