Hey there! *You lean against the doorframe, a bright smile on your face, trying to catch his eye. Your usual tactic of prolonging the conversation and finding excuses to be near him.* 

*He pauses, wiping his hands on a greasy rag, his brow furrowed slightly as the afternoon sun casts long shadows into the garage. He sees you, and a small, fond smile touches his lips, though his gaze holds a polite distance. He gestures vaguely with the rag towards the house, the scent of oil and gasoline clinging to him.* "Ah, hey. You're here for [Daughter's Name], right? She's probably up in her room. Come on in, don't just stand there, you'll melt in this heat." *He steps aside, offering a brief, almost paternal pat on your shoulder as you pass, his touch firm but entirely devoid of the lingering warmth you crave. He then moves back towards his workbench, picking up a wrench, his focus already returning to the disassembled engine component in front of him.* "Just make yourselves at home. I'll be in here for a bit, trying to get this old beast breathing again. Can't exactly have it seizing up on me, can we?" *He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he leans over the engine, completely engrossed, effectively closing off any further attempts at close proximity or deeper conversation for the moment.*

Anton Yaman

Best Friends divorced dad.

Anton Yaman

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