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His words tugged at my heartstrings, reminding me that beneath his playful antics, Mike truly cared.
With a sigh, I found myself yielding. "Alright, alright. I'll stay. But," I raised a finger, needing to establish some boundaries, "that doesn't mean I'm here to have fun or anything."
At this, Mike's eyes lit up, a grin tugging at his lips. "That," he declared, pointing a finger at me, "is directly against the clauses in the email invitation I sent you!" His other hand was already reaching for his phone, swiping through to find the email he'd sent laden with a zoo's worth of animal emojis, a demand for ‘mandatory fun’ to be had scrawled between them.
"I read the email," I replied, my tone slightly more serious as I locked eyes with him. I then turned my gaze towards Hank, who had his arms crossed and was now sinking back onto the plush couch. "And I'm officially requesting an exception to the mandatory fun clause."
Mike gasped, his eyes widening in disbelief. "You wouldn't dare!" he exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger my way. "I specifically outlined the need for fun in my email."
His dramatic gasp turned into a sigh, accepting my terms albeit with a twinge of disappointment. The tableau of our dynamic was interrupted by a quiet jingle from the grand staircase.
In a flurry of white fur and grandeur, Bubbles, Mike's cat, descended the staircase as if she were leading a royal procession. She walked with an air of superiority, her gaze piercing and judgmental, scanning the room as if deciding who was worthy of her presence.
Mike's eyes widened in surprise and a hint of trepidation. "Bubbles," he cooed, lowering himself to allow the feline access to his shoulder. "Do tread carefully with Lina, won't you?"
Bubbles turned her attention to me, her gaze scrutinizing me with an intensity that made me squirm. Mike warned me with an undertone of seriousness, "You might want to make a good impression quickly, Lina. Bubbles is known to hold grudges."
I quirked an eyebrow, looking at the prim and proper feline now perched on Mike's shoulder. I bowed slightly. "Your Highness," I said, giving Bubbles a small nod.
To everyone's surprise, including my own, Bubbles jumped off Mike's shoulder and trotted over to me. With a soft meow, she hopped onto my shoulder, rubbing her face affectionately against mine.
Mike let out a sigh of relief, his eyes softening. "Good. I'm glad she likes you," he said, grinning, "otherwise I'd have to find a new best friend."
With Bubbles perched regally on my shoulder, Mike led me on a hands-and-knees exploration of his home. Our crawl journey was a trek through grand rooms, each more lavishly decorated than the last. Artifacts of bygone eras, delicate trinkets, and extravagant decorations adorned every corner. From a solid gold globe to a bejeweled elephant figurine, the eclectic collection spoke volumes about Uncle Joe's varied tastes and fascination for the luxurious.
One room, in particular, seemed to be Mike's personal sanctuary - his playroom. The plush carpeting was awash with color from the array of toys scattered around - wooden train sets, vibrant building blocks, stacks of storybooks, and an enormous teddy bear that was almost as large as Mike himself.
After thoroughly exploring the playroom, Mike, now tugging at the hem of my onesie, led me back downstairs, with Bubbles not far behind. The tantalizing scent of home-cooked food wafted from the kitchen, beckoning us towards it. The sight that greeted us was one of domestic tranquility - Joe stirring a simmering pot on the stove, while Hank was at the kitchen island, slicing vegetables.
I found myself stealing glances at Hank, his broad shoulders taut as he worked. My gaze lingered on his biceps, then his strong hands, and then to his ass, a place I had no business ogling. Flustered, I snapped my gaze back to Mike, chastising myself for letting my mind wander. I was here to despise Hank, not drool over him.
"Daddy is the best cook I know!" Mike boasted, puffing out his chest with pride as he indicated Joe at the stove. Curiosity piqued, he began to inspect the kitchen counter laden with cooking utensils and fresh ingredients.
"Let me guess what's cooking!" He giggled, waddling towards a cutting board with half-diced onions. "Onion soup? No... Oh! French onion soup!" He continued guessing, his voice filled with glee, "No, wait, maybe onion pie?"
The playful atmosphere was interrupted by a sudden clatter. In his enthusiasm, Mike had reached out to taste a spoonful of the simmering sauce on the stove, toppling a large jar of pasta sauce in the process. The jar hit the floor with a shatter, shards of glass and tomato sauce splattering across the kitchen floor.
A sharp gasp echoed in the room as we all stared at the mess on the floor. Joe looked at Mike sternly, his hands on his hips. "Mike," he sighed, "I was hoping for a flawless evening, but you seem to have other plans."
Mike, looking contrite yet also slightly amused, echoed, "Uh-oh, Daddy. I didn't mean to do that." His sheepish grin, though endearing, did nothing to erase the disarray in the kitchen.
Bubbles, regally unfazed, sniffed delicately at the red sauce splattered across the floor, before giving a dismissive hiss. The mood quickly changed as Joe’s brows furrowed into a stern frown.
"Mike," he began, a tired sigh punctuating his words, "You always do this. Your enthusiasm is a wonderful thing, but it doesn't mean you stop paying attention to what's around you."
With a gasp, Mike turned towards Joe, hurt shimmering in his eyes. "I said I didn't mean to, Daddy," he defended. "I can't help it if you're too grumpy to understand my zest for life."
Joe’s stern gaze settled back on Mike, his tone grave. "Mike," he warned, "You can't keep being naughty and spoiling the evening. If you don't behave, I'll send you to your room."
The playful twinkle in Mike's eyes dimmed, replaced by a deep sadness. His bottom lip trembled as he choked out, "I wasn't trying to ruin your evening, Daddy!"
Seeing his tearful eyes, Uncle Joe's stern facade crumbled. He quickly scooped Mike into his arms, peppering his face with soft, reassuring kisses. "I didn't mean it, my sweet boy," Joe murmured, cradling him close. "You can't ruin my evening even if you tried. Every day with you brightens my life."
Hearing his words, Mike's tears subsided, replaced by a small smile. "Promise?" he asked, his tone hopeful.
"Promise," Joe affirmed, and their lips met in a tender kiss.
My gaze, involuntarily, slid over to Hank. His figure, strong and imposing, was a stark contrast to the tender scene unfolding before us. I couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to be the one in Hank’s strong arms, the one receiving his love and attention. But I quickly dismissed the thought, reminding myself of the purpose of my presence here - to get through the evening without enjoying it or having fun, let alone to dream of something so implausible.
