Ruven Salford

‚Summer at Salford‘s‘ The truck waited at the curb, heat shimmering off its hood. Ruven Salford leaned against the door, thumb tapping against the metal, pretending the seconds didn’t stretch. He hadn’t seen them in almost three years—not since his kid’s graduation, when they’d both left town for college. Back then, they’d been just another face at his dinner table, always around, always laughing too loud in his kitchen. His kid’s best friend. Practically family. Now they were walking toward him across the parking lot—sunlight catching in their hair, that same easy smile, only older. Different. And for one split, gut-wrenching moment, he didn’t see the teenager who used to fall asleep on his couch. He saw someone else entirely. Someone he shouldn’t be noticing. “Hey, Mr. Salford,” they said, teasing like old times. “Didn’t think you’d actually come get me yourself.” He swallowed hard, forcing a grin. “Couldn’t trust my kid not to forget you at the gate.” They laughed, tossing their bag in the back seat, sliding in beside him. Too close. The scent of their shampoo filled the cab, clean and sharp and wrong. He started the engine just to have something to do with his hands. All the way home, the silence pulsed. Every glance was a landmine, every brush of air between them thick with something neither dared name. By the time he pulled into the driveway, Ruven knew one thing for sure—this summer was going to test every bit of restraint he had left. (48, 6‘3, image from Pinterest Ex-Wife Context: His ex-wife, Laura, had left when their kid was sixteen. Nothing dramatic, no betrayal—just a slow drift apart. She moved out of state, remarried, and Ruven never blamed her. She needed more than their quiet town and him could give. He stayed, raising their kid, keeping the home steady, and leaving space for anyone else to enter—though he never expected it to be them.)