She didn’t press for more, didn’t offer platitudes or force conversation. Instead, she simply moved to the sink, filling a glass of water before handing it to him. A simple gesture, but one that settled something restless inside him.
That night, after Chloe had fallen asleep, Jack found himself standing by the open window of his bedroom. A cool breeze carried the distant crash of waves, but what caught his attention was the soft sound floating through the night.
Claire’s voice.
She was singing. A gentle lullaby, low and soothing. He pictured Claire tucking Gabe in for the night as she sang to him.
Jack closed his eyes, the melody unraveling something tight in his chest—a thread of tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding until it began to loosen. Once, music had filled his home effortlessly—Amanda humming while she cooked, soft jazz drifting through their evenings, Chloe’s giggles blending with lullabies at bedtime.
Now, silence had become his companion, a shield against memories too painful to invite back. But Claire’s voice, gentle and unguarded, stirred something inside him. It wasn’t just the song—it was the warmth, the quiet invitation to remember what he had lost, and maybe, what he was still capable of finding. It had been years since music had filled his home, since warmth had settled in his bones so effortlessly.
He leaned against the window frame, letting the song wash over him, uncertain whether the comfort it brought was something he welcomed—or something he feared.
And for the first time in a long while, Jack found himself asking the question he’d long avoided: what if letting someone in—really in—wasn’t weakness, but the first step toward healing? The thought lingered like the melody still drifting through the air, fragile and impossible to ignore.
Chapter Six
Claire
Claireshiftedthestrapof her tote bag over her shoulder and steadied a carton of eggs in one hand as she maneuvered through the narrow aisle of Seaview’s small grocery store. The cool air from the overhead vents sent a light shiver down her arms, contrasting with the warmth of the morning sun that had been beating down outside. The faint melody of an oldies song played from the store radio, blending with the quiet murmur of conversations as locals debated over fresh produce and exchanged gossip near the bakery counter. The scent of ground coffee and warm bread filled the air.
It was one of the town’s many charms—everything felt personal here. The cozy familiarity made this small-town store feel like home. The store owner, Mrs. Hathaway, knew everyone’s name, and locals stopped to chat in between selecting produce and debating over the best coffee brand.
She rounded the corner and nearly collided with Jack. Her breath caught as she stumbled back, her tote bag slipping from her shoulder. Jack’s hands shot out instinctively, steadying her before she could drop the carton of eggs.
For a brief second, their eyes met—his sharp with surprise, hers wide with the sudden closeness. Claire’s heart gave a quick, unexpected jump before she cleared her throat and stepped back, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. The reaction startled her—why did a simple touch feel like a current had passed between them? "Whoa—sorry," she said quickly, willing herself to shake off the moment. "Didn’t take you for a morning grocery shopper."
Jack raised an eyebrow and glanced at his half-filled basket. Just black coffee, protein bars, and a single loaf of bread—the essentials of a man clearly dodging the produce aisle. "I wouldn’t call it shopping. More like survival."
Claire smirked. "That might be the most bachelor thing I’ve ever heard. No fruits? No vegetables?"
Jack exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. "Chloe’s at that age where anything green is a personal insult."
Claire laughed. "Ah, the classic battle of wills. Ever tried sneaking spinach into a smoothie?"
"Tried. Failed. Nearly lost all trust in the process."
She grinned, nodding toward the checkout line. "Tell you what, I was just about to grab coffee next door. If you’re brave enough to endure actual conversation before noon, you should join me."
Jack hesitated, and for a second, she thought he might refuse. Then he glanced at his watch and exhaled. "I’ve got twenty minutes."
"Then let’s not waste them."
Minutes later, they stepped into Seaview Café, where the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries enveloped them. Jack hesitated for a fraction of a second at the door, scanning the room as if deciding whether to commit to the moment.
Claire noticed the way his jaw tightened briefly before he let out a slow breath and followed her toward a quiet corner booth. The café was a familiar slice of Seaview’s charm—worn wooden tables, mismatched chairs, and a chalkboard menu listing the daily specials in looping cursive.
The scent of fresh pastries mingled with the rich brew of espresso, and the low hum of conversation filled the cozy space. A barista greeted regulars by name, sliding plates of warm croissants and muffins onto tables with easy familiarity.
It was the kind of place that felt like home, even to those just passing through. Claire wrapped her hands around her mug, watching as Jack took a tentative sip of his black coffee.
"Let me guess," she mused, tapping her fingers against the table. "You’re one of those ‘coffee should taste like coffee’ types. No cream, no sugar, just bitter and brooding."
Jack smirked over the rim of his cup. "Brooding? That’s a bold assumption."
"I call it like I see it."
He shook his head, but she didn’t miss the way his shoulders relaxed slightly. "And you? Let me guess—something sweet, unnecessarily complicated, probably involves caramel."
