Jennifer’s POV
The storm rattled harder against the windows as I pulled the blankets from the small cupboard in the corner. My hands lingered on the fabric longer than necessary, smoothing over the worn edges just to give myself something to focus on.
Behind me, I could hear him. The clink of dishes, the rush of water from the sink. Jack was washing the bowls.
Of course he was.
I wanted to tell him he didn’t need to, that I could handle it, but I stopped myself. He wouldn’t listen anyway. He was always like that—doing instead of saying, acting instead of explaining. It was his language. Quiet, but firm.
When I turned, he was there at the sink, sleeves rolled, shoulders tense beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. His hair was damp again from the earlier disaster with the shower, drople
