Melodie swiped her damp bath towel against the steam on the mirror—more a token gesture than an attempt to make it clear—and slung it over the shower rod behind her. She was in the smaller, cozier of the upstairs bathrooms, that had the shower attached to the old clawfoot tub; steam was just the price of admission.

She started putting her hair up in loose whorls, taking her time with it. She couldn’t really see herself, but she didn’t really need to. It was more a rhythm. She’d fallen comfortably into it when she noticed the door handle turning.

Had her mom come home? “I’m in here,” Melodie sang out. Her hands were still in her hair. She had a quick thought of grabbing the towel to drape around her waist right as the door opened.

There was a man there. Her parents’ age maybe. Maybe older. Melodie could never really tell with middle-aged people. It was a strange scene to find herself in: naked, the door open to the hall, a man she didn’t know just a few feet away staring at her. But strange was all she could really find to feel about it. Nothing like it had ever happened before, and she hadn’t a clue how to act or what to say. So she didn’t. Didn’t even put her hands down. Just stood there stopped, like she’d been freeze-tagged.

He chuckled. He wasn’t a bad-looking dude for whatever his age was. “Talk about a deer in the headlights,” he said. “Go on with what you were doing.”

The mirror was finally starting to defog. Melodie worked at her hair and watched her breasts sway, her nipples round and pink and prominent. In the world it annoyed her no end how much attention they got if she wasn’t careful, but in private she liked her endowment. She thought about leaving off with her hair and playing with her nipples instead, squeezing, rubbing her thumbs over them, putting on a little show.

He said, “So you’re Melodie,” and Melodie jumped. She’d completely spaced that he was still there. “Whadda they call you then, Mellie? Dee-dee?”

Melodie made an involuntary “ugh” of disgust. “My Mom still says ‘Dee-dee’ sometimes,” she said. “Baby name.” She patted at her hair, decided she was done, and turned away from the mirror.

He took her in, top to toe. “Your mom was telling me what a lovely young woman you’ve grown into.”

“Is she home?” Melodie eyed the bath towel, but covering herself now would have been weirder than just staying as she was. She scrunched her brows together. “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to place …”

“Face of a duchess, body of a stripper. Killer combo in any man’s book.”

Melodie blushed. “Stop,” she said, and folded her arms over her breasts and looked at the floor.

“Oh, now I didn’t mean to turn you shy,” he said. He made a kissy noise at her. “Come on”—he turned his head to show his cheek—“come give your ole Uncle Gus a smooch.”

She eyed him skeptically. “You don’t look like anybody’s Uncle Gus,” she said.

“It’s a nickname.” He winked at her and wagged his finger at his cheek.

Melodie didn’t want to be rude. “Fine then,” she said, “Uncle Gus.” He was obviously some kind of relation. She took a couple steps towards the door, just far enough that a tiptoe lean would carry her lips to his cheek. A light peck, and she drew immediately back.

“And that’s it?” He made a pout that was more arch than disappointed. “That’s all you got for your long-lost uncle. Poor ole Gus.”

Melodie snickered. “Long-lost uncle,” she said derisively, but she couldn’t resist that pout. She came up close and put her arms around his neck and without any more ado kissed him full on the lips, very sweetly, and just as long as proper for an uncle. He put his arms around her waist and she stayed as she was, a little surprised at how comfortably they fit. “There now,” he said, “isn’t it nicer being friends?”

He was tall enough that Melodie, tall herself, felt almost little in his arms. She gazed up into his eyes. “Is this weird?” she sighed.

“Is what weird?” They were such captivating eyes. She couldn’t settle on what color you’d call them.

“I mean—,” she started, but she cut herself off. It was a good question. What was there to feel weird about? When she tried to put a finger on it it eluded her. “I just, I still don’t know how I know you.”

“But you do know me.”

A wry grin broke out on her face. “Old Uncle Gus!” she shrugged. Why not? Laughing, Melodie kissed him again, spontaneously, a little longer this time, nestled a little closer. Then she got flustered and shrank back out of the embrace.

She took the towel off the rod. “Anyway ‘Uncle Gus,’” she said, wrapping it up under her armpits, “niece Melodie’s got class this afternoon, and if she doesn’t shake it she’s gonna be late.” Putting the towel on made her feel suddenly shy, and she kept her eyes on the sink.

He frowned. “Nope. Nothin doin. I’m taking you to the mall.”

“The mall!?” She looked up at him wide-eyed. “What am I, in junior high? Why would you possibly want to take me to the mall?”

“Well to buy you things, obviously.” He pouted again. “Think how many birthdays I’ve missed!”

“Nineteen, if you count next month.” Melodie tried looking severe, but it wouldn’t take, not with him pulling that face. “It’s just,” she sighed, “my whole semester’s kinda riding on this class, I can’t start blowing it off.”

“Hey.” He held up his hand. “Watch this.” He cupped the hand and mimed dropping something in it. “This is your class.” He made a fist, held it for a beat, then puffed out his cheeks and blew on it and flashed his fingers out to show her his empty palm.

“Wow,” Melodie deadpanned. “OK. Some trick.” Only an uncle could be this corny. “So are we going, or am I supposed to just, I don’t know, laze around here naked all afternoon while you do magic?” She shrugged her way out of the damp towel and let it fall.

“Well if those are the choices …” he said, leering, but he took a step back to clear the doorway. “I’ll go wait downstairs. Go on, I want you to give me your best mall look.”

He reached out to swat her on her bare rump as she passed, and Melodie yelped and giggled and ran from him barefoot down the hall.