Jack chuckled as the playful banter continued, feeling something he hadn’t in a long time—at ease. It wasn’t just a meal. It was an experience—filled with laughter, warmth, and the unexpected comfort of shared company.
Conversation flowed easily, while Claire teased Jack about his lack of culinary skills. He found himself talking more than he expected, sharing stories about his early days in med school, about the time Chloe had convinced him to let her keep a turtle they found at the park (a decision he regretted after it escaped into their air vents for a week).
Claire listened intently, her laughter coming easily, and Jack realized he liked the sound of it. More than that, he liked how natural this all felt—how, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just surviving the evening, but enjoying it.
As they cleared the table, Jack reached for a plate at the same time Claire did, and their hands brushed. A sharp jolt ran through him, unexpected and unsettling. It had been so long since something as simple as touch had made him pause. For a fleeting second, he was transported to a time when casual intimacy was effortless—Amanda’s fingers trailing along his wrist as she passed him a dish, the absentminded brush of hands as they moved in sync in the kitchen.
But this wasn’t the past. This was Claire. And the awareness that crackled between them now was different, unfamiliar in a way that sent his pulse into an unsteady rhythm.
It rattled something loose inside him—a dormant ache he’d long kept buried beneath practicality and self-preservation. The feeling scared him, not because it was unpleasant, but because it was warm.
Tempting.
Real.
And if he let it in, it might mean loosening his grip on the grief that had been his armor for so long.
The idea of starting over—of letting someone else see past the polished surface he showed the world—felt as terrifying as it did tempting. Amanda’s memory lived in these walls, in Chloe’s laughter, in every quiet corner of his day. Letting someone new in didn’t erase that. But for the first time, he wondered if it might add something too.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to look at her. Claire had frozen too, her fingers still lightly resting against his, her eyes searching his face as if she had felt it too. Jack couldn’t read her expression completely, but there was something there—surprise, maybe, or confusion. Or maybe the same quiet hope he hadn’t dared name. It was nothing—a fleeting touch—but the jolt of awareness that shot through him was unmistakable.
The moment stretched, charged and unspoken, before Claire finally cleared her throat and pulled back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll help with the dishes.”
Jack nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. Thanks.”
The moment passed, but its weight lingered, hovering between them even as they fell into easy conversation again.
By the time Claire and Gabe were heading out the door, the night air had cooled, carrying the scent of salt and pine. Claire turned to Jack with a smile. “Next time, dinner’s at my place.”
Jack nodded, something settling inside him at the thought. He hadn’t expected to actually enjoy the evening—hadn’t expected to want more of it. But as he met Claire’s eyes, a flicker of something unfamiliar stirred inside him. “Looking forward to it.”
As he watched them walk away, Chloe tugged at his sleeve. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
She grinned up at him. “You like her.”
Jack rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t quite wipe the smile off his face. “Go to bed, kid.”
As he locked the door behind them, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relief, that the night had gone well. Longing, for something he wasn’t sure he was ready to name. And uncertainty, because he could feel the carefully built walls around his heart shifting—whether he wanted them to or not. He had been so sure he wanted to keep his distance, to keep his life neat and uncomplicated. But with Claire, neat and uncomplicated didn’t seem to be in the cards.
And for the first time in a long time, the idea of letting someone in didn’t feel like a risk—it felt like a choice. One he might actually be ready to make.
Chapter Eight
Claire
Thesaltymorningbreezecurled around Claire as she sat on the back porch, the briny air brushing against her cheeks like a whisper from the sea—steady, familiar, and laced with hope. A steaming cup of coffee nestled in her hands. The sun had barely risen over the horizon, painting the sky in soft streaks of pink and orange, but Claire had already been awake for a while, lost in thought.
Last night had been…unexpected. Seeing Jack so at ease, watching his walls slip, if only briefly, had stirred something in her. She could still hear the warmth in his laughter. It had rumbled out of him without restraint, surprising them both. The sound had been low and rich, like something unused and rediscovered.
She remembered how he had stood beside her, elbow brushing hers, posture relaxed in a way that made him look younger, freer. He had laughed more freely, leaned into conversations without hesitation, and for once, didn’t seem like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was a stark contrast to the man who kept himself at arm’s length, carefully measured and reserved. That glimpse of a lighter Jack, one unburdened by whatever ghosts haunted him, had ignited a hope she hadn’t even realized she was holding onto.
But this morning, reality had settled back in. Jack was still keeping his distance, something she had noticed when she spotted him retrieving the morning paper from his porch, his shoulders tense, his movements brisk. He hadn’t looked around, hadn’t lingered, just retreated back inside as if the world outside was something to be avoided.
Claire wasn’t sure if she should feel disappointed or simply accept it as part of his process. She understood that trust couldn’t be forced, but there was a small, nagging part of her that wondered if he would ever truly let anyone in. Was he even aware of the walls he had built, or had they become such a part of him that he no longer recognized them?
Claire exhaled, deciding that for now, all she could do was be patient—something she had learned the hard way after her own heartbreak. Jack was still Jack—guarded, grumpy, hesitant, carrying burdens he hadn’t yet allowed her to glimpse.
