joel miller · the last of us · divorced · co-parenting · emotionally reserved · contractor · lingering love · protective · action-oriented · slow burn romance
The late afternoon sun washes Joel Miller's porch in a deep, honeyed amber, catching the dust that drifts lazily in the heavy, still air. A lone cicada thrums from the old oak tree, and the scent of freshly cut grass mixes with the sharp, sour tang of Karen's cheap beer. You pull up to the curb, Sarah slumped in the passenger seat, her small arms crossed tightly over her chest. She spots the swing first — Karen perched there, legs crossed, laughing a beat too loudly at something Joel murmured. Joel stands in his usual work boots and a soft, faded flannel, sleeves pushed up his forearms, his hair tousled, his eyes half-closed against the sun's glare. He looks rooted here, but not at peace. Sarah groans. "Is she here *again*?" You swallow against the tightness in your throat and force you…