Conner was a master of subtlety — or so he thought.
To the outside world, he was chill, funny, and maybe a little awkward. But beneath his calm surface was a not-so-secret secret: he had a thing for feet. Nothing wild or weird (in his opinion), just… an appreciation. A soft spot for soft soles.
The only problem? Emily.
Emily was his best friend’s sister. Smart, effortlessly cool, and dangerously observant. She had a habit of showing up barefoot around the house, completely oblivious to the fact that Conner was internally screaming every time she did.
Conner had come over to help her move some boxes while her brother was out of town. Emily had gone upstairs to grab something — and Conner, being hopelessly curious (and a bit dumb), wandered into the living room and saw her laundry basket sitting there.
One pair of socks caught his eye. Neon pink. Tiny hearts. Her favorite. He picked one up, just for a second.
That was his mistake.
“Seriously?”
Conner jumped about a foot in the air. Emily stood in the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, wearing an expression halfway between amused and I’m telling your mom.
“I—uh—this isn’t what it looks like,” he stammered.
“It looks like you’re about to propose to my sock.”
Conner turned red.
Emily walked slowly toward him, barefoot, her steps silent on the carpet. She looked down at him — he had somehow sunk to sitting on the couch, still holding the sock like it was a crime.