CLAIRE

NEXT DAY

The garlic sizzled in the pan as Julian added vegetables, the smell filling our kitchen.

"Hand me the salt," he said, focused on his cooking.

I passed it over, watching him work with the easy confidence of someone who'd done this a thousand times.

Music played softly in the background, some jazz instrumental I didn't recognize. "Your mother taught you to cook?" I asked, leaning against the counter.

"She said a man who can't feed himself is helpless," Julian replied, stirring the pan.

"Smart woman," I observed.

"She was," Julian agreed, his voice soft with memory.

We plated the food and sat at the dining table, comfortable...