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“Mia,” he says quietly. “It’s you.”

Before he can say anything more, I turn around and race toward the garage, fighting back tears. Of all the things I want to see in Jack’s eyes, pity isn’t one of them. I wish I came in my car, but I took an Uber down here because my car was over at my parents’ house.

I’m about to take another step when I feel a hand on my arm. Jack pulls me back gently, and my heart leaps into my throat.

“Mia, stop,” Jack says, his voice low and steady. “Why are you running?”

I try to shake his hand off, feeling the rush of frustration bubbling up. “I’m fine. I just—just need some space,” I say quickly, my words a little too sharp.

Jack doesn’t let go. He stands there, his grip firm but not threatening. “Are you all right?”

“Stop, okay?” I push him away. “I don’t need your pity.”

“What?” He frowns. “Mia, I don’t pity you.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I look up at him, startled. “I don’t pity you,” he repeats, his voice softer now, more sincere. “I admire you. I admire how strong you’ve been and how strong you still are.”

I freeze, looking up at him. His eyes—those deep, intense eyes—are searching mine, and for the first time, I see something real. He isn’t lying. He’s not just saying this to make me feel better or because he thinks it’s what I want to hear. There’s no pity in his gaze. Just admiration. Respect.

The wall I’ve spent years building around myself starts to crumble, brick by brick. I can feel the walls inside me crack, and I hate it. But at the same time, I can’t stop the warmth spreading through my chest, the tingling sensation that sweeps over me as his words sink in.

Jack’s still holding my arm, and I don’t pull away. Instead, I let him hold me there, standing in the dim light of the garage, caught between the weight of everything unsaid and the sudden vulnerability I’m feeling.

“You’re strong.” His voice is impossibly softer, and it does funny things to me. “You experienced a terrible ordeal, and no one would blame you if you didn’t want to come back, but you comeback for these kids. It’s way more than some mothers would do for their kids. You’re an angel, Mia. You?—”

Without thinking, I reach up, my hands brushing the side of his face. I look at him for a moment longer, my heart racing, and then, before I can stop myself, I close the distance between us.

I kiss him.

It’s not gentle. It’s not slow. It’s a kiss that’s as much about need as it is about something more—something deeper that I can’t even begin to explain. His lips are soft against mine, and for the first time in a long while, I feel something. Something real.

Jack pulls me closer, his hands finding their way to my waist, pressing me against him, and the kiss deepens. It’s everything I didn’t know I needed. His warmth, his presence, his sincerity. I want to pull away, to stop this, but I can’t. I don’t want to.

JACK

I’m still trying to wrap my head around what just happened. One moment, Mia’s looking at me like she’s trying to figure me out, the next, her lips are on mine, and I’m kissing her back just as desperately, just as fervently. It’s not just a kiss. It’s more like something I’ve been holding back for too long, like I’ve been fighting it all this time, and now that it’s finally happening, I can’t stop.

Her lips are soft, urgent against mine, and for a few seconds, everything else falls away. It’s just her. Just the feel of her body against mine, her hands in my hair, her breath mingling with mine. She tastes like something I haven’t had in a long time—real, raw, unfiltered.

I pull her closer, not wanting to let go, not ready to face the reality of whatever this is.

But then, just as quickly as it started, Mia pulls back. I don’t understand why. I’m just getting started. My mind’s still racing, my heart thumping erratically in my chest. I’m still so caught up in it all, in the kiss, in her, that I can’t fully process the space between us.

Mia takes a shaky breath, avoiding my gaze. “I’m sorry,” she mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

I blink, thrown off by her words. Sorry? She’s apologizing for kissing me?

I take a step forward, stopping her retreat. “Mia, don’t—don’t apologize,” I say, my voice hoarse. “That… that wasn’t something you have to apologize for.”

I try to hold her again, but she skirts away from me, giving me a wide berth.

“I’m sorry,” Mia repeats, her voice steady. The passion is gone from her eyes, replaced by the headstrongness that frustrates me.

She wraps her arms around herself, almost as if to shield herself from me. “But this—what just happened—it can’t happen again. What we have is strictly professional. And that’s where it needs to stay.”

I blink, processing what she’s saying, and the weight of it settles heavily in my chest. It’s like everything between us just deflated, as if we’ve both been holding our breath and now I’m gasping for air.

I want to argue, to tell her that I don’t want things to be just professional, that I don’t care about that line we’re supposed to be walking. But her eyes, the way she’s holding herself so tightly, makes me realize she’s setting hard boundaries.