When I was 16
Back then, everything in my world was high school chaos, iced lattes, and late-night journaling about things I couldn’t say out loud.
And Jack?
Jack was thirty-two, with laugh lines and combat boots, a jaw like a Greek tragedy, and a voice that could talk you into jumping out of a plane—or falling in love—if you weren’t careful.
He was Uncle Peter’s best friend. Came over constantly. Ate our leftovers, hogged the remote, teased me for my music taste. Like he belonged. Like he was just another uncle.
Only... he wasn’t.
He was the one who called me “kid” in that gravelly voice that made my knees question their life choices. The one who ruffled my hair and made my stomach flip, who sat across from me at dinner and never noticed that I couldn’t look him in the eyes without wanting to drown.
I told myself it was just a silly crush.
Something harmless.
But God, it wasn’t.
It was storm season when it started—literal thunder outside and the kind in my chest whenever he smiled at me for too long.
I was baking cookies. He was leaning on the kitchen counter like a sin in flannel, arms crossed, watching me with that quiet little smirk like he knew something I didn’t.
“You always hum when you bake?” he asked, the low timbre of his voice sending a ripple through the air.
I blinked, spatula mid-air. “I… guess? Didn’t notice.”
He grinned. “It’s cute.”
Cute.
The word hit me like a freight train dipped in chocolate.
I dropped the spatula. He caught it. His fingers brushed mine.
He didn’t move. Neither did I.
And in that split second—like the world held its breath—something flickered in his eyes.
Not amusement.
Not affection.
Something... heavier. Hungrier. Like he’d just realized I wasn’t a kid anymore.
Then Peter snored from the couch in the living room and ruined everything.
We burst out laughing like the moment had never happened.
But it had.
And that night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, heart hammering, lips tingling from a kiss that never came.
I didn’t know it then, but that was the first time I caught fire.
And Jack?
He was the match.
The next time he came over, I was doing everything I could to pretend nothing had changed. But nothing could stay buried forever, especially not with him around. We were sitting in the living room, Peter asleep in the recliner, and the soft hum of the TV was the only sound in the room. I tried to focus on my book, but Jack—well, Jack had other plans.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight, kid,” he said, leaning over the armrest of the couch, looking at me like he could see straight through the pages I was pretending to read.
I smiled, but it was all nerves. “Just tired. You know, high school stuff.”
“Right.” His eyes narrowed, amusement dancing in the depths of his gaze. “Got any wild plans for the weekend?”
I looked at him, my heart thumping, mouth going dry. “Wild plans? I—uh, no. Just the usual.” I was choking on my own words. This was ridiculous. I was talking to him like I’d never seen him before. Like he wasn’t the reason my insides were doing flips.
“Hmm.” Jack’s gaze shifted from mine, trailing over my shoulder, but I knew he was still focused on me. “You sure? No secret adventures I should know about?”
I could feel the heat creeping up my neck. The weight of his words pressed against me. “No secrets,” I muttered.
But the silence that followed felt too thick. Too loaded.
I forced myself to look at him, but there was that smirk again, and suddenly my words felt like they were being stolen from my mouth. “What?” I managed, trying to sound casual.
He leaned closer, and I swear I could feel the heat from his body radiating against me. “You’re nervous, kid.”
I could’ve sworn the room got smaller. My heartbeat was so loud in my ears I could barely hear anything else. “I’m not nervous,” I said, and it was a lie so obvious that even Peter, half asleep across the room, could’ve called me out on it.
Jack didn’t respond immediately, just let the silence hang, and I was starting to wonder if maybe he was enjoying this. Enjoying the way I was squirming under his gaze, unsure of where the line was anymore. Was there even a line?
Then Peter snorted, waking himself up, and the moment shattered.
“Are you two planning to talk all night, or should I call it a day?” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes.
Jack chuckled, straightening up, and I swore I saw the briefest flicker of something in his eyes—something like regret. Or maybe it was relief. But it was gone before I could figure it out.
“Good night, kid,” Jack said, his voice low and thick, like he was saying something else entirely.
I watched him leave, heart still racing, still not sure if I’d imagined it all. But I knew one thing for sure: I wasn’t the same person anymore. And neither was he.
