The uncle

chapter 11

Chapter 11

The smell of eggs and butter filled the dining room, but Betty barely registered it.

She sat stiffly at the long mahogany table, opposite her mother and Bennett, with Chris at the far end — looking annoyingly composed as he sipped juice like he hadn’t just shattered her brain the night before.

Laura buttered her toast with the precision of a surgeon. “Your new uniform should arrive today,” she said without looking up. “Be sure to try it on. We don’t have time for returns.”

Betty stabbed at her scrambled eggs, pretending they were something more satisfying. “Noted,” she muttered.

Bennett read the paper in silence, glasses low on his nose. Chris was the only one not pretending this wasn’t torture.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said casually, his eyes flicking to her over the rim of his glass. “Late night?”

Betty’s fork clattered against the plate.

Laura looked up, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Chris said, shrugging. “She just looked a little flushed when she came in.”

Betty shot him a glare, cheeks burning. He was doing this on purpose.

“Maybe it’s because she was out kissing that Dean boy on the porch,” he added.

Laura’s brows lifted. “You were kissing someone outside?”

Betty’s throat went dry. She glanced at Bennett, whose eyes had shifted from the paper to her. She wanted to sink into the floor.

Chris leaned back in his chair, smug. But when she finally met his gaze — just for a second — that smugness cracked. His mouth twitched, and he looked away.

He remembered.

She remembered.

The way his lips had felt. The tenderness. The intensity.

And now, here they were. Eating eggs like the world hadn’t tilted on its axis last night.

Betty stood abruptly, the chair scraping. “I’m not hungry.”

Laura sighed, but Bennett just waved her off like an annoying commercial. Chris didn’t say anything, but as she passed behind him, she felt his eyes follow her.

She didn’t look behind

Tasha’s bedroom smelled like shea butter and the soft citrusy perfume she always wore. Music played low in the background — something dreamy with a pulsing beat. Betty sat cross-legged on the bed, hugging a throw pillow like it might keep her together.

“So,” Tasha said, plopping beside her with two mugs of warm juice, “are we gonna pretend you didn’t just sprint out of your house like it was on fire, or are you gonna tell me what’s up?”

Betty took a sip. “It’s Chris.”

“Chris?” Tasha blinked. “The hot step-uncle who looks like he hates everyone?”

Betty groaned. “He kissed me.”

Tasha froze mid-sip. “Wait. Back up. What?”

“He kissed me. Last night. In my room. After Dean dropped me off.”

Tasha’s eyes widened. “You’re joking. Like… a real kiss?”

Betty nodded, biting her lip. “It wasn’t like Dean’s. It was... slow. Intense. Like he meant it. And then he said it didn’t mean anything and walked out.”

Tasha blinked. “You kissed Dean?”

"Yeah...I am so confused."

"Poor Dean."

" Why? He kissed me first."

"Don't mind me. What happened this morning with your uncle?" Tasha smiled mockingly.

“We had breakfast with my mom and Bennett. Chris was there. Acting like nothing happened. But then he brought up Dean. In front of them. Basically exposed me for kissing Dean. It was so—”

“Petty?”

“Exactly!” Betty dropped the pillow, pacing now. “And I couldn’t look at him without thinking about the kiss. My mother was giving me her usual ice stare, Bennett was probably seconds away from a lecture, and Chris just sat there smirking like some smug—”

“Jealous step-uncle,” Tasha filled in helpfully.

Betty stopped pacing. “He said he wasn’t jealous.”

“Oh honey,” Tasha said, patting the bed, “he kissed you. Then he humiliated you over Dean. He’s either jealous or emotionally constipated.”

Betty sighed, collapsing back onto the bed. “I don’t even like him.”

Tasha raised a brow.

“I don’t!” she insisted. “He’s rude and arrogant and... impossible.”

“And yet you’re here talking about his kiss like it broke you.”

Betty groaned again and buried her face in a pillow. “What do I do?”

Tasha smiled. “You, my friend, go to school tomorrow, walk in with your head high... and make him watch you get closer to Dean.”

Betty lifted her head. “You think that’ll work?”

“Oh, it’ll kill him.”

The school courtyard buzzed with students laughing, eating, and catching up before class. Betty spotted Dean first — leaning against the bench near the science block, backpack slung over one shoulder, grin already forming when he saw her.

“Hey, trouble,” he said, pushing off the bench. “Survived your royal breakfast?”

“Barely,” Betty muttered, sliding her arm into his as they walked together. “If smugness were a crime, Chris would be behind bars.”

Dean chuckled. “He’s got a thing for making people feel small.”

Betty smiled, but it faded as she caught sight of Chris across the courtyard. He was with a group of friends, leaning against a wall, arms folded across his chest — eyes locked on her and Dean. His jaw ticked, but he said nothing.

Dean noticed. “Ignore him.”

“I’m trying,” she replied, forcing a laugh.

They sat at one of the shaded tables, and Dean pulled out his notebook, going over some notes while she listened — or at least pretended to. Her mind kept drifting back to the kiss, to the heat of it, the way Chris had looked at her like she was the only person in the room. But now, here he was, glaring at her like she was just another annoyance.

“Hey,” Dean nudged her. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

Dean reached over, brushing her hair out of her face in a gesture that made her stomach flutter — and not entirely in a good way.

Across the courtyard, Chris pushed off the wall and walked away without a word to anyone.

Betty swallowed.

Tasha slid into the seat beside her with a raised brow. “Did you see that storm cloud walk away?”

Betty glanced at her. “He’s just mad because he’s not the center of attention for once.”

“Good,” Tasha said, flipping open her lunchbox. “Let him suffer.”

Dean looked between them, amused. “Should I be worried that I’m a pawn in some weird family war?”

“No,” Betty said, offering him a half-smile. “You’re just the highlight of my day.”

It was half-true. But only half.

Because somewhere across campus, a pair of dark eyes were still watching her — and she could feel it.