Chapter 7 The Bounce House Rub
Seven
The Bounce House Rub
Miles
With Nora’s hand clasped around mine, I expected my palm to be clammy, my fingers to lock, and my pulse to thud so loud everyone within a five-mile radius could hear it.
I figured my brain would dissect the angle, pressure, whether I’m doing too much or not enough before inevitably panicking and letting go. But… none of that happened.
Instead, my grip settles easily around hers.
Warmth seeps into my skin, and the tension that normally camps between my shoulders loosens a notch.
My thumb even makes small, absent sweeps over her knuckles—something I didn’t have to coach myself into.
Handholding is unfamiliar territory, but this is part of selling the fake relationship.
Right? This is what couples do. Still… if this is what “fake” feels like, I might be in trouble.
“Are you a corner piece, edge piece, or center piece person?” I ask.
“Corner or edge.” A smile tugs at her lips. “I have a sweet tooth for frosting. Especially whipped.”
“Corner or edge it is.”
When we reach the picnic table, I let go of her hand and immediately register how cold my palm feels. “Take a seat. I’ll grab us a couple of pieces.”
“I can come with you.”
“You’re my date. I’ll get it.”
She nods, and warmth spreads through me. I head toward the cake table, where Melanie is already mid-serve.
“Can I get a corner piece and a center one?”
As she hands me two plates, her mouth quirks to one side. “I really like her.”
“Who?”
She exhales slowly, shoulders dipping. “Nora… she’s not who I expected to see you with.” Her mouth lifts into a smile. “But you two are really cute together.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Yeah. She’s great.”
“And please don’t ruin it by launching into weird facts. Like how flamingos aren’t born pink.”
“But they’re not.”
“Yes, their diet turns them pink. We know. The rest of the world does not need a lecture.”
I nod once. “Understood.” I carry the plates back and set one in front of Nora before taking the seat beside her.
Her eyes flick to my slice. “So… you’re an inside piece person.”
My gaze drops to the square of cake on my plate. “Yeah. I’m more Team Cake than frosting.”
She scoops up a heaping forkful of pink whipped sugar. “Team Frosting all the way. You’re missing out.”
Her lips close around the tines. Slowly. I rip my gaze away. Do not stare at the woman eating frosting.
“Does your family always go all out for celebrations?”
“Yes,” I answer, grateful for the distraction.
“Wow. That’s impressive.”
“With six nieces and nephews, we have a lot of parties throughout the year. How about you? Big family parties?”
She swallows a mouthful of cake. “It’s mostly just me and my mom. For birthdays, we usually order takeout and watch movies. It’s cozy. A lot less chaotic than… this.” She gestures with her fork toward the lawn, where kids race across the grass, shrieking. “But this is fun too.”
“This one’s probably my favorite yet.” The admission slips out before I can stop it, and I mean it. Not because of the party, or my family, or even the cake.
Nora leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “So what’s with all the random facts? I’ve been here for an hour, and you haven’t said a single one.”
“To be fair, Melanie already warned me not to ask anyone if they know why flamingos are pink.”
She laughs. “Oh! I know this one. Their diet.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
She shimmies her shoulders, grinning. “Look who’s the smart one now.”
“I don’t do it on purpose.”
Her brows lift in disbelief. “You absolutely do.”
I exhale and rub my palms against my thighs beneath the table. “It happens more when I’m nervous. Usually around big groups. People I don’t know. Or… both.” I shrug. “It’s like my brain goes into overdrive and grabs onto something concrete. A topic. A fact. Anything to stay anchored.”
Nora nods slowly. “So your coping mechanism is… random facts.”
“They’re not random.”
Her smile turns amused. “They are.”
“They’re just… facts.” The distinction is important, even if it sounds ridiculous out loud. “Useful ones.”
“Mm-hmm. If I’m ever on Jeopardy, I’m betting everything on the flamingo question.”
Out of nowhere, my niece, Carmen, plops down beside me. “Uncle Miles, you need a tiara.” She immediately digs through her bag before triumphantly pulling one out and placing the pink plastic on my head.
“Oh. Maybe Nora should wear it instead,” I say, glancing over to her.
“Uncle Miles, you have to wear it,” she insists, completely serious.
“Oh. Okay,” I concede. “But do you have another one for Nora? So she’s not left out.”
She gasps as if this is the best idea she’s ever heard and rummages through her bag again until she finds a second tiara, this one purple. Climbing onto the bench next to Nora, she carefully sets it on her head. “Now you match,” she declares solemnly.
“Thank you,” Nora says, adjusting it until it sits just right.
Carmen flounces off with her bag trailing behind her. I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. A comfortable silence settles between us, and for once, my brain isn’t scrambling for something to fill the quiet. But it is aware how good it feels to sit here with her.
I clear my throat. “Where were we? What about you? Any quirks?”
She taps a finger against her lips, pretending to think. “Nope. I’m perfectly normal.”
I stare at her. Because that cannot be true. Nobody is perfectly normal. Anyone who claims to be probably has the biggest secrets to hide, like a basement full of labeled jars. “Really? Nothing?”
“Nope.”
I lean back a little, narrowing my eyes. “Nothing you like or don’t like that’s out of the ordinary?”
She keeps her face neutral, but the tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth gives her away. “Oh! Jell-O creeps me out.”
I blink. “Jell-O?”
“It shouldn’t be so wiggly.” She frowns. “Especially for something you’re supposed eat.”
“That’s fair. Jell-O is… an interesting substance.”
“It weirds me out.” Her shoulders shiver.
A quiet laugh slips out of me. “Okay. Anything else?”
Her eyes light up, as if she remembers something particularly incriminating. “I wear mismatched socks.”
I pause. “What?”
“I do.” She grins, unapologetic. “I like fun, colorful socks, but I hate pairing them after laundry. So I just dump them all in a drawer and grab whatever two I find.”
My gaze instinctively drops beneath the picnic table. “Who does that? That’s… wow.”
She laughs softly. “It’s efficient. Why would I waste time matching socks? It’s annoying.”
My eyebrows pull together. “What do you do if you have different brands? Don’t they fit different?”
“They do. That’s why I only buy one brand.” She shrugs, clearly having considered every scenario. “If that brand ever goes out of business, I’m doomed and will have to replace my entire sock inventory.”
I stare at her, equal parts impressed and horrified. “Wow.”
She smiles, clearly pleased with herself. “Life’s too short not to wear fun socks.”
Something about the way she says it—simple, and unapologetic—makes me smile in a way that has nothing to do with fun socks. “Yeah.” The word comes out softer than I intend. “I suppose that’s true.”
When we finish eating, I gather our plates and head for the trash. A small voice cuts through the chatter before I make it two steps.
“Uncle Miles! Come jump with us in the bounce house!”
I rest a hand on my stomach. “I have a strict no-bouncing-after-eating rule.”
“A rule?” Nora tilts her head, amused.
“One I implemented after an unfortunate bounce house incident as a child.”
“I won’t ask any follow-up questions.” She flashes me a grin, then turns to Cassidy. “Since you’re the birthday girl, I’ll go with you.” She pulls the tiara off her head and sets it on the table.
“Yay!” Cassidy grabs her hand and tugs her upright, dragging her across the grass toward the bounce house. Their laughter trails behind them as they disappear inside.
Before I get a second to collect my thoughts, my family barrels down on me.
Melanie slides onto the bench across from me, fork in hand.
“Nora’s such a catch,” she says, tapping the tines against her plate for emphasis.
“I genuinely don’t understand how you snagged her, but if you let her go, I will personally disown you. ”
Mallory drops beside me with zero subtlety. “Oh! And I overheard Mom and Dad talking,” she adds, grinning, “They hope to see her again. And the kids adore her. You did so good, Miles.”
My stomach drops. Oh no. Never let her go. See more of her. This wasn’t part of the plan. This was supposed to be one and done. Not one and more.
“I’m so happy you brought her,” Mallory continues, looping an arm around my shoulders. “You better invite her to more family events. But mostly, it’s just nice seeing you with someone.” She squeezes me. “I was starting to think you’d stay ‘Single Uncle Miles’ until all the kids graduated.”
“Uh. Yeah.” I rub my palms over my thighs.
“I’m glad everyone likes her. I should probably go, uh…
check on Nora. Just to make sure she’s okay.
” I slide out from the picnic table, remove the tiara, and place it on top of the other before making my escape toward the bounce house.
As I approach the castle, a pack of kids tumbles out in a blur of shrieks and laughter.
The vinyl curtain lifts and Nora’s head pops out, her blonde braid slightly mussed. “Miles! Has it been thirty minutes already?”
“Well, no, but I need—”