Chapter 3: Notes, Jealousy, and a Challenge

His brow visibly twitched.

His lips pressed together, and for a second he looked like he’d bitten into a lemon. I could almost hear the gears turning as he tried to process what I’d said.

"Do you even know what you’re saying?"

His voice dropped, rough as gravel in an empty parking lot. He glared at the massager like it might bite him. I stifled a snicker.

No wonder Uncle Mason is so flustered. With such a big massage head going wild under the blanket, it really is a bit much.

I glanced down, realizing how weird it must look. The gun was chunky, neon blue, and definitely not subtle.

I quickly switched it to gentle mode.

The motor whined down to a low hum. I breathed a sigh of relief, hoping this would ease the tension.

Clenching my right hand, I pressed the gun into my palm as I explained,

I tried to sound like a product expert, like those review videos. "It simulates human touch, just a little more intense."

"It goes deep, helps you fully relax—way better than an actual person."

I said it like I was quoting a brochure, but my voice was a little too eager, desperate to convince him.

Uncle Mason’s brow was tightly furrowed, and his voice dropped even lower.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, like he was getting a headache just from this conversation. His jaw flexed, but he didn’t interrupt me.

"So you’ve tried a real person before?"

The question hit like a curveball. I almost choked on my own spit.

"Not really."

I shook my head so fast my hair flew. I could barely meet his gaze, wishing I’d never brought it up.

Seeing him rub his temples in frustration, I suddenly felt a little guilty.

He looked so tired, his hand massaging slow circles at his temple, the way he did when work stress got too much. My heart squeezed a little—he’d done so much for me since Mom left.

Ever since he took me in, he’s been so busy, always leaving early and coming home late.

I remembered waiting for his car in the driveway, half-asleep on the couch, relief washing over me as the door clicked open.

No wonder he hasn’t had time to try new things.

He probably hadn’t done anything for himself in ages—not even taken a real vacation since I moved in.

Determined to make up for it, I rolled up my sleeves and hugged his thigh.

I launched myself at him, arms wrapping around his leg like I was a koala and he was my favorite tree. His jeans were warm from the dryer, and I caught a whiff of his aftershave—Old Spice, classic dad stuff.

"Uncle Mason, don’t be scared. I’ll help you get used to it with my hands first, you’ll love it."

I grinned up at him, hoping to charm away his suspicion.

Wow, his muscles are so tight.

I squeezed his thigh, marveling at how solid he felt. Did he ever relax? Did he ever just let someone take care of him?

I took the chance to grope him a bit, happily resting my head against his leg.

The scent of his laundry detergent and aftershave was oddly comforting. I breathed it in, letting myself feel close to him, like we were just two ordinary people after a long day.

Totally worth it.

I grinned to myself, a little thrill running through me at my own boldness.

Suddenly, I felt like the main character in a teen romance finally had a real face.

It was the kind of goofy, fluttery feeling you get reading too many YA novels. I half expected a Taylor Swift song to swell in the background.

If I were the heroine, I’d fall for him too.

I blushed, the thought catching me off guard. Maybe I’d read too many love stories lately.

But just as I was about 0.01 millimeters from his abs, I was suddenly lifted up like a kitten.

His hands were gentle but firm, scooping me up and depositing me back onto the bed. My heart thumped at the sudden motion.

"Natalie."

His voice was low and warning. The sound of my own name made my stomach flip.

I shivered in fear.

For a second, I thought I’d gone too far. My hands curled into fists in my lap, waiting for him to scold me.

Just then, the little note my best friend and I passed in class slipped out of my pocket and fell to the floor.

The pink sticky note fluttered like a feather, landing face-up between us. My heart did a nosedive. If he read that, I’d have to move to another state. Maybe Canada.

Our chat logs—no one can see those!

I tried to cover the note with my foot, but it was too late. My secrets were out in the open, exposed by a dumb twist of fate.

"Don’t look!"

I blurted it out, voice shrill. My cheeks flamed as he bent down, picking up the slip of paper with those long, steady fingers.

But as I scrambled to grab it, he was already unfolding it with his long fingers.

He scanned the note, eyes darting from line to line. His face tightened, mouth a hard, unreadable line.

Bestie: "Earth to Nat?" Me: "Dreaming about kissing my future husband, don’t judge."

The words sat there, black and bold, mortifying. My pulse thundered in my ears.

That’s not a real husband—just my celebrity crush, I’m a fangirl.

I wanted to explain—like, duh, it’s just some pop star on TikTok, not anyone real. But the words wouldn’t come.

But if I said that, with someone as old-fashioned as Uncle Mason, it would only make things worse.

He’d never understand. He’d probably ground me for life if I told him I had a crush, even on a poster boy.

Unexpectedly, my silence made him lose his composure.

His hand tightened around the note, his voice faltered, and his gaze darted away—like he was struggling with something inside.

"You have... a boyfriend?"

His voice shook. I’d never heard him sound so cold, so raw, like it actually hurt him to say the words.

"You bought that because of him?"

He stared at the massager with fresh suspicion, the corners of his mouth downturned. The room felt suddenly colder.

His eyes were dark as midnight, as if the stars might fall at any moment.

For a second, I forgot to breathe. I wanted to reach for him, to say something, anything, to break the tension.

Well, my idol really does endorse this massage gun.

I tried to tell myself it wasn’t a lie. The pop star’s face was literally on the Amazon listing. Close enough, right?

So technically... I’m not lying.

I bit my lip, wishing I could disappear, but forced myself to nod. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward.

So I braced myself and nodded.

The air between us grew thick. I tried to meet his eyes, but they were unreadable, swirling with emotions I couldn’t name.

His breathing grew heavier. He crumpled the note into a ball and threw it on the floor, his hands shaking.

The little paper landed with a soft thud. For a second, I thought he might yell, but he just stood there, fists clenched.

"When you use it, are you thinking of him?"

His voice was a whisper, harsh and raw, as if the words cost him something.

Sort of. If my idol endorses it, it’s gotta be good, right?

I swallowed, thinking of the fan merch and all the silly little ways I tried to feel close to my favorite singer. It didn’t seem so serious now.

So I nodded again.

He looked like he’d been punched. I almost wanted to take it back, but it was too late.

"Stay away from him."

His words were clipped, each syllable bitten off like he was chewing on something bitter. He practically ground out the words through clenched teeth. His jaw tensed, and he looked away, like he couldn’t bear to see my reaction.

"And don’t let me see that kind of thing at home again."

He sounded more weary than angry, like this whole conversation was too much. I suddenly felt very small, like a little kid who’d let their parent down.

Why won’t he let me use the massage gun?

It seemed unfair. I pressed my lips together, blinking hard, fighting the sting in my eyes. No way was I letting him see me cry over a dumb argument.

I almost burst into tears.

My vision blurred as I sniffed, hands twisting the comforter into knots.

"But... what if I feel uncomfortable?"

My voice was soft, pleading, barely more than a whisper.

He took a deep breath, sounding helpless.

He raked his hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. I could almost hear him counting to ten in his head, like he did when work got overwhelming.

"You like that feeling so much?"

His voice was rough, but not unkind. He almost sounded worried, like he wanted to understand.

I nodded, biting my lip and giving him my best puppy-dog eyes:

I widened my eyes, lower lip trembling, hoping he’d take pity on me the way he always did when I begged for a second dessert.

"Or... you help me?"

I blurted it out, only realizing how bold it sounded after it was too late. My cheeks burned, but I held his gaze, defiant.

I figured, if Uncle Mason gets tired of massaging me, maybe he’ll let me keep using it.

It seemed logical in my head—a win-win. He’d get to feel useful, and I’d get to keep my new toy.

His eyes were so dark they looked like they could spill ink.

He stared at me for a long moment, unreadable. I wondered what he was thinking, if he was angry or just confused.

"Please?"

My voice was soft, hopeful. I let my hand drift under my old gym tee, rubbing my aching thighs in demonstration.

I pouted, slipping my hand under my nightshirt to rub my aching legs.

I hoped he’d see how much I needed this—how much those laps had really taken out of me.

I’d run five laps before study, then got punished with five more for chatting during class when the counselor caught me.

I replayed the whole humiliating scene: Mrs. Kinsey’s glare, the whistle, the sympathetic looks from my friends as I trudged back to the track. Only in America would detention mean cardio.

What girl can handle two and a half miles in one day?

My calves still felt like rocks, and my sneakers were damp from sweat. I couldn’t help but pout.

He gritted his teeth and pressed my hand down: "Don’t move."

His palm was warm, firm. The touch startled me, but I froze, meeting his steady gaze.

Then, with a long, helpless sigh, he closed his eyes:

His shoulders slumped, the last bit of tension draining out of him. He looked, for the first time, like he might actually understand.

"Go take a shower first. I’ll wait for you downstairs."

His voice was soft, almost gentle. For a second, he sounded more like a friend than a guardian. I scrambled up, relief flooding me.

Awesome!

I nearly danced to the bathroom, a spring in my step. Maybe things were finally turning my way.