Chapter 87

I was softly roused from my slumber by the aroma of freshly made coffee. I looked at the gentle sunlight streaming in through the drapes, my thoughts still clouded by the feelings from the previous evening. I momentarily lost my bearings, then realized I was in Jack's home. My chest felt heavier and lighter all at once as the memories of last night's tears, his soothing words, and the warmth of his presence rushed back.

I cringed as my feet hit the cool hardwood floor after sliding off the couch. Jack's big sweater, which I had taken and wrapped around myself the night before, hung loosely on my body, still holding his distinct aroma with a hint of cedar. As I followed the sound of clinking dishes into the kitchen, I gripped it more tightly.

With a cool and friendly tone, Jack said, "Good morning." He was pouring coffee into two mugs with the casual attention of someone who had long mastered the art of mornings, and he didn't look up. He looked even more composed and capable because his shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms. The contrast between being laid-back and fully put together was odd.

I slipped into a chair at the tiny kitchen table and whispered, "Good morning. You get up early."

He put a steaming mug in front of me and shrugged his shoulders in answer. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please." I encircled the mug with my hands, allowing its warmth to enter my fingers. I carefully took a sip and liked the strong, deep flavor. "This is great. I'm grateful-for everything."

With a serene intensity that was both reassuring and unsettling, Jack leaned against the counter and studied me. "You needed a friend. I'm just happy I was able to help."

The quiet between us felt natural, not forced, but my mind roiled like a raging ocean. It felt different to be here. Secure. Warm. Things I hadn't allowed myself to experience in what felt like forever. The peace felt too beautiful to be true, and it was brittle.

"Are you alright?" Jack's voice cut through the fog of my thoughts, soft and observant. His eyes were keen, but his tone was soft.

I forced a smile that felt a bit too tight and replied, "Yeah. Just thinking."

"Roughly?" His posture was open and welcoming as he pushed off the bar and sat across from me. It was the sort of attention that, before you knew it, made you want to share your secrets.

Uncertain of how much to share, I hesitated. I sidestepped the question by asking, "What were you like as a kid? This... calm all the time?"

Jack's laugh was rich and deep. "Not even close. I was a skinny kid with excessive energy. Drove my folks crazy."

At the picture, I couldn't help but smile. "Really? I can't imagine that."

His smile widened as he replied, "Oh, it's true. Embarrassing pictures exist somewhere to prove it."

Like a startling ray of sunlight through clouds, the sound of my laughter cut through some of the pressure I had been holding. "Someday, you'll have to show me."

His eyes gleamed with laughter as he joked, "Only if you promise to share something embarrassing about yourself."

"All right, all right." I lowered my voice as though I were divulging a huge secret, leaning forward in a conspiratorial way. "I chose to cut my own hair when I was eight years old. Let's just say the result was so awful that my mother took me to church to pray for my bad judgment instead of taking me to a spa."

Jack's laughter was deep and real as it rolled out. "That's incredible. Was it successful?"

I jokingly ran a self-deprecating hand through my hair and said, "Obviously not."

The tone softened and became more reflective as the laughter faded. Jack cocked his head a little, his eyes growing interested. "How was your mother?"

I was unprepared for the question, which hit a sensitive point I wasn't sure I wanted to examine. After a long pause, I said, "She was difficult. Distant but loving. She suffered, but she always wanted the best for me."

Jack nodded, his face thoughtful. "That must have been difficult."

"It was," I admitted, the words tinged with regret. "But it strengthened me. Too independent, perhaps. I sometimes wonder if I pushed people away out of fear they'd leave first."

Jack took a while to respond, letting my words linger. At last, he spoke in a strong yet calm voice. "You know, you don't have to do that anymore. Drive people away."

With the steam curling like whispers of things unsaid, I looked down at my coffee. "It's not that simple."

"No," he agreed. "But it's worthwhile."

His tone was so serious it made my chest ache. For a brief moment, the loneliness, the uncertainty, and the brittle hope all seemed to lessen as I looked up at him. "Jack, you're a good person."

"I try," he responded plainly, keeping a steady gaze. "And, believe it or not, Emily, you are too."

The words hung in the air, adding a warmth I hadn't known I needed to the space between us. It was tempting to give in to it, to let the barriers I had so carefully built crumble further. But I was afraid of the weakness. It has always been a fear.

I said, "Thank you," in a voice that was almost too quiet to hear.

Jack's hand barely brushed mine as he reached across the table. It was a simple gesture, but it expressed a depth of understanding that words couldn't capture. I didn't pull away.

Something unsaid but deeply felt filled the moment as it stretched. A blend of praise and something more made my heart race. Whether it was the peaceful closeness of the morning or the residual feelings from the previous night, I couldn't help but feel as though I was being pulled steadily closer to him.

Jack made a subtle but conscious movement. To break the strain without making it awkward, he slightly withdrew. His tone was light, but his eyes searched mine as if to gauge my reaction. "I should get ready for work," he said.

"All right," I murmured quickly, leaning back and averting my gaze. "Obviously."

He got up and grabbed his jacket from behind a chair. He said kindly, "You're welcome to stay as long as you need to. Make yourself at home."

"Thank you, Jack." I forced a small grin, but my mind was anything but calm. The warmth of his touch lingered on my skin as I sat there, looking at the mug in my hands after he left the room.

Without him, the house seemed quieter and more empty. Yet the echoes of our talk persisted, filling the room with an odd sense of comfort. I didn't feel completely alone for the first time in a long time. But that feeling offered more questions than I was ready to answer.