Chapter 7 #2
She expected Gator to give the same gruff non-answers he gave everyone. The polite walls that kept people at a comfortable distance.
Instead, she watched a small miracle happen.
Gator stopped what he was doing. Set down the glass he was drying. And actually looked at Claire, really looked at her, the way you look at someone who's asked a question that deserves an answer.
He said words Emily couldn't hear. Claire nodded. He continued, longer this time, and Claire's expression softened.
They talked for almost ten minutes. Gator leaning against the back bar, Claire perched on her stool, a conversation that looked nothing like small talk. At one point, Gator actually laughed — a short, rough sound that made Tommy stop mid-sentence and turn around.
"What the hell," Tommy said, staring.
"What?" Emily asked.
"Gator doesn't laugh. Not like that. Not with people he just met." Tommy shook his head. "Your friend's got some kind of magic."
When Claire came back to the booth, her eyes were bright with a feeling Emily couldn't name.
"What did you two talk about?" Emily asked.
"Stories." Claire slid back into her seat. "He told me about the first time he saw Jake, during selection. How he knew right away Jake was going to be special."
"Gator told you that?"
"Is that strange?"
Tommy leaned forward. "Claire, I've been trying to get Gator to tell me stories about Jake for fifteen years. He doesn't talk about that stuff. Not with anyone."
Claire shrugged, but there was a small smile playing at her lips. "Maybe he just needed someone to ask the right way."
Emily looked at her friend, then at Gator behind the bar. He was back to his usual rhythm — efficient, watchful, unrevealing. But when his eyes swept the room and landed on their booth, it lingered on Claire for just a second longer than necessary.
"Interesting," Emily said.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just... interesting."
Jake's arm landed along the back of the booth behind her, not quite touching her shoulders but present. A claim so subtle she might have imagined it.
Except she didn't imagine the way Gator looked at them when he brought the second round. Or the way Tommy's story trailed off when Jake leaned close to whisper in her ear. Or the way Ray, back from his call, watched the two of them with approval.
They were being seen. Being assessed. The family deciding what to make of this woman who'd appeared in Jake's life and refused to leave.
Emily found she didn't mind.
The night wore on. More stories, more drinks, more of the easy warmth that came from people who genuinely enjoyed each other's company.
Claire and Tommy had developed their own rhythm of banter.
Ray kept the conversation from veering too far into chaos.
Jake was a consistent presence beside her, occasionally joining the conversation but mostly just being there. Being with her.
At some point, Claire announced she needed the restroom. Emily stood to join her — the universal signal — and paused beside Jake.
"Want another Dos Equis?"
"Please."
She leaned down without thinking, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Be right back."
It wasn't until they were halfway across the bar that Claire grabbed her arm.
"Oh my God."
"What?" Emily kept walking, weaving through the scattered tables toward the back hallway.
"That was the sweetest thing I've ever seen."
"What was?" Emily pushed through the bathroom door, checking her reflection in the mirror more out of habit than necessity.
Claire followed her in, face glowing. "You two are so perfect together. My God, you didn't even realize you kissed him when you got up."
Emily's hands stilled on the edge of the sink.
She replayed it in her head. The question about his beer. The lean. The kiss on his cheek, casual as breathing. Like they'd been doing it for years instead of days.
In front of everyone.
The old panic surfaced. Exposure, vulnerability, all those eyes cataloging her behavior, drawing conclusions, seeing through the armor she'd spent years constructing.
Her brain started running calculations: how to walk it back, how to reframe it, how to rebuild the walls she'd demolished without thinking.
But underneath the panic, a quieter voice stirred. The one she'd kept locked away so long she'd almost forgotten it existed.
So what?
She'd kissed him. In front of his family. Without thinking about it, without planning it, without running the decision through seventeen filters first. She'd done it because she wanted to. Because that's what you did when you were with someone.
What exactly are you protecting yourself from?
Her heart, it turned out, was tired of losing arguments to her brain. Tired of building walls that kept the good things out along with the bad. Tired of being careful when careful had never once made her happy.
The panic didn't disappear. She wasn't sure it would ever fully disappear. But for the first time, it didn't get the final word.
"I didn't realize." Emily's voice was lighter. "I just... did it."
"That's the point, babe." Claire squeezed her arm. "That's the whole entire point."
Emily looked at herself in the mirror. Same face, same eyes, same strictly constructed professional who'd walked into Ray's office four days ago. But the woman underneath had changed. The armor had cracked, and instead of scrambling to patch it, she was standing here letting the light through.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay what?"
"Okay, let's get another round."
They ordered at the bar. Gator filled the drinks himself, and when he passed Claire her glass, Emily caught the briefest exchange — a look that said a connection had formed between them too.
"He's different with you," Gator said to Emily, not looking up from the taps. "Good different."
"I'm trying not to mess it up."
"You won't." He said it like fact, not reassurance. "You're not the type."
Emily carried the beers back to the table. The conversation had shifted in their absence — Ray telling a story about a surveillance job gone sideways — and Tommy was laughing hard enough that his beer sloshed.
She slid into the booth next to Jake, passed him his Dos Equis. His hand found her knee under the table, a brief squeeze of acknowledgment. Normal. Easy.
Ray's story wound down. In the brief lull, he turned to Emily with an expression that was half-smile, half-assessment.
"So," he said. "There's no real policy against—"
"Jake's a consultant." Emily didn't let him finish. "He's not my subordinate, nor am I his. There's no policy violation, and I believe the relationship has been disclosed." She raised an eyebrow. "Hasn't it?"
The table fell silent. Tommy's beer stopped halfway to his mouth. Claire bit her lip to keep from laughing.
Ray blinked. Then a slow grin spread across his face.
"I was going to say there's no problem, but thank you for the legal brief, counselor."
The table erupted. Tommy howled, slapping the wood hard enough to rattle the glasses. Claire lost her battle with composure. Even Gator, watching from the bar, cracked a rare full smile.
Jake was looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite name. Wonder, maybe. Or close to it.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing." He shook his head, but his eyes stayed on her. "Just you."
Under the table, his hand found hers. She let him take it. Let herself be here, in this booth, with these people, being seen.
Across the room, she caught Gator's eye. He raised his glass, just slightly. A toast to an understanding only the two of them shared.
Emily raised hers back.
The jukebox switched to Tom Petty. Tommy started singing along, badly. Claire joined him, worse. Ray covered his face with his hands while Jake laughed — really laughed, the kind that came from somewhere deep.
This, Emily thought. This is what I was protecting myself from. This is what I almost missed.
She leaned into Jake's shoulder and let herself stay.