Page 16 of The Only Road Back

BETH

I walk into the kitchen of Jack’s house—our house now. The thought still sneaks up on me. It doesn’t feel wrong. Just new.

And for the first time, new doesn’t scare me.

Jack leans back against the counter, coffee mug in hand, eyes tracking me with lazy affection. “You’re staring.”

He’s in blue jeans and a plain white shirt, and somehow, he’s never looked more irresistible.

I smirk. “Maybe I like what I see.”

He grins. “Yeah?”

Setting his mug down, he crosses the room effortlessly and slips his hands around my waist, tugging me close. “Because I like what I see, too.”

Heat stirs low in my stomach as he lowers his head and kisses me, slow and certain, like he has all the time in the world. My fingers find the hem of his shirt, anchoring me as everything else fades.

When he finally pulls back, he stays close, resting his forehead against mine. “You happy?”

I nod, my breath catching. “Yes. Very.”

He studies me for a beat and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, smiling gently. “Good.”

We stay like that a little longer, wrapped in the soft hush of morning and the kind of closeness that doesn’t need words. Then he eases back with a sigh.

“I gotta get to the garage before Henry explodes again.”

I laugh. “He explodes at least once a day.”

“Yeah, but I’d prefer not to light the fuse.” He grabs his keys, pauses at the door, and turns back for one last look. “See you in a bit?”

“I’ll be there.”

The door shuts behind him, and I exhale, leaning on the counter.

I wasn’t exaggerating. I really am happy.

***

An hour later, I make my way to the garage. I could have gone in earlier, but I wanted to give Jack a head start. And honestly, I was enjoying the quiet contentment of the morning too much to rush it.

When I walk in, Jack and Henry are half-swallowed under a lifted truck, voices raised over the hum of tools and exhaust fans.

Henry rolls out and stands, wiping his hands with a rag. “Well, well. Look who’s finally clocked in.”

“I wanted to see if he’d get any work done without me here to supervise.”

He barks a laugh. “Bless you for that. He’s been worthless since you moved in.”

Jack shoves out from beneath the truck and shoots him a look. “You’re hilarious.”

He comes over and kisses my forehead, grease-smudged hands careful not to touch anything else. “You here to work or distract me?”

“Both.”

He grins. “Thought so.”

I leave them at the bay and head to the back office. It’s just as bad as I remembered—receipt piles, scattered invoices, accounts that don’t add up. Jack and Henry might be wizards under the hood, but this? Chaos.

I roll up my sleeves and dig in.

By noon, the numbers are starting to make sense. Shocking, really.

“You know,” I call out to Jack as he walks by the office, “you’re actually making a profit.”

He leans on the doorframe. “That a dig?”

“More like a miracle.”

Henry passes behind him and hollers, “Told you we needed her!”

Jack flashes a crooked smile. “Yeah. You did.”

Then something shifts in his eyes, something warm, a little stunned, like he still can’t quite believe we’re here. That I’m here.

Henry grabs his jacket. “All right, lovebirds. I’m getting lunch. Try not to turn my office into your make-out lounge.”

I roll my eyes. Jack raises an eyebrow. “Think he’d really be mad?”

“Only if we left evidence.”

His laugh lines crinkle as he steps deeper into the office, arms sliding around my waist. “I love hearing you talk like that.”

My toes curl in my shoes. I look at him and whisper, “And I love you.”

It’s the first time I’ve said it that way—casual, certain, no hiding.

He doesn’t say anything right away. He just hugs me tighter, resting his chin lightly on my head.

And in that moment, I know the silence is full of everything we mean.

***

That night, we make pasta and garlic bread, bumping hips in the kitchen like a couple in a romantic comedy. Jack stands behind me while I stir the sauce, arms draped lazily around my waist, lips brushing my neck.

“You keep cooking like this,” he murmurs, “and I might have to marry you.”

I freeze mid-stir.

He straightens behind me as the air shifts. “Beth—”

I turn to face him, playful but steady. “You thinking of proposing over spaghetti?”

His shoulders lower slightly. “Would that be so bad?”

I laugh, the tension melting as fast as it appeared. “Only if you think carbs are romantic.”

His smile shifts to softer, more serious. “I’m not kidding. I want this. I want you.”

My throat tightens. “Jack…”

He steps forward and cradles my face. “I won’t rush you. When you’re ready, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

My eyes sting. I nod. “Okay.”

He kisses me, tender and sure, and that’s when I know. We’re not just playing house.

This is it.

Later, curled on the couch with a movie we’re not really watching, he holds me close. I press my cheek to his chest and whisper, “I love you.”

His arms wrap tighter around me. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

And for once, love doesn’t feel like a risk.

It feels like home.