The house was quieter than usual, which, for Charlie, could only mean one of two things: either Nero was brooding again, or Berta was plotting something. Given the fact that Nero was absently picking at a plate of eggs that actually looked edible, Charlie was leaning toward the first option.
Nero sat at the dining room table, his fork lazily pushing scrambled eggs around, his mind clearly elsewhere. Charlie shuffled into the kitchen, adjusting his bathrobe, which was barely tied around his waist. His wild bed hair gave off a clear "I-woke-up-like-this-and-don't-care" vibe as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
Noticing Nero's zombie-like posture, Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Kid, if you're planning to stare your eggs into submission, good luck. Those are Berta's eggs. They're invincible."
No response from Nero. The kid was deep in his head. Berta, aggressively wiping down the counters like they owed her money, shot a glance at Charlie, then at Nero.
"He's been like this all morning," she grumbled. "You're up, genius", and left for the kitchen.
Charlie pointed at himself in disbelief. "Me? What am I, the teen whisperer? I think my contribution was keeping him alive this long. Plus, I'm providing top-tier parental advice—like, 'Don't drink beer before noon.'"
Berta snorted. Before she could respond with her usual brand of sass, the doorbell rang. Charlie frowned, glancing at the door. "Oh, great. If that's your dad back for round two, I'm charging admission this time."
He sauntered toward the door, but before he could reach it, a sultry voice called from outside. "Charlie! I know you're in there! Open up. Don't pretend you're busy."
Charlie's face lit up like a kid at Christmas. Now, this was more his speed. He shot a wink at Nero. "Watch and learn, kid. This is how adults handle their emotional baggage."
Before Nero could ask what that meant, Charlie swung the door open, revealing Stacey—blonde, leggy, and dressed like she just stepped out of a magazine cover. Her high heels clicked against the hardwood as she breezed past Charlie and into the living room, giving Nero a brief, half-interested glance.
"Well, aren't you going to introduce me?" Stacey said, her tone half-playful, half-impatient.
Nero awkwardly waved. "Uh… hi."
"This is Nero. The kid I was telling you about," Charlie said casually, slinging an arm around Stacey's shoulders. "And Nero, this is Stacey—tonight's… well, let's just say 'date' for now."
Stacey raised an eyebrow, clearly unamused by Charlie's vague introduction, but before she could say anything, Charlie turned to Nero with an exaggerated wink.
"You know, buddy, I've been thinking—you're getting older, so maybe it's time I impart some of my legendary wisdom about women," Charlie started, barely able to keep a straight face. "Lesson one: never keep them waiting, unless you're planning to leave a mysterious impression. Right, Stacey?"
Stacey looked less than impressed, but Charlie powered through, completely oblivious. Nero, on the other hand, could feel the awkward tension creeping up, and he was already inching toward the piano in the corner, hoping for a swift exit.
"Lesson two," Charlie continued, steering Stacey toward the couch as he talked over his shoulder to Nero, "if you're ever caught in a situation where you're juggling multiple women, make sure—"
"Charlie," Nero interrupted, the cringe finally too much to bear. "I think I'm just gonna play the piano for a bit."
"Good call, kid," Charlie said, snapping his fingers. "Work through your feelings with some deep, brooding music. Chicks dig that. It's like the gateway drug to getting dates."
Nero sighed and sat at the piano, already tuning out Charlie's disastrous attempts at multitasking romance and uncle duties. He started to play a soft, melancholy melody, something that reflected his mood more than Charlie's antics.
Meanwhile, Stacey shot Charlie an annoyed look. "Is this really what you call a 'date night'? Hanging out with your nephew and giving terrible advice?"
Charlie blinked, thrown off for a second. "Hey, the advice is solid, thank you very much. And, trust me, Nero can handle it. He's practically my protégé at this point." He threw Nero a proud look, which the boy completely ignored as he kept playing.
Stacey crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Your what?"
Charlie grinned, plopping down next to her on the couch. "Protégé. You know, like a younger me, minus all the emotional baggage and—well, we're working on the rest."
Nero pressed down a few more keys, pretending not to listen. Stacey, meanwhile, was glaring at Charlie as if she'd just realized this wasn't going to be the candlelit, romantic evening she'd been imagining.
"I came here for wine and… something else," Stacey said pointedly, "and I'm starting to think neither is going to happen."
Charlie raised his hands in mock surrender. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on there. We've got wine! I mean, it's in the fridge… somewhere between the pizza and the Chinese takeout. But it's there!"
Stacey's glare intensified. "Charlie."
Sensing the situation was slipping out of his control, Charlie shot up and made a beeline for the kitchen. "Alright, I'll get the wine. Nero, buddy, keep playing that emotional stuff. It really sets the mood."
Nero, now fully immersed in the piano, rolled his eyes as Charlie disappeared into the kitchen. The house was quiet for a brief moment, save for the soft notes of the piano filling the room. Stacey shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting between Nero and the door as if contemplating an escape.
Charlie reappeared, wine bottle in hand, and slid back onto the couch next to Stacey. "See? Wine. Now all we need is music. Nero's got us covered."
Stacey gave Charlie a long, hard stare, the kind that said this isn't what I signed up for. "Charlie, I think I'll just call it a night."
Charlie's face dropped. "What? Already? I thought we were just getting started!"
Stacey stood, grabbing her purse. "Yeah, well, I don't think I'm ready to be a part of your little family sitcom."
Charlie blinked. "What do you mean? This is—this is Two and a Half Men at its finest!" He motioned dramatically around the room. "Kid, uncle, woman who's mad at me. Classic setup!"
Stacey's expression softened, but only slightly. "Charlie, I'll call you later. Maybe."
Charlie stood up, trying to salvage the evening. "Wait, let me make it up to you. How about—"
The door closed behind Stacey before he could finish the sentence.
Charlie stood there for a second, then sighed and flopped back onto the couch. "Well, that could've gone worse."
Nero, still playing softly at the piano, shook his head. "You think?"
Charlie grinned, grabbing his beer from the coffee table and taking a swig. "Nah, I knew it was doomed the second she walked in. But hey, at least you got some solid life advice out of it, right?"
Nero paused, hands still on the keys, and finally turned to Charlie. "Charlie, you're terrible at this."
Charlie raised his bottle in a mock toast. "Absolutely. And I've never been prouder."
Nero shook his head, a small smile creeping onto his face despite everything. "Good talk."
Charlie clinked his bottle against the air. "Always, kid. Always."