Jennifer’s POV
The cottage looked the same as always when we reached it, squatting against the forest’s edge with its mossy roof and smoke-dark chimney, but I swear something felt different. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was the jacket wrapped tight around my shoulders, the steady thrum of warmth that wasn’t mine.
I slipped off my boots by the door, trying not to look at him too much. If I let myself think about what just happened—about him silently offering me comfort, protection, warmth—I’d unravel.
Jack carried the bucket with the fish inside, setting it on the counter. Without a word, he grabbed a knife and began gutting them, movements efficient, precise, like he’d done it a hundred times. Maybe a thousand.
I stood there for a second, arms crossed, his jacket still draped over me. Th
