Chapter Ten
Claire
ClairespottedJackatthe edge of the beach, his silhouette etched against the low-hanging sun. He stood still, a dark figure in contrast to the fading gold light. Hands buried in his pockets, shoulders hunched, he stood unmoving as waves lapped at the sand in steady rhythm.
Though the beach glowed with golden warmth, Jack seemed untouched by it, his body tense as if bracing against an invisible tide. Claire noticed the subtle shifts in his stance—the rigid posture, the slight sway of someone deep in thought but unwilling to surrender to it. Whatever burden weighed on him, it clung tight, visible in every line of his frame. She recognized the distance in his gaze, the kind that wasn’t about what lay ahead, but what haunted behind.
She had noticed his withdrawal—the way he started to pull back just when things between them had begun to feel comfortable. His text messages took longer to arrive. Their interactions became shorter, punctuated with polite but distant nods when they crossed paths. He excused himself from conversations that had once flowed easily.
The change was subtle, but Claire had learned to recognize when someone was slipping away. When he canceled the pottery class at the last minute, offering a vague excuse that didn’t sit right, it confirmed her suspicion: Jack was retreating again.
She had told herself to wait, to give him space—because she knew what fear looked like, and Jack was wearing it like armor. But patience only worked for so long. And if there was one thing Claire Daniels wasn’t, it was the kind of person to let things fester in silence.
Squaring her shoulders, she stepped forward. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Jack turned, startled, his shoulders stiffening for a brief second before recognition settled in. His expression shifted from guarded to something softer, though Claire caught the fleeting shadow of hesitation in his eyes. Was he relieved to see her? Annoyed at being caught off guard? She wasn’t sure, but she wasn’t about to let him retreat behind silence again. “Didn’t hear you walk up.”
Claire smirked. “You were too busy brooding.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I don’t brood.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, you definitely brood.” She let the teasing linger for a beat before adding, “You’ve been avoiding me.”
Jack’s jaw tensed. "I haven’t—" The words stuck, his throat tightening. He knew it was a lie the moment he said it. His shoulders stiffened as if preparing for battle, but Claire’s unwavering gaze made it impossible to escape. Did she always see through him this easily? A flicker of frustration stirred inside him—not at her, but at himself. At the way he constantly ran the second something felt real.
“Jack.” Claire’s voice was gentle, but firm. “I get it. You get close, then you get scared. So you push away.”
He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not that simple.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
For a long moment, he didn’t speak. The waves rolled in and out, the rhythmic sound filling the silence between them. Finally, he looked at her, something raw and unguarded in his eyes. “I don’t know how to do this.”
Claire tilted her head, studying him. There were a dozen ways she could finish that sentence for him, each one a possibility she wasn’t sure she wanted to say aloud. Did he mean letting go? Letting someone in? Letting himself be happy again? She swallowed, sensing the weight of his hesitation, the unspoken struggle just behind his eyes. "Do what?"
Jack hesitated, then rubbed his hands together as if trying to warm them, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "This. Moving forward. Letting someone in." His voice felt thick in his throat, each word scraped out of a place he didn’t often visit.
His mind drifted to a time, not long after Amanda’s passing, when a friend had tried to set him up on a casual dinner date. He remembered the clink of silverware at the restaurant—the way it echoed too loudly in his ears—and the forced, brittle politeness of the woman across from him. The whole evening had felt like a performance he hadn’t rehearsed for, a role he wasn’t ready to play.
He had shut it down immediately, barely able to stomach the idea of sitting across from another woman, making small talk while his heart still felt like it belonged to someone else. The loneliness had been suffocating, yet the thought of connection had felt even worse.
Now, standing in front of Claire, he recognized that same instinct—to retreat, to protect what little was left of himself. But for the first time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. The words felt foreign on his tongue, weighted with years of avoidance. He thought of the quiet nights in his old home, when Amanda’s laughter used to fill the air, and the deafening silence that followed after she was gone.
He thought of all the times he had forced himself to focus on work, on Chloe, on anything but the hollow space inside him. And now, here was Claire, warm and patient, standing in front of him like an open door he wasn’t sure he had the courage to walk through. “It’s been years, and I still feel like I’m betraying Amanda just by… considering it.”
Claire’s heart ached at the quiet torment in his voice. She reached out, resting a hand lightly on his arm. “You’re not betraying her, Jack. Love doesn’t disappear just because life moves forward. You’ll always love her. But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to find happiness again.”
He swallowed hard. “What if I don’t know how?”
Claire smiled softly. “Then we take it slow. No pressure, no expectations. Just two friends figuring it out.”
But even as she said it, a small flicker of doubt surfaced. Would Jack keep his word, or would he retreat again when things felt too real? She wanted to believe him—to trust that this time, he wouldn’t pull away. Yet, a part of her braced for the possibility that she might be setting herself up for disappointment.
Still, she held onto the hope that, for once, he was choosing to stay. Because staying meant he was letting her in, even if just a little. And letting someone in meant she might get hurt again. But she had spent too long hiding behind caution—this time, she was willing to risk it.
Jack studied her, searching for any sign of pity, but all he found was sincerity. A part of him expected hesitation, maybe even reluctance, but Claire met him with steady reassurance. For the first time in a long while, the weight on his chest loosened just a little.
Yet, beneath that relief, something else lingered—a quiet fear that he might let her down, that old habits of retreating would win out when things got too real. But standing here, with Claire's unwavering patience grounding him, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he could try. He nodded, a small weight lifting from his chest. “I think I can handle that.”
