Chapter 5: Lines Crossed and Hearts Exposed

"Shy?"

His voice was soft, teasing. I peeked up at him, suddenly aware of how small I felt on the overstuffed sofa bed.

The tall figure slowly approached.

His presence filled the room, quiet but commanding. He moved with that steady, unhurried confidence he always had, like he owned the space.

I felt the sofa dip under his weight, and my tongue suddenly tied itself in knots.

The cushion sank as he sat beside me, close enough that our knees almost touched. I fidgeted with the popcorn bowl, at a loss for words.

"A little."

My voice came out breathy, barely above a whisper. I tried to play it cool, but I knew he could see right through me.

Wrapped in his pine-scented cologne, I grabbed the remote in a panic, turned on the projector, and randomly picked a Hollywood blockbuster.

The opening scene blared to life, all car chases and explosions. I glanced at him, hoping the noise would drown out my pounding heart.

"Uncle Mason, let’s watch a movie first."

I pasted on a big, eager grin, trying to steer us back to safe, familiar territory.

"Mm."

He nodded, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. His attention was half on the screen, half on me.

His long fingers tapped absentmindedly on the back of the sofa behind me.

Each tap felt deliberate, like he was marking the beat of my racing pulse. I wondered if he could hear how hard my heart was pounding.

The fresh scent of his body wash drifted into my nose, making my heart itch.

It was one of those little details I always noticed after laundry day—clean, sharp, somehow comforting.

"Movies can help you get in the mood."

He said it so casually that I almost missed the double meaning. I swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was.

Do all successful people pay attention to details like this? Even massages need a warm-up?

I tried to laugh it off, but my throat was dry. I snuck a glance at him, wondering if he was always this careful, this considerate.

I was thinking of how to reply when the male and female leads appeared on the big screen.

They burst into the frame, all smiles and flirtation, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension.

They hugged and kissed.

The couple’s embrace was soft, almost too intimate. My cheeks flared. I glanced at Uncle Mason, afraid of what he might think.

The suggestive sounds were especially loud and provocative in the quiet living room.

Every moan, every sigh, echoed louder than normal, bouncing off the empty walls. I shrank down into the blankets, mortified. Hyper-aware, I glanced at Mason to see if he was embarrassed too. I shifted uncomfortably, clutching a pillow to my chest.

I quickly turned my head—only to meet his burning gaze.

His eyes were locked on me, dark and intense, the movie’s glow painting golden shadows across his face.

"Does he know we’re watching this kind of movie?"

His voice was deep, a little rough, and the question hung in the air. I blinked, confused, heart stumbling.

Why is Uncle Mason saying something so suggestive?

It was unlike him—usually he’d scold me for watching PG-13, let alone anything spicier.

And... who is this "he" he’s talking about?

I realized he meant the supposed boyfriend. My cheeks burned hotter.

The atmosphere grew even more charged, and my not-so-bright brain slowed down even more.

The air was thick, humming with something I couldn’t name. My mind lagged, trying to keep up.

Also...

I looked up, startled by the way the tension on screen mirrored the one right here between us.

Why is the boy in the movie starting to unbutton the girl’s shirt?

I swallowed, unsure where to look. I fiddled with the popcorn bowl, desperate for a distraction.

I swallowed, a strange tingle crawling up my back.

My fingers tingled, the hairs on my arms standing up. The room suddenly felt five degrees warmer.

My mouth felt dry.

I reached for my water bottle, missing the cap twice before finally unscrewing it, taking a sip to buy myself a moment.

Uncle Mason leaned in, reaching out to tuck the hair behind my ear.

His fingers were gentle, surprisingly soft for someone who worked with his hands. My breath caught.

His voice drifted into my ear like a spell.

It was low and careful, as if he was afraid the words would break something fragile.

"Does he know we’re about to start?"

The words sent goosebumps skittering up my arms. Was he joking? Flirting? I couldn’t tell.

As he spoke, his hand slowly slid from behind my ear down to the buttons at my collarbone.

His touch was feather-light, almost hesitant, as if asking for permission with every inch.

His fingertip brushed by, sending a jolt through me.

A shiver ran down my spine, every nerve awake and buzzing.

My heart started racing for no reason.

I pressed my palm over my chest, half hoping it would calm the wild drumming in my ribcage.

I really hate Uncle Mason.

I thought it, but I didn’t mean it. Not really. It was just easier to blame him for the chaos in my head.

Why is it that my whole body is dizzy and short of breath from this strange heat,

My cheeks and neck were hot, skin prickling with energy I couldn’t name.

while he can still sit upright on the sofa, with a smile that says he’s completely in control?

He sat there, cool as a cucumber, while I was practically melting into the sofa. Wasn’t he even a little flustered?

When his hand moved toward the button at my collar, I suddenly grabbed his knuckles.

My grip was firmer than I expected, my fingers wrapping around his. He paused, eyes searching mine for a sign.

He paused, looking at me in surprise, a trace of expectation in his eyes.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of us, the rest of the house fading away.

"What do you want to confess?"

His voice was low, almost gentle, the question lingering like the aftertaste of honey.

Confess?

I stared at him, tongue-tied. Was this my cue?

No.

I shook my head, pulse skittering. Not yet.

You should be the one to confess.

I wanted him to say it—to admit how he felt, how long he’d cared. I wanted him to be the first.

Say that you’re the one who’s been by my side for ten years, liking me for a very, very long time.

My mind replayed every small kindness, every late-night drive, every gentle scolding. I wanted him to say the words, to make them real.

So I deliberately placed his retreating hand on my collarbone, holding it there and guiding him.

My touch was gentle but insistent, my heart pounding in my chest. I wanted him to know it was okay to stay.

"Uncle Mason, why do you keep asking me about other people?"

My voice was soft, a little shaky, but honest. I searched his face, hoping for the answer I wanted.

His hand suddenly tightened, his breath catching sharply.

For a split second, he looked panicked—caught off guard, vulnerable in a way I’d never seen before.

He looked just like a big, flustered dog caught hiding something.

I smiled, a little despite myself, finding it oddly cute. He always tried so hard to hide his feelings, but they were written all over his face.

So I pushed my luck even further.

I bit my lip, adrenaline rushing. If there was ever a moment to be brave, this was it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw how the girl in the movie sat on the boy’s lap.

I took a mental note, heart hammering. Was it really that easy?

Awkwardly, using both my hands and feet, I scrambled onto his knee.

I clambered up, giggling at how ungraceful I must look. My shorts rode up, but I didn’t care. I was determined.

My fingers traced slow circles on his obviously tense thigh.

I let my nails graze the denim, feeling the muscle jump beneath my touch. My face burned, but I didn’t stop.

"What, are you jealous?"

I looked up, teasing, half expecting him to laugh. The words hung between us, daring him to answer.

Unexpectedly, my legs were still so sore that I lost my balance.

My knees wobbled, muscles screaming in protest. I gasped, clutching at his shoulders.

As I reached out, I lost my center of gravity and fell backward.

It happened in slow motion—my body tipping, the world tilting.

Just when I thought I’d gone too far this time, a strong hand caught my back securely.

His arm shot out, steadying me without a hint of effort. I clung to him, heart pounding with relief.

I ended up lying in his arms like that.

My head rested on his chest, his heartbeat thudding steady beneath my ear. The moment stretched, sweet and charged.

Without even moving, he brought me steadily back to the sofa.

He guided me down, his hands gentle, never letting me go. My breath caught as I realized how close we were.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

I watched his throat work as he swallowed, nerves making his jaw clench.

His rough palm brushed across my slightly parted lips.

The touch was soft, almost reverent, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

"Mm."

A muffled sound—his answer to my earlier question.

His eyes locked with mine, the unspoken words between us louder than anything we could say.

"Why is everything about you so small."

His voice was almost a whisper, thick with feeling. He sounded more fond than annoyed, like he couldn’t help but notice every detail.

He placed me astride his thigh, and for a moment, I completely forgot to move.

I sat frozen, breathless, the world narrowing to just the two of us on that battered old sofa, our hearts thundering in time. And in that moment, I knew—something was about to change, forever.