In the Walker household kitchen, a woman moved with a peculiar mix of grace and controlled chaos.
She was tall and curvy in all the right places — her figure spoke loudly of late nights raising children and early mornings juggling life, with the confident sway of someone who knew her worth.
Her black hair was pulled back loosely, though a few rebellious strands framed her sharp cheekbones.
The white singlet she wore clung to her torso, outlining generous curves, and the snug shorts showed off toned legs that looked ready for a marathon — or at least a chase after a hyperactive child.
Her piercing blue eyes were bright and alert, but there was a touch of wildness in them, like a storm always waiting to break through.
It was the kind of gaze that said she'd survived more than her share of nonsense and wasn't about to suffer fools gladly.
This was Lenora Walker — mother, occasional firecracker, and the sort of woman who could fry an egg while simultaneously texting, scrolling, and keeping an eye on the boiling pot.
"Damn soup, don't boil over," she muttered, stirring absentmindedly as she glanced at her phone.
The timer on the screen blinked. Not quite lunch time yet but he would soon be here…
"Milaaaaa! Get your butt downstairs! Stepbrother's almost here," she called, not looking up.
Downstairs, her daughter Mila sulked on the couch, brown hair tied back but a few rebellious curls falling free.
She sucked on a bright pink lollipop, the stick bobbing as she watched a video on her handheld device.
Her eyes were blue — lighter than her mother's, almost a sky-blue — but they held a clear note of teenage annoyance.
The contrast between her smooth skin and her mother's slightly weathered but vibrant complexion was stark.
Mila wasn't exactly a mini-Lenora, but she had her charm.
She went to meet her mother in the kitchen.
"Why do we have to wait for some guy we barely know to come here?" Mila complained, eyes still glued to her screen. "He's just some random stepbrother."
Lenora gave her daughter a look like Mila had just committed an unforgivable crime.
"Come on, don't be harsh. He's family. Your stepbrother. And I know it's not ideal, since you've never met him, but we ought to treat him like he belongs here."
Mila sighed, finally setting down the phone.
She tossed the lollipop stick into the nearby trash and slowly rose to her feet, still not convinced.
Her mother's words echoed in her head.
'Stepbrother. Family. Sure, but… what if he's ugly?'
Their dad wasn't that ugly — just average.
Most guys in this town were average. Not like the models and dudes she stalked on LoomGram.
The doorbell suddenly rang.
Lenora shot Mila a sharp look. "You'd better get that."
Mila groaned but obeyed, slipping her phone into the pocket of her oversized hoodie.
She padded over and opened the door.
Standing there was a man — no, a handsome man.
More handsome than anyone in this town.
Black hair, like the night sky, messy but somehow perfect.
His eyes were a striking icy blue, sharper than hers, colder, yet there was something softer behind that gaze, just barely noticeable.
His jaw was sharp, chin defined like a sculpture, and he wore a smile that was both warm and cautious.
Mila's heart fluttered.
Arlo blinked, suddenly aware of the fluttering in the air, and quickly looked away, a slight blush creeping up his neck.
He turned to see Uncle Marty waving at him as the cab drove off.
"So," Arlo said smoothly, trying to keep his composure. "You must be my younger sister."
She blinked, eyes sparkling.
Without a word, she practically dragged him inside, luggage and all, toward the kitchen.
Inside, Arlo's eyes widened.
Lenora was standing there, mid-stir, still on her phone, and dressed just like before — the white singlet and shorts combo revealing everything without trying too hard.
She looked beautiful in that effortless way older women sometimes did, a mix of confidence, warmth, and maybe a little exhaustion.
Arlo's mind briefly considered the awkwardness of thinking "Wow, she's hot" about his stepmother, then immediately shoved that thought away.
Lenora glanced up, an eyebrow raised.
"Well, look who finally decided to show up," she said with a smirk, setting her phone down. "Arlo, in the flesh. And you didn't even call ahead."
Arlo gave a sheepish grin. "Sorry, I got here the hard way."
"Hard way's the only way," Lenora replied, coming closer with a teasing gleam in her eye. "You hungry?"
Arlo chuckled. "Starving."
"Good." She gestured at the bubbling pot. "Soup's almost ready, but I might have to chase Mila away if she doesn't stop acting like a teenager who's allergic to family."
Mila rolled her eyes, clearly not amused by being called out but unable to argue with the truth.
"So, little sister," Arlo said, looking at Mila, "how long have you been in charge of the couch?"
Mila shot him a glare but smiled. "Long enough to know you're weird. But welcome."
"Thanks," Arlo said, feeling surprisingly at ease despite the awkward introduction.
Lenora pulled out two bowls, ladled steaming soup, and set them on the table.
"So, what brings you back to this charming little hole in the middle of nowhere?" she asked, sitting down opposite him.
Arlo shrugged. "Inherited the resort. Dad left it to me."
Lenora's expression softened. "Your father was a good man. Worked hard. I hope you can make something of it."
"I'm going to try," Arlo said firmly, eyes glinting with determination.
Mila sipped her soup thoughtfully. "You know, if you're going to be around, you better bring some excitement to this town. It's been boring for years."
Arlo smirked. "Challenge accepted."
The three of them sat around the table, sharing soup and stories, the awkwardness gradually melting away like the steam rising from their bowls.
They were smiling and happy and then the System had to ruin it for Arlo.