7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Jack
J ack stood in the kitchen, eyeing the items spread across the counter like they were surgical instruments rather than dinner supplies. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. Cooking wasn’t exactly his area of expertise. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he had made a meal that didn’t involve takeout containers or something frozen. But tonight was different. Tonight, Claire and Gabe were coming over, and for some reason, he actually cared about making a decent impression.
“Chloe,” he called, his voice cutting through the late afternoon quiet as he glanced toward the living room where she was sprawled on the couch with a book. “I need your help.”
Chloe perked up immediately and bounded into the kitchen, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the ingredients. “Are we actually cooking? Like, real food?”
Jack smirked, but the warmth behind the curve of his mouth caught him off guard. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said, though something about Chloe’s enthusiasm tugged at a place in him he rarely acknowledged.
Chloe giggled. “What’s the plan?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He gestured toward the counter. “We’ve got pasta, chicken, and some vegetables. Think we can turn this into something edible?”
Chloe nodded eagerly. “Totally! I saw a recipe online where they made this creamy chicken pasta. Can we do that?”
Jack checked the clock, weighing the time left with a flicker of doubt. He had barely an hour before Claire and Gabe arrived. “Sure, but you’re my sous chef. That means you do all the hard work.”
Chloe beamed. “Deal!”
For the next half hour, Jack and Chloe worked together, with her chopping vegetables while he attempted not to burn the chicken. The sizzle of the pan filled the kitchen, blending with the rhythmic sound of Chloe’s knife against the cutting board. The rich scent of garlic and butter filled the air, making Jack realize just how much better homemade food smelled compared to his usual takeout. Chloe stole a spoonful of the sauce and smacked her lips. "Mmm, this actually tastes good! Dad, you might have hidden talents."
Jack snorted. "Or we just got lucky."
Chloe giggled, stirring the pasta with exaggerated focus. "Can we make this a thing? Like, a tradition? Cooking together?"
Jack hesitated, surprised by how much the idea appealed to him. He glanced at his daughter, her face glowing with excitement, and nodded. "Yeah, kid. I think we can." He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something so domestic, and surprisingly, he didn’t hate it. More than that, he enjoyed the easy laughter between them, the way Chloe bossed him around like a tiny executive chef, and the sense of normalcy the moment brought.
By the time the meal was nearly ready, the table was set with the best dishes he had unpacked, which wasn’t saying much—but Chloe had insisted on adding candles, claiming it made everything look fancier. He watched her arrange them carefully, humming to herself, and felt a sudden, unexpected swell of gratitude. He had spent so much time worrying about keeping things together that he sometimes forgot to appreciate these small, perfect moments.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts, sending a jolt of nervous anticipation through him. He wiped his hands on a dish towel and took a steadying breath before opening the door.
Claire stood there, a bright smile on her face, Gabe at her side holding a plate covered in foil. “We come bearing dessert,” she announced. “I figured if you poisoned us with dinner, at least we’d have a backup plan.”
Jack chuckled, stepping aside to let them in. “Good thinking.”
As they stepped inside, Claire glanced around, taking in the warm glow of the candlelit table. Her expression softened. “Wow. You went all out.”
“Chloe takes her decorating seriously,” Jack admitted, casting his daughter a look. Chloe beamed.
“Well, it looks great,” Claire said sincerely, then turned to Gabe. “What do you say, bud?”
Gabe grinned. “Smells way better than Mom’s cooking.”
Claire shot him a playful glare. “I’m standing right here.”
Gabe shrugged. “Just being honest.”
Laughing, they all took their seats, and to Jack’s surprise, dinner went smoothly. The conversation was lively, with Chloe and Gabe launching into a passionate debate about whether flying or super strength was the superior superpower.
Chloe insisted flying would be the best because she could travel anywhere without a plane, while Gabe countered that super strength would let him pick up an entire car like a superhero. "But what if you needed to get somewhere really fast?" Chloe challenged. "You’d be stuck just being really strong in one place."
Jack smirked, glancing at Claire. "Do they always argue like this?"
Claire took a sip of her drink and nodded with an exaggerated sigh. "Every day. I’ve accepted that my son believes he’s a superhero in training."
Gabe grinned. "I mean, I’d be a pretty cool superhero. Right, Mr. Jack?"
Jack shrugged. "I don’t know, kid. Chloe’s got a good point. Flight would get you out of trouble fast."
Gabe groaned dramatically. "Not you too!" He turned to Claire. "Mom, back me up."
Claire laughed. "I stay out of superhero debates. It’s a rule."
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.