Jennifer’s POV
The kitchen smelled like burnt sugar and half-cleaned mess, the kind of chaos that should have left me laughing still. But the laughter had died too quickly, replaced with silence that pressed against my ribs like a stone.
I wiped batter off the counter, off my arm, off my cheek, pretending I wasn’t replaying every second in my head. The way his hand had caught mine—firm, sure, grounding. The way his thumb had brushed my skin before he’d pulled back as if he’d touched fire.
And me. I’d stood there frozen, staring at him with wide eyes like a fool.
Now, I could barely look at him. Jack moved around the kitchen with that same brooding weight he always carried, scrubbing as though the counter had offended him. The silence stretched, and I hated it. Hated how small it made m
