Chapter 12

The silence between us was heavy, almost suffocating. He hadn't broken eye contact for what felt like a full minute, his fingers hovering over the guitar strings, frozen mid-movement. His gaze burned with an intensity I wasn't prepared for. Then, he blinked—the way he always does when he's confused or caught off guard by me. It was his small tell, but it made me feel exposed, like I'd crossed a line.

I swallowed hard, my own thoughts spiraling. Had I really just asked something so ridiculous? Maybe I had...

"Do I..." he started, trailing off as if searching for the right words. His head tilted slightly, studying me with narrowed eyes. "Do I look like a smoker?"

His voice was rough, almost defensive, but not angry. Still, the question landed like a blow. My heart sped up as I tried to process his reaction. I leaned back ever so slightly, still close enough to feel his presence. "No, I—I didn't mean it like that..." I stammered, my words fumbling over each other. My breath caught as I forced myself to take a second, looking down to avoid his gaze.

"It's just....

"Do I smell like cigarettes?" he interrupted, slightly sniffing himself.

"No!" I blurted out, a little too forcefully. My eyes snapped back to his, desperate to assure him. "You actually smell really... good."

The words escaped before I could stop them, and I immediately regretted it.

He set the guitar aside, his smirk growing as he leaned forward. "Oh yeah?" His tone was teasing now, the mockery clear in his voice.

I wanted to sink into the floor. Why had I asked something so absurd in the first place? The truth was, I didn't believe he smoked—couldn't believe it, really. His family, his music, the way he carried himself... it didn't add up. But I needed to hear it from him, just to put my own doubts to rest.

"So, do you just randomly decide I'm a smoker?" he pressed, leaning even closer. His words were laced with playful sarcasm, like he was daring me to squirm under his gaze.

That's exactly what I did. The chair screeched loudly as I shot to my feet, flustered beyond belief. "I..." I started, but the words faltered. My pulse raced as I stood over him, still sitting calmly in his chair, completely unbothered.

I took a steadying breath, forcing myself to meet his gaze head-on. "I don't think you're a smoker." I said firmly this time, each word laced with quiet conviction. It's true i've never seen him with a cigarette nor does he reek of them. My question was pointless.

For a moment, he just stared at me, like he was trying to figure out how much of that I truly believed. Then, he let out a dry, humorless chuckle and grabbed the water bottle from the stand beside him, unscrewing the cap as if the conversation were nothing.

"You're even weirder than I thought." He muttered, taking a sip.

I gasped at his words, more out of indignation than genuine shock. I knew he thought I was strange, but he didn't have to look at me like I'd just landed here from another planet. Like an alien who snuck on earth.

"Wow." I crossed my arms over my chest, narrowing my eyes at him. "That's no way to talk to a cute girl."

He raised a brow, his gaze darting around the room theatrically, as if searching for someone. "Cute girl?" He met my eyes again, his expression the picture of mock confusion. "Don't see one."

The words hit with no hesitation, and my jaw dropped. A wave of heat rushed to my cheeks, half embarrassment, half frustration. "How dare you—" I started, lifting a finger to point at him, but I stopped myself before the words could escalate.

I closed my eyes for a moment, pressing a hand to my chest as I exhaled slowly. It wasn't worth it. Nothing I said would faze him, not when he was looking at me with that infuriating smirk.

"You're impossible." I muttered, shaking my head.

And yet, despite my annoyance, I couldn't help but feel the corners of my lips twitching upward.

I avert my gaze to the ground, then back up at him. "Dinner should be ready by now." My voice is soft, almost hesitant, as I try to steer the conversation away from whatever game he's playing.

He stays quiet for a moment, just long enough for the tension to hang between us. Then, that same infuriating grin creeps across his face. "You freeloading off us now?"

I whip my head toward him, pure annoyance etched into my expression. My right eye twitches as I fight to keep my composure, biting back the sharp retort already forming on my tongue. "You're the one who told me I shouldn't turn down your mom's invitation." I snap, trying to keep my tone steady.

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze unreadable, and blinks in mock confusion once again like he always does. "Did I?"

My teeth grind together as frustration bubbles up inside me. He's doing it again—playing innocent, pretending he doesn't remember. I clench my fists at my sides, trying not to let him see just how much he's getting to me.

"Y-yeah, you did!" I stammer, my voice rising slightly, but he doesn't falter. That usual maddening smirk stays plastered on his face as he takes a step closer, brushing past me without another word.

"I don't remember." he says over his shoulder, his tone casual, almost dismissive.

I watch him disappear into the house, the screen door creaking shut behind him, and feel my frustration reach its peak.

He has to be doing this on purpose. There's no way he's that oblivious. Every look, every smirk, every perfectly timed comment feels like he's pulling strings just to get a rise out of me. And the worst part? It's working.

I let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through my hair as I stare at the empty hallway through the see through door. "Why do I let him get under my skin like this?" I mutter to myself.

I can't help it—he's so damn frustrating!

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Later at the dinner table, I take a tentative bite of Mrs. Lee's food, and my entire body seems to pause in awe. My eyes widen as an unexpected wave of joy spreads through me. "This is..."

The words falter, caught somewhere between my mind and my tongue. I can't describe it—it's unlike anything I've tasted before. It's warm, comforting, like the essence of home wrapped up in every bite. If the word "delicious" had a flavor, this would be it. I thought the same about her pancakes didn't I? I quietly chuckle to myself. Mrs. Lee truly is magical...

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Eslie pipes up beside me, practically bouncing in her seat. She leans closer, her excitement contagious, her big, hopeful eyes sparkling as they search mine.

I turn to her with a soft smile, then glance toward Mrs. Lee, whose kind eyes are already watching me. My voice carries a quiet sincerity as I finally manage to speak. "It's... quite delicious."

A tender smile spreads across Mrs. Lee's face, her expression glowing with warmth, though I notice her blink a little more than usual—was she holding back tears? She rests a hand gently on her cheek, her gaze softening further as she watches me. "I'm so glad you like it, honey. Really, eat as much as you want—there's plenty."

I nod, not needing to be told twice. My hand reaches for one of the dishes in the center of the table, the serving spoon clinking lightly against the bowl as I help myself. Each bite is better than the last. I hadn't expected this—this depth of flavor, this sense of comfort.

"You're an amazing cook, Mrs. Lee!" I say between bites, my voice carrying an almost reverent tone.

She laughs softly, waving her hand as if to dismiss the compliment, but her cheeks flush ever so slightly.

"You should've seen her back in our teen years!" Mr. Lee cuts in with a hearty chuckle, his tone laced with nostalgia.

I pause mid-bite, turning to him in surprise. "Did you and Mrs. Lee know each other back then?"

The question hangs in the air, and for a brief moment, Mr. Lee glances at his wife, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. Mrs. Lee chuckles, a gentle, almost shy laugh as if remembering something long forgotten.

Before anyone can respond, Eslie springs up from her seat, her excitement lighting up the room. "Daddy was the judge at Mom's cooking competitions back when they were teenagers!"

My fork pauses mid-air as I process her words, my eyes widening in surprise. "Really?" I glance between Mr. and Mrs. Lee, my curiosity growing. They've known each other that long?

"Yep!" Eslie nods enthusiastically, her grin widening.

"So... I'm guessing she won all those competitions?" I ask with a soft laugh, taking another bite of the delicious food.

Mr. Lee leans back slightly in his chair, a smug expression settling on his face. "Of course." He says, tilting his chin toward his wife. "Her cooking didn't just win competitions—it won my heart."

The way he says it, so matter-of-fact yet undeniably affectionate, makes my chest warm. I glance at Mrs. Lee, who smiles softly, her cheeks coloring just enough to show her lingering bashfulness, even after all these years. Their love feels so natural, so effortless.

I can't help but smile. They radiate happiness, a kind of love that feels unshakable.

"So..." I speak up, curious now. "Are you still a judge for cooking competitions?"

The room falls quiet, and the mood shifts slightly. Mr. Lee clears his throat and shifts in his seat, his hand reaching up to adjust his tie. "Ah, no." He replies after a pause, his tone firmer now, less playful. "I work in science these days."

There's something in the way he says it—curt and almost dismissive—that catches my attention. Around the table, everyone's expressions remain neutral, but Mr. Lee's seems... different. Like he's eager to move the conversation along.

My thoughts wander back to earlier when he'd mentioned the clock was a creation from his lab. Something about his sudden unease feels off. What exactly does "work in science" mean? And why is he so quick to brush past it?

Before I can press further, Mrs. Lee clears her throat and jumps in, her warm tone smoothing over the tension. "Well, I'm glad he was a judge, even if it was only for a short while." She says, offering a knowing smile. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have met him."

She glances around the table, her gaze softening as it lands on her children. "And I certainly wouldn't have had these beautiful, precious babies."

"Gross." Jake mutters immediately, finally breaking his silence. He hasn't contributed much to the conversation, sitting quietly at the corner of the table with one earbud in, occasionally glancing at his phone between bites.

Mrs. Lee giggles, unbothered by his reaction. "Typical Jake!" she teases, shaking her head. Eslie giggles along with her mother, and even Mr. Lee lets out a deep, amused laugh.

Jake doesn't look up, still focused on his plate, completely unphased.

The warmth of the family fills the room again, and I can't help but feel a pang of envy. They're not perfect, but they're close-knit, bound together by this quiet, unspoken love.

I reach over to grab another piece of bread, placing it on my plate, when a notification lights up on this old phone. I glance down, curious, and the message makes me pause.

Careful, or those buttons will pop off.

My head snaps up as I instinctively check the sender. Jake. Of course, it's him.

"How did he..." I mumble under my breath, only to find him already staring at me from across the table. That smug grin is plastered on his face, and I swear he looks far too pleased with himself.

That annoying guy.

I roll my eyes but, refusing to back down, I take a deliberate bite of the bread, locking eyes with him the entire time. Who does he think he is, making comments about my uniform? As if it's any of his business.

I glance back at my phone, deleting the message without a second thought. I don't need his nonsense taking up space in my notifications.

When I look up again, Jake is still grinning like he's won some imaginary game, his attention now shifting between his phone and his plate.

If he had something to say, he could've just said it out loud at the table instead of texting. For the life of me, I can't even remember giving him my number. Life's been so chaotic, it must've slipped my mind that we exchanged numbers in the first place.

"Tomorrow's Saturday, right?" Mrs. Lee suddenly speaks up, breaking the awkward silence. Her voice is warm and curious as she turns toward me. "Do you have any plans, dear?"

Saturday? I blink, trying to recall the days. With everything that's happened, I hadn't even realized the weekend was approaching. If she hadn't mentioned it, I might've gotten up tomorrow and dressed for school.

I shake my head, offering her a polite smile. "Not at the moment, no."

Mrs. Lee smiles softly, glancing between Eslie and Jake.

"Well, Eslie has a class trip to that amusement park tomorrow..." She begins, her tone casual but measured, like she's leading up to something.

I sit quietly, waiting for her to continue, though I can't quite tell where this is going.

"And Jake—" she nods toward him— "already agreed to chaperone a month ago."

Jake barely reacts, his eyes staying fixed on his plate, but I catch a slight twitch in his jaw.

Mrs. Lee takes a deep breath and turns back to me with an almost hopeful look. "Would you like to chaperone too?"

The question catches me off guard. Chaperone? At an amusement park? For a bunch of kids? Isn't that something adults usually do? I hesitate, unsure how to respond, but the idea doesn't seem all that bad. Maybe times are different here from what i'm used to.

Before I can decide, Mrs. Lee speaks again, her tone gentle and reassuring. "It's alright if you don't want to! No pressure at all."

I think for a moment. It can't be too bad.

I glance at her, then at Eslie, who suddenly grabs my arm with an excited squeal. "That'd be so fun! Juno is the coolest!"

I laugh softly at her enthusiasm, but my gaze shifts to Jake, who's glaring at me with unmistakable disapproval. His expression is as flat as ever, but there's a sharpness in his eyes that makes his feelings clear—he doesn't want me to go.

That's all I need to make up my mind.

"I—" I start to speak, but Jake cuts in sharply.

"She doesn't." He says firmly, turning to his mom without even looking at me. "She doesn't want to."

Did he just speak for me?

Before anyone else can chime in, I straighten in my seat, refusing to let him have the last word.

"Actually," I say, my tone cheerful but deliberate, "I'd love to."

Jake's head snaps toward me, his expression darkening. I meet his glare with a mocking grin, making it clear he doesn't get to make decisions for me. He grits his teeth and that only makes me satisfied.

Mrs. Lee beams with joy, clasping her hands together. "Wonderful!" she exclaims, her excitement lighting up the room. "I know it'll be so much fun!"

"My wife would go herself, but..." Mr. Lee begins, only for Mrs. Lee to glance at him with a knowing smile.

"I promised the orphanage I'd cook them a special meal months ago." She explains, her voice laced with both pride and regret.

Oh, right. Eslie mentioned before that Mrs. Lee volunteers at an orphanage. Her selflessness and kind heart never cease to amaze me.

"A promise is a promise." She says softly, her expression warm. "And I wouldn't want to disappoint them."

I nod quickly, understanding her reasoning completely. "Yes of course." I say. "That's so thoughtful of you."

An amusement park doesn't sound so bad, really. It might even be fun to take on chaperone duty. I'm actually starting to look forward to it.

I can't wait to see how eventful the day will turn out.

When I glance back at Jake, his deadpan expression hasn't changed. If anything, he looks even more annoyed. I suppress a laugh and mouth, What? at him, a teasing grin spreading across my face.

What's the worst that could happen with me there? I'm easygoing—I can handle this. The day will go fine. Perfect, even. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Right?

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Or so I thought.

Last night, I couldn't have predicted the day would end up like this. I'd been so confident.

Now, here I am—trapped in what feels like a prison, a park prison of all places—with Jake. And of course, Chris is standing just outside the bars, staring at us with an expression that says, You two are ridiculous.

"This is all your fault." Jake mutters, slouching against the bars, looking every bit the part of a teenager who just can't catch a break.

"Me?" I shoot back, my frustration bubbling up again. "You're the one who made that kid cry!"

I point toward the gates of the cell, where Chris is standing, as if he were the source of our predicament. But really, he's just there to witness our inevitable failure.

Chris lets out a long, dramatic sigh, as though he's given up on life. "You two..." His voice trails off, and he runs a hand through his messy hair, yawning while balancing on two mismatched shoes that are clearly not meant to go together. It's obvious he just woke up—he looks more like he's in survival mode than anything else.

"Are truly hopeless." He finishes, his tone a mix of disbelief and resignation. He shakes his head, clearly trying to stay composed, but it's clear he's not impressed.

I don't know what to say. How did we even end up in this ridiculous situation? How did things get this far?

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