If you don't terrify people, what's the point.

Jack woke to the smell of coffee.

For a second, he did not move.

The room was unfamiliar in the softest possible way. Pale morning light slipped through the curtains, catching on the stack of books on your nightstand, the sweatshirt thrown over the chair, the glass of water you had left beside the bed before crawling under the covers with him.

Your side of the bed was empty.

Still warm, but empty.

Jack blinked at the ceiling, disoriented in a way he did not like and rested in a way he did not trust.

He had slept.

Actually slept.

Not the kind of sleep he stole in pieces between shifts, half-aware of every sound and shadow. Not the kind that broke apart every time a car passed outside or the heat clicked on or his own body remembered something his mind had tried to leave alone.

He had slept.

In your bed.

With his arm around you and your hand resting over his chest.

Jack exhaled slowly through his nose and turned his head toward the bedroom door.

From somewhere down the hall, something clinked softly. A cabinet, maybe. Then the quiet scrape of a pan against the stove.

His brows drew together.

You were cooking.

Jack sat up carefully, the sheet falling to his waist. His prosthetic was exactly where he had left it, within reach beside the bed. His clothes were still folded over the chair because apparently, even half-asleep in your apartment after a night that had gotten wildly out of hand, some habits did not leave him alone.

He reached for his prosthetic, then paused.

The apartment was quiet except for the small sounds of you moving around in the kitchen.

Coffee.

A pan.

Your bare feet against the floor.

Jack’s chest tightened before he could stop it.

He was not used to waking up inside someone else’s morning.

He was not used to wanting to stay there.

You were standing at the stove in sleep shorts and an oversized shirt, your hair still messy from sleep, one hip leaned against the counter while you watched a pancake bubble in the pan.

Jack stopped in the kitchen doorway.

For one quiet second, he let himself look.

The lamp in the living room was off now. Morning had found your apartment and made it softer, warmer, more real. The bookshelves, the blankets, the plates from last night already rinsed and stacked beside the sink. The baking sheet was clean too, propped carefully in the drying rack, because apparently you had gotten up and decided to become functional before him.

That bothered him.

Not because you had cleaned.

Because he had slept through it.

You glanced over your shoulder and froze with the spatula in your hand.

“Oh,” you said.

Jack leaned one shoulder against the doorway. “Morning.”

Your eyes moved over him before you could stop them.

Undershirt. Boxer briefs. Prosthetic on. Hair slightly mussed from your pillow. Face softer with sleep in a way that made your stomach do something embarrassing before nine in the morning.

You looked back at the pan. “Morning.”

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “You’re cooking.”

“I am,” you said.

His eyes dropped to the pancake in the pan. “Looks serious.”

You pointed the spatula at him. “Do not come into my kitchen and act surprised that I can make pancakes.”

Jack stepped closer. “Didn’t say I was surprised.”

“Your face implied it,” you said.

“My face gets accused of a lot in this apartment,” Jack said.

“For good reason,” you said.

His mouth curved faintly.

You slid the spatula beneath the pancake, flipped it cleanly, and tried very hard not to look proud of yourself.

Jack noticed anyway.

“That was good,” he said.

You looked over at him. “The flip?”

“The flip,” Jack said.

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No,” Jack said, and there was something so straightforward in his voice that you believed him before you meant to. “I’m impressed.”

Your face warmed.

“That is worse,” you said.

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “How?”

You sighed. “Because now I have to be humble.”

“You don’t have to,” Jack said.

You turned back to the stove. “Good, because I wasn’t going to.”

Jack huffed softly, almost a laugh, and the sound slipped into the quiet kitchen like it belonged there.

You reached for the mug beside the coffee pot. “Coffee?”

Jack’s gaze moved to the pot. “You made coffee.”

“I did,” you said. “How do you take it?”

“Black,” Jack said.

You paused, then gave him a look over your shoulder. “Of course.”

His mouth barely moved. “Of course?”

You nodded. “You look like a man who drinks coffee like it’s a responsibility.”

“It is a responsibility,” Jack said.

You poured the coffee and held it out to him. “That is such a concerning answer.”

His fingers brushed yours when he took the mug.

“Thank you,” Jack said.

It was simple. Quiet. Too sincere for something as small as coffee.

Your chest tightened anyway.

“You’re welcome,” you said.

He looked down into the mug, then back at you. “How long have you been up?”

You turned back to the stove too quickly. “Not that long.”

Jack’s eyes moved to the rinsed plates by the sink, the clean baking sheet in the drying rack, the stack of pancakes already waiting on a plate beside the stove.

“Try again,” he said.

You flipped another pancake. “Maybe forty minutes.”

Jack was quiet.

Too quiet.

You looked over at him.

His expression had shifted, not much, but enough. The amusement was still there at the edges, but something else sat under it now.

“You didn’t wake me,” he said.

You swallowed.

“You were sleeping,” you said.

Jack’s eyes stayed on yours.

“I slept,” he said.

The words were simple, but they landed heavily in your small kitchen.

Your hand tightened around the spatula. “Yeah.”

“I don’t usually,” Jack said.

You looked at him over your shoulder, the morning light soft across his face, the mug warm in his hand.

“I figured,” you said.

Jack did not look away.

You turned back to the stove, because holding his gaze suddenly felt like holding something fragile with both hands. “So I let you.”

For a second, the only sound was the quiet hiss of the pancake in the pan.

Then Jack said, “Thank you.”

Your throat went tight, so of course you reached for the plate beside you and pretended pancakes required your full emotional focus.

“You can thank me by admitting these look good,” you said.

Jack looked at the stack on the plate.

“They look good,” he said.

You glanced at him, suspicious. “That was very easy.”

His mouth softened. “They do.”

That was unfair.

You turned back to the stove before your face could do something humiliating. “Good. Because breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

Jack took a sip of coffee and leaned back against your counter like he had done it a hundred times, like your kitchen had made room for him overnight and he had simply accepted the invitation.

“That so?” he asked.

You slid the finished pancake onto the plate. “Yes. You’re a doctor. You should know that.”

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “I do know that.”

“Then stop looking amused by my commitment to your nutritional wellbeing,” you said.

His eyes stayed on you over the rim of his coffee mug. “Is that what this is?”

You looked over your shoulder. “Obviously.”

Jack set the mug down.

The small sound of ceramic against the counter made your stomach dip before he even moved.

He stepped closer, slow enough that you had plenty of time to pretend you did not notice.

You noticed anyway.

You noticed the warmth of him at your back, the clean scent of your soap still clinging faintly to his skin, the quiet weight of his attention settling over you in the morning light.

Your hand tightened around the spatula.

“Jack,” you said.

His hand touched your waist. “What?”

You swallowed. “I’m making pancakes.”

“I see that,” Jack said.

His mouth brushed the side of your neck, barely there.

Your eyes closed for half a second.

The pancake hissed softly in the pan.

“You’re distracting me,” you said.

Jack’s thumb moved once at your waist. “I know.”

Your breath caught.

You forced your eyes open and looked down at the pan. “This is how breakfast gets ruined.”

Jack’s mouth moved along the side of your throat, slow and warm and unfairly gentle. “Looks done.”

You looked down.

The pancake was, infuriatingly, perfect.

You slid it onto the plate with more force than necessary. “You are very annoying.”

Jack’s mouth curved against your skin. “I’ve heard.”

You turned in the small space between him and the counter, spatula still in one hand, your back pressing lightly against the edge. Jack did not crowd you. Not really. He just stood close enough that the entire kitchen seemed to understand something you were still trying very hard not to say out loud.

His hand stayed at your waist.

You lifted the spatula slightly between you. “Fine.”

Jack’s eyes moved over your face. “Fine?”

“You can kiss me once,” you said.

His mouth barely moved.

“Once,” Jack repeated.

You nodded, trying very hard to look unaffected. “Once. And then pancakes.”

Jack looked at you for a second.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth.

“Just once?” he asked.

Your stomach dipped.

“Yes,” you said. “Just once.”

Jack’s thumb moved slowly at your waist. “Okay.”

That was the only warning you got.

He leaned in and kissed you.

Softly, at first.

So softly it almost made you feel ridiculous for bracing yourself.

His mouth brushed yours once, warm and careful, coffee on his breath and sleep still in the roughness of his jaw. Your hand tightened around the spatula, and Jack noticed because, of course, he did.

His other hand came to the counter beside you, not trapping you, not really, but giving the kiss somewhere to deepen when he tilted his head and kissed you again.

Still gentle.

Still devastating.

Your knees went a little weak.

Jack’s hand tightened at your waist like he felt it happen.

You made a small sound against his mouth before you could stop yourself, and the kiss changed. Not harder exactly. Deeper. Slower. Like he had all the time in the world to ruin you and no interest in rushing through any of it.

The spatula lowered uselessly to your side.

Jack’s mouth moved over yours with careful pressure, warm and unhurried, his thumb pressing once into your waist as if to remind you he had you.

And he did.

That was the problem.

He had you in your kitchen, in your sleep shorts, with pancakes cooling on a plate beside you and morning light slipping across the counter, and somehow that felt more dangerous than the back seat of his truck.

When he finally pulled back, your eyes stayed closed for half a second too long.

Jack’s forehead hovered close to yours.

You opened your eyes.

His were already on you.

Your voice came out embarrassingly thin. “That was more than once.”

Jack’s mouth barely curved. “No.”

You blinked. “No?”

“One kiss,” he said.

You stared at him, still trying to remember how knees worked. “That was a criminal interpretation of one kiss.”

His thumb moved once at your waist. “You didn’t specify duration.”

Your mouth fell open.

Jack looked far too pleased with himself.

“You’re impossible,” you said.

“You’re still holding the spatula,” Jack said.

You looked down.

You were, in fact, still holding the spatula.

You lifted it between you. “This is the only thing keeping breakfast together.”

Jack glanced at the plate beside you. “Pancakes are getting cold.”

You stared at him.

Then you laughed, soft and helpless, because of course he would kiss you like that and then remind you about pancakes.

Jack’s expression warmed.

You pointed toward the tiny table. “Sit down before you become a hazard.”

He picked up his mug, still looking at you. “Too late.”

Your stomach dipped.

You turned back to the stove, smiling despite yourself. “Extremely too late.”

Breakfast was unfairly domestic.

That was the only word for it.

You sat at your tiny kitchen table with your knees tucked beneath you, watching Jack Abbot eat pancakes in your apartment like it was a normal thing. Like men who had fucked you in the back seat of their truck and slept in your bed always sat in your kitchen the next morning with coffee in one hand and syrup on the side of their plate.

Jack took another bite, and you tried not to stare.

He noticed anyway.

“What?” he asked.

You lifted your brows. “Nothing.”

Jack looked down at his plate, then back at you. “They’re good.”

Your chest did something stupid.

You reached for your coffee. “I know.”

His mouth barely moved. “No humility?”

“I told you I wasn’t doing that,” you said.

Jack huffed softly, and there it was again, that almost-laugh that made your kitchen feel warmer than it already was.

He took another bite.

You watched him for half a second too long before you looked away.

“Stop looking surprised,” you said.

Jack swallowed another bite of pancake and reached for his coffee. “I’m not surprised.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You have a face.”

His mouth barely moved against the rim of the mug. “I’ve heard.”

You pointed your fork at him. “You’re making it.”

His eyes stayed on yours, softer now. “I like seeing you like this.”

Your fingers tightened around your mug.

You looked down quickly. “Making pancakes?”

“At home,” Jack said.

The words landed quietly.

You did not know what to do with them, so you took a sip of coffee and burned your tongue a little.

His mouth curved faintly. “Careful.”

You set the mug down and pointed at him. “Do not be charming before I have finished my coffee.”

Jack leaned back in the chair. “Wasn’t trying.”

“That’s the problem,” you said.

His eyes warmed.

Neither of you said anything for a moment. The morning moved around you, soft and ordinary, and somehow that made it feel more dangerous than anything that had happened the night before.

Jack’s phone buzzed on the table.

The sound cut through the quiet hard enough that both of you looked down.

Jack glanced at the screen, and something in his face shifted.

Not alarm.

Obligation.

You took another sip of coffee, trying not to feel the small drop in your stomach. “Everything okay?”

Jack set his fork down. “Yeah.”

You watched him look at the screen again. “That was not a convincing yeah.”

His mouth barely moved. “I have a meeting at the VA.”

“Oh,” you said.

The word came out smaller than you meant it to.

Jack’s eyes came back to yours immediately. “Not yet.”

You lifted your brows. “No?”

“Later this morning,” Jack said. “But I need to go home and change first.”

You nodded because that was normal. Adults had meetings. Adults went home to shower and change. Adults did not attach emotional significance to a man finishing pancakes and then leaving because he had an actual life outside of the soft little kitchen he had accidentally slept his way into.

You were very bad at being an adult before you finished your coffee.

“Okay,” you said.

Jack watched you for a second too long. “That wasn’t a dismissal.”

You looked up. “What?”

“The meeting,” Jack said. “That wasn’t me trying to leave.”

Your chest tightened.

You forced a small smile. “I know.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he could hear the part of that answer that had been automatic.

You sighed and set your mug down. “I do know. I just—”

You stopped.

Jack waited.

You looked toward the kitchen window, where morning light was catching on the edge of the sink. “It’s weird.”

“What is?” Jack asked.

You looked back at him. “Having you here.”

His expression softened by half a degree.

You swallowed. “And then having you leave.”

Jack went still.

The words sat between you, too honest for breakfast, too soft to take back.

You reached for your fork like pancakes could rescue you from emotional exposure. “Which is ridiculous, because you have a meeting and I have dishes and probably a life somewhere around here.”

Jack did not smile.

He looked at you across the tiny table, tired and warm and serious enough that your heart did something stupid.

“I’m not disappearing,” he said.

Your hand stilled around the fork.

You looked up. “I didn’t say you were.”

“No,” Jack said. “But you thought it.”

Your throat tightened.

You looked down at your coffee. “That is incredibly rude of you to notice.”

His mouth barely moved. “I notice things.”

“You should consider stopping,” you said.

“No,” Jack said.

Your eyes lifted to his.

His gaze stayed steady on yours. “I’ll call you.”

The words landed harder than they should have.

You nodded once. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” Jack said.

Your chest warmed.

You tried to make your voice normal. “I know.”

This time, you almost did.

By the time he stood near your front door, fully dressed again, coffee finished, his hair slightly less wrecked from your pillow, your apartment felt different around him.

Not less intimate in the daylight.

More.

You stood a few feet away, arms loosely crossed over your chest, trying very hard to look normal about the fact that Jack Abbot had just slept in your bed, eaten your pancakes, and was now leaving, with the promise of a phone call hanging between you.

Jack looked at you. “I’ll call you.”

Your mouth curved faintly. “You said that.”

“I’m saying it again,” Jack said.

Your chest warmed.

You looked away first, toward the very interesting wall beside your door. “Very repetitive of you.”

“Important information,” Jack said.

Your eyes came back to his.

He stepped closer.

You forgot how to breathe.

Jack’s hand came to your waist, gentle and warm, and he kissed you once. Slow. Morning-soft. Nothing like the truck, and somehow almost more dangerous.

When he pulled back, his mouth stayed close to yours.

“I’ll call,” he said.

Your fingers curled lightly against his shirt. “Okay.”

Jack’s thumb moved once at your waist. “You okay?”

You smiled despite yourself. “You keep asking me that.”

His eyes moved over your face. “You keep looking like you’re thinking too much.”

You looked down at his shirt, smoothing a wrinkle that did not need smoothing. “I am thinking a normal amount.”

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “No, you’re not.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You are very irritating for a man who slept in my bed and ate my pancakes.”

“They were good pancakes,” Jack said.

Your smile betrayed you immediately.

His hand tightened once at your waist before he let go.

You tried to recover some dignity and failed. “Go home and shower before you’re late.”

Jack opened the door, then looked back at you.

“Goodbye, Trouble,” he said.

Your chest warmed.

You leaned against the doorframe and tried not to look as affected as you felt. “Goodbye, Jack.”

Then he left.

You shut the door behind him and stood there for three full seconds, staring at the wood like it had answers.

He said he would call.

Your apartment was quiet around you, still warm from coffee, pancakes, and him.

Then you grabbed your phone.

You called Liv before you could talk yourself out of it.

Outside in the parking lot, Jack made it all the way to his truck before he pulled out his phone and called Robby.

Across town, in Liv’s bed, two phones started ringing at the same time.

Liv lifted her head from the pillow. “No.”

Beside her, Robby opened one eye. “Yours or mine?”

Liv squinted toward her nightstand. “Mine.”

Robby’s phone buzzed again from the floor beside his jeans.

He looked over the edge of the bed. “Mine too.”

Liv froze.

Robby froze.

They looked at each other.

Both phones rang again.

Liv sat up too fast, dragging the sheet with her. “Oh my god.”

Robby reached for his phone. “Don’t panic.”

“I am not panicking,” Liv said, already panicking.

Robby glanced at his screen. “It’s Jack.”

Liv looked down at hers. “It’s her.”

For one perfect second, neither of them moved.

Then Robby answered his phone, voice rough with sleep. “There better be a good reason for calling me before nine on my day off.”

Liv slapped his arm before answering hers with a bright, breathless, “Good morning.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why do you sound like that?”

Liv closed her eyes. “Like what?”

“Like you’re hiding evidence,” you said.

Liv looked down at the sheet clutched to her chest, then at Robby beside her.

“That is so hurtful,” Liv said.

On Robby’s phone, Jack paused with his hand on the steering wheel.

“I need to ask you something,” Jack said.

Robby looked at Liv.

Liv’s eyes widened.

Robby covered the phone with one hand. “He needs to ask me something.”

Liv covered hers. “She sounds insane.”

Robby looked at her. “So do you.”

Liv whispered, “Not the point.”

You sat on the edge of your bed, still in your sleep shirt, staring at the wall across from you like it might hold you upright.

“Liv,” you said.

Liv uncovered her phone. “Yes. Hi. I’m here. Emotionally present. Deeply normal.”

You exhaled. “Jack just left.”

Liv went still.

Across the bed, Robby heard her silence and sat up a little straighter.

At almost the exact same time, Jack said, “I just left her apartment.”

Robby’s brows lifted.

Liv’s mouth opened.

Robby and Liv stared at each other.

You pressed your fingers to your forehead. “He stayed over.”

Jack looked down at his keys in the cupholder. “I stayed over.”

Liv made a small sound.

You frowned. “Liv?”

Liv pressed a hand over her mouth.

Robby mouthed, Stayed over?

Liv nodded quickly.

On his phone, Robby cleared his throat. “You stayed over.”

Jack exhaled through his nose. “Yes.”

“At her apartment,” Robby said.

“Yes,” Jack said.

Robby glanced at Liv, who was listening to you with her entire face. “After the bar.”

Jack’s jaw flexed. “Yes.”

On your phone, Liv’s voice dropped. “Okay. Start from the bar.”

You stood from the bed because sitting still felt impossible. “We left.”

Liv pulled the sheet higher. “Okay.”

You started pacing. “And then we kind of…”

Liv sat up straighter. “Kind of what?”

You closed your eyes. “Fucked.”

Liv went silent.

Across the bed, Robby watched her face change.

Then Jack said into Robby’s ear, “We fucked.”

Robby’s eyebrows rose.

Liv and Robby locked eyes.

Liv mouthed, Fucked.

Robby mouthed back, Fucked.

You pressed a hand over your face. “In the back seat of his truck.”

Jack stared through the windshield. “In the back seat of my truck.”

Robby froze.

Liv froze.

Then Liv mouthed, Truck?

Robby mouthed back, Truck.

Liv covered her mouth again.

Robby looked delighted.

You heard Liv trying to breathe normally. “Liv.”

Liv’s voice came out too high. “I’m being normal.”

“You are not being normal,” you said.

“I am being very normal for the information I have received,” Liv said.

On the other call, Jack heard Robby inhale.

“Don’t,” Jack said.

Robby rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You breathed,” Jack said.

“That is involuntary,” Robby said.

Jack closed his eyes for a second. “This is why I almost didn’t call you.”

Robby glanced at Liv. “And yet.”

You stopped pacing near the foot of your bed. “Then I invited him back here.”

Liv’s expression changed.

At the exact same time, Jack said, quieter now, “She invited me back to her apartment.”

Robby’s amusement softened.

Liv’s did too.

They looked at each other across the bed, and for once, neither of them made a joke.

Because that was different. That was not the truck. That was after. That was wanting the night not to end.

Liv’s voice gentled. “Oh.”

You looked down. “Yeah.”

Robby’s voice lowered too. “Okay.”

Jack stared at the apartment building through his windshield. “Yeah.”

You rubbed your forehead. “We made frozen pizza.”

Jack leaned back against his seat. “We made frozen pizza.”

Liv blinked.

Across the bed, Robby blinked too.

Liv’s eyes softened. “That’s actually really cute.”

You groaned. “Don’t.”

“It is,” Liv said.

“It was frozen pizza,” you said.

“That’s why,” Liv said.

On the other call, Robby cleared his throat. “You made pizza.”

Jack’s jaw shifted. “She was hungry.”

Robby looked over at Liv.

Liv was clutching her phone with both hands, eyes soft and bright.

Robby looked away before his own face could do anything embarrassing.

“Right,” Robby said.

You sat back down on the edge of your bed. “And then we watched a movie.”

Liv waited.

You twisted the hem of your shirt between your fingers. “Kind of.”

“Kind of?” Liv asked.

“We mostly talked,” you said.

Liv’s face softened again. “Yeah?”

You looked toward the hallway, toward the kitchen where his empty mug was still sitting near the sink. “Yeah.”

On the other call, Jack stared down at the steering wheel. “We talked.”

Robby did not interrupt.

Jack cleared his throat. “On the couch. For a while.”

Robby’s voice was quieter now. “Okay.”

Jack’s hand tightened slightly around the phone. “Then we fell asleep.”

Robby’s brows lifted, but he kept his voice even. “On the couch?”

“For a while,” Jack said.

You swallowed and looked down at your lap. “Then we woke up and went to bed.”

Liv was quiet.

You rushed on before she could make that face you could feel through the phone. “We slept, Liv. That’s it.”

Liv’s voice softened. “I know.”

You closed your eyes. “It felt worse.”

Liv went still. “Worse?”

You opened your eyes and looked toward your bedroom doorway. “Not bad worse. Just… more.”

Liv’s expression softened completely. “Yeah.”

On the other call, Robby leaned back against the headboard. “And then?”

Jack looked toward your building again. “We went to bed.”

Robby waited.

Jack’s voice was rougher when he added, “We slept.”

Robby’s expression shifted.

There was a long pause.

Then Robby said, “You slept.”

Jack’s jaw flexed. “Yes.”

“Like actually slept,” Robby said.

Jack looked down. “Yeah.”

Robby did not tease him.

That was worse.

Jack rubbed his thumb along the edge of his phone. “She made pancakes this morning.”

Robby looked over at Liv.

Liv was listening to you with her mouth slightly open.

On your phone, you let out a nervous laugh. “And then I made pancakes this morning.”

Liv’s voice softened. “Pancakes?”

You looked toward the kitchen. “Yes.”

Liv pressed her lips together for a second. “I’m processing.”

You looked down at your knees. “He ate them.”

Liv’s smile softened. “Of course he did.”

Across the bed, Robby watched Liv’s face change and looked away before his own could do anything embarrassing.

Then Robby asked, “And now you’re calling me because?”

Jack looked at the steering wheel.

Because he had fucked you in his truck and then slept in your bed. Because you had made him coffee. Because you had let him sleep. Because he had told himself you were supposed to be a one-night stand, a bad decision, something hot and temporary and easy to walk away from.

Because none of this felt easy.

Jack cleared his throat. “I told her I’d call.”

Robby waited.

Jack stared through the windshield. “About the date.”

Robby’s brows lifted. “The date.”

“The dinner,” Jack said.

“The official date,” Robby said.

Jack’s mouth flattened. “Don’t say it like that.”

“That’s what it is,” Robby said.

Jack was quiet.

Across the bed, Liv listened as you said, “He said he’d call.”

Liv gentled immediately. “Okay.”

“About the date,” you said.

Liv tucked the sheet tighter around herself. “The date.”

You pressed your hand over your eyes. “Don’t say it like that.”

Liv’s mouth softened. “That is what it is.”

You went quiet.

Robby and Liv looked at each other.

On his phone, Jack exhaled. “Where do I take her?”

Robby sat up a little more. “You’re asking me where to take her?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

Robby heard the edge underneath Jack’s irritation and let the obvious joke die before it reached his mouth.

“Okay,” Robby said. “What’s the real problem?”

Jack’s grip tightened on the phone.

He looked toward your building one more time.

“How do you plan a dinner date for a woman you’ve fucked three times?” Jack asked.

Robby went still.

Jack kept going, lower now. “Someone who was supposed to be a one-night stand. A bad decision.”

Robby did not speak.

Jack swallowed once. “And I keep wanting to see her.”

Across the bed, Robby’s face changed.

Liv saw it and went still too.

On your call, you stood again and paced toward the window. “How am I supposed to not get invested in this?”

Liv’s expression softened. “Oh, babe.”

You laughed once, but it came out thin. “We’ve fucked three times, Liv. Three. My mind has been blown by orgasms, and now we’re going to dinner?”

Liv did not interrupt.

You pressed your palm against your forehead. “How is dinner the thing that’s making me panic?”

Liv’s voice went very gentle. “Because dinner is different.”

You swallowed.

Liv watched Robby from across the bed, his phone pressed to his ear, his expression now serious.

“The truck was heat,” Liv said.

You closed your eyes.

“The apartment was soft,” Liv continued.

Your throat tightened.

“And dinner is hope,” Liv said.

You went silent.

On the other call, Robby looked down at the blanket and then back at Liv.

“What?” Jack asked.

Robby used a softer voice than usual. “You’re asking because you care about getting it right.”

Jack did not answer.

Robby leaned back against the headboard. “That’s already different.”

Jack looked toward your building again. “Yeah.”

Robby waited.

Jack was quiet.

On your phone, you were quiet too.

Liv held still, waiting you out.

Finally, you let out a breath. “Okay.”

Liv’s voice softened. “Okay?”

You rubbed your thumb along the edge of your phone. “I think I’m okay.”

Liv smiled a little. “Yeah?”

“I mean, no,” you said. “Obviously not.”

Liv’s smile widened.

You looked toward the kitchen again. “But I want him to call.”

Liv’s voice went gentle. “Then let him.”

You nodded even though she could not see you. “Yeah.”

Across the bed, Robby said almost the same thing.

“Make the plan,” Robby said.

Jack looked down at your name in his phone. “I said I’d call her.”

“Then call her after the VA,” Robby said. “With a plan.”

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “I will.”

For a moment, both conversations settled.

Liv relaxed back against the pillows.

Robby let his head tip against the headboard.

They looked at each other across the bed with matching relief.

Then you said, “So.”

Liv’s face went blank.

Robby’s eyes narrowed.

You tilted your head, even though Liv could not see you. “How was your night with Robby?”

Liv closed her eyes. “There it is.”

At the exact same time, Jack asked, “What happened after we left?”

Robby exhaled slowly. “And there it is.”

Liv looked at Robby in open panic.

Robby looked back at her.

You waited. “Liv?”

Jack waited too. “Robby.”

Liv sat up straighter, clutching the sheet to her chest. “My night?”

You smiled slowly. “With Robby.”

On his phone, Robby cleared his throat. “After you left?”

Jack’s voice stayed even. “Yeah.”

Robby glanced at Liv.

Liv shook her head.

Robby said, “We had a drink.”

Jack waited.

Robby’s jaw flexed. “Then another drink.”

Jack waited longer.

Robby looked at Liv.

Liv gave him a hard look that clearly said, Don’t you dare.

Robby sighed. “Then we talked.”

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “Talked.”

Robby closed his eyes. “Yes.”

On your call, Liv was doing no better.

“We talked,” Liv said.

You lifted your brows. “You talked.”

Liv nodded firmly, even though you could not see her. “Like adults.”

You stared at the wall. “Olivia.”

Liv dropped her head back against the pillows. “Fine. Some of the talking was horizontal.”

Across the bed, Robby’s eyes opened.

He stared at her.

Jack heard Robby go quiet. “What?”

Robby covered the phone. “Horizontal?”

Liv covered hers. “I panicked.”

Robby gave her a look. “That was your panic answer?”

Liv whispered, “I’m under pressure.”

You were silent for one stunned second.

Then you said, “Horizontal.”

Liv uncovered her phone slowly. “Emotionally.”

You closed your eyes. “That makes less sense.”

“It was a complicated night,” Liv said.

On the other call, Jack’s voice went lower. “Robby.”

Robby looked at Liv.

Liv looked back at him, wide-eyed.

Robby sighed like a man accepting his fate. “I stayed over.”

Jack went silent.

Then he said, very evenly, “You stayed over.”

Robby stared straight ahead. “Yes.”

“At Liv’s,” Jack said.

Robby’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

In your apartment, you sat completely still.

“You slept with Robby,” you said.

Liv pulled the sheet higher. “Yes.”

Your eyes widened, mostly because she had actually answered.

“Oh,” you said.

Liv swallowed. “Yeah.”

Your voice softened. “Are you okay?”

Liv looked at Robby.

Robby’s expression shifted as he watched her face change.

Liv nodded, even though you could not see her. “Yeah.”

You waited.

Liv’s mouth curved, small and reluctant and real. “He’s being good to me.”

Robby’s eyes stayed on hers.

Jack exhaled through his nose, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter than before. “Be careful with her.”

Robby looked down.

The answer came immediately. “I will.”

Jack was silent for a beat.

Then Robby added, dryly, “You too.”

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “Yeah.”

For a second, neither of them said anything.

Robby looked across the bed at Liv, who was still on the phone with you, the sheet tucked under her arm, her hair a mess, her face softer than he expected this early in the morning.

Jack looked through his windshield toward your building.

Then Jack exhaled. “We are too old for this shit.”

Robby’s eyes stayed on Liv.

Robby’s mouth curved, slow and unwilling. “We are.”

Jack looked through his windshield toward your building.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

Then Jack’s mouth barely moved. “Still happening.”

Robby glanced at Liv again.

Her hair was a mess, the sheet tucked under her arm, her voice soft in a way he had not expected this early in the morning.

His smile faded into something smaller.

“Yeah,” Robby said. “It is.”

On your phone, Liv cleared her throat too loudly. “Anyway.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That was suspicious.”

“It was a transition,” Liv said.

“To what?” you asked.

“To the part where we stop discussing my complicated personal life and return to yours,” Liv said.

You laughed softly despite yourself. “Convenient.”

“Necessary,” Liv said. “You called me in crisis. I am crisis managing.”

You looked toward your bedroom window. “I think the crisis is managed.”

Liv’s voice softened. “Yeah?”

You rubbed your thumb along the edge of your phone. “I mean, no. Obviously not.”

Liv huffed a quiet laugh. “Obviously.”

“But I want him to call,” you said.

Liv was quiet for a second.

Then she said, gently, “Then let him.”

You swallowed.

Across town, Robby leaned back against the headboard and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Take her somewhere you can actually talk to her,” Robby said. “No loud bar. No performance. No proving anything.”

Jack listened.

“Dinner,” Robby said. “Dessert. Drive her home. Don’t overcomplicate it.”

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “You make it sound simple.”

“It is simple,” Robby said. “You’re just not.”

Jack huffed once through his nose.

On your phone, Liv shifted under the sheets. “Do not text him first.”

You made a face. “Why?”

“Because he said he would call,” Liv said. “Let him keep his word.”

Your chest tightened.

You looked toward the kitchen again, where his coffee mug still sat beside yours.

“What if I hate how much I want him to?” you asked.

Liv’s voice gentled. “Then you can hate it and still let him.”

You closed your eyes.

That was the worst thing about Liv. Sometimes, under all the chaos, she was right.

“Okay,” you said.

Liv smiled a little. “Okay.”

Across the bed, Robby watched her face soften.

He had not meant to like that face so much.

He had not meant to like any of this so much.

Jack’s voice pulled him back. “You still there?”

Robby looked away from Liv. “Yeah.”

Jack looked through the windshield toward your building one last time. “I’m going to the VA.”

“Then make the reservation after,” Robby said.

Jack’s mouth barely moved. “That the official advice?”

“That’s the official advice,” Robby said.

Jack paused. “And Robby?”

Robby’s brows lifted. “Yeah?”

Jack’s voice lowered. “Don’t make her regret trusting you.”

Robby’s expression sobered.

He looked at Liv again, and this time he did not look away quickly enough.

“I won’t,” Robby said.

Jack heard the difference in his voice.

For once, he let it go.

“Good,” Jack said.

On your phone, Liv took a breath. “You’re okay?”

You looked down at yourself, still in your sleep shirt, still standing in the middle of your bedroom like Jack had left and taken half the air with him.

“No,” you said.

Liv’s face softened.

You smiled faintly. “But I’m okay enough.”

Liv nodded. “That counts.”

You let out a slow breath. “You’re okay?”

Liv looked across the bed.

Robby was watching her now, phone still at his ear, expression quieter than usual.

Her mouth curved despite herself.

“Yeah,” Liv said. “I’m okay enough too.”

You smiled. “That counts.”

Liv laughed softly. “Apparently.”

Robby’s voice came through Jack’s phone again. “Make the reservation before you talk yourself out of it.”

Jack’s jaw flexed. “I’m not going to talk myself out of it.”

“You called me before nine in the morning,” Robby said. “You were absolutely considering it.”

Jack’s mouth flattened. “Goodbye, Robby.”

Robby smiled. “Goodbye, Jack.”

Jack ended the call.

At the same time, Liv sighed into your ear. “Okay. Hang up before I say something emotionally intelligent and ruin both our reputations.”

You laughed, soft and nervous. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Liv said. “And babe?”

You paused. “Yeah?”

Liv’s voice softened. “Let it be good.”

Your throat tightened.

You looked toward the kitchen, toward the coffee mugs, the plates, the place Jack had stood behind you with his hand on your waist.

“Okay,” you said.

Liv ended the call.

For a moment, your apartment went quiet.

Across town, Liv lowered her phone and looked at Robby.

In his truck, Jack stared through the windshield for one more second.

Then he started the truck.

Jack made it through the VA meeting.

He paid attention.

Mostly.

He answered when he needed to answer, nodded when someone asked him a question, and kept his face neutral through the parts that had nothing to do with you.

Which was all of it.

That was the problem.

The meeting ended a little after eleven. Jack walked back to his truck, loosened his grip on his keys, and sat behind the wheel without starting the engine.

For a minute, he did nothing.

Then he pulled out his phone.

Not to call you.

Not yet.

He opened a search tab and typed in restaurants near your apartment.

Then he deleted it.

Too broad.

Too lazy.

He tried again.

Quiet restaurants in Pittsburgh.

Jack stared at the results and frowned.

That was worse.

He did not need somewhere impressive. He did not need somewhere trendy. He did not need a bar or a place with music too loud to hear you make fun of him across the table.

He needed somewhere he could sit across from you and talk to you.

Somewhere you would not feel like he was trying to perform.

Somewhere with dessert, apparently, because Robby had said it like a law.

Jack scrolled.

He rejected three places immediately.

Too loud. Too expensive in a way that made the night about the restaurant instead of you. Too casual in a way that made him feel like he was pretending this did not matter.

Then he found one.

Small. Warm. Reservations available. Good reviews. Quiet tables. Dessert.

Jack stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then he made the reservation before he could turn it into a larger problem.

Seven-thirty.

Not too early. Not too late.

Enough time for him to go home, shower, change, and stop standing in a parking lot like an idiot.

The confirmation appeared on his screen.

Jack looked at it.

Then he opened your contact.

Across town, you were not waiting for him to call.

Technically.

You had showered. You had changed. You had rinsed the breakfast plates and washed his coffee mug, which felt dangerously intimate for an object that had held black coffee and nothing else. You had made your bed, then stood there staring at the side where Jack had slept until you realized what you were doing and immediately left the room.

You checked your phone once.

Then again.

Then you put it face down on the counter like that made you a stronger person.

It did not.

You made it almost four minutes before you picked it up again.

No missed calls. No texts. You stared at the blank screen until it went dark in your hand.

“That is fine,” you told your empty kitchen.

Your empty kitchen did not look convinced.

You set the phone down again, face up this time, because apparently you had abandoned dignity in favor of visibility.

You were standing in front of the fridge, staring at absolutely nothing, when your phone rang.

You startled so hard your shoulder knocked the refrigerator door.

“Shit,” you said, grabbing the handle before it could swing wider.

Jack’s name lit up your screen.

For one horrifying second, you just stared at it.

Then you closed the refrigerator with your hip and reached for the phone, trying very hard to sound like a woman who had not been quietly losing her mind for three hours.

“Hi,” you said.

There was a brief pause.

Then Jack’s voice came through, low and familiar. “Hi.”

Your stomach dipped.

You leaned back against the kitchen counter. “How was the VA?”

“Fine,” Jack said.

You blinked. “That is a very detailed review.”

“It was a meeting,” Jack said.

You looked down at your bare feet on the kitchen floor. “So, life-changing.”

“Deeply,” Jack said.

A smile pulled at your mouth before you could stop it.

For a second, neither of you said anything. The silence should have been awkward. It was not. It felt like both of you were standing on opposite ends of the same thing, looking down, deciding whether to step.

Jack did first.

“I’m off tonight,” Jack said.

Your heart gave one hard, ridiculous kick.

“You are?” you asked.

“Yeah,” Jack said.

You looked toward the kitchen window. “That sounds convenient.”

“I thought so,” Jack said.

Your mouth curved despite yourself. “Is this you calling to brag about your schedule?”

“No,” Jack said.

Your stomach dipped.

Jack’s voice stayed steady. “This is me calling because I said I would.”

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the counter.

“Right,” you said, looking down.

“And,” Jack said.

You swallowed. “And?”

“I made a reservation,” Jack said.

Your heart jumped.

“You did?” you asked.

“Tonight,” Jack said. “Seven-thirty.”

The steadiness of his voice made your chest ache.

“You just decided that?” you asked.

“No,” Jack said.

Your grip tightened on the phone.

Jack’s voice stayed calm. “I thought about it.”

Your throat tightened. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Jack said.

Your smile softened.

On his end of the line, Jack sat in his truck outside the VA, the reservation confirmation still sitting in his inbox.

“It’s quiet,” Jack said. “Food looks good. Not too formal.”

You pressed your lips together, but the smile came anyway.

“That sounds good,” you said.

Jack was quiet for half a second, like he could hear the difference in your voice.

Then he said, “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Your heart gave one hard, ridiculous kick.

“Seven,” you said.

“For seven-thirty,” Jack said.

You nodded, even though he could not see you. “Okay.”

The word came out softer than you meant it to.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

You looked down at your bare feet on the kitchen floor, your phone pressed warm against your ear, and suddenly the whole thing felt very real.

A date. A real one.

With Jack.

You swallowed, then let out a small, nervous laugh. “Now I have to call Liv and figure out what to wear.”

Jack was silent for a beat.

Then he huffed softly, almost a laugh. “You’ll look great.”

Your chest warmed so fast it was almost embarrassing.

“You don’t know that,” you said.

“Yes, I do,” Jack said.

Your fingers tightened around the phone.

Your smile went soft before you could stop it.

“Okay,” you said.

Jack’s voice lowered slightly. “Okay.”

Neither of you hung up right away.

You listened to the quiet on his end of the line. The faint shift of him in his truck. The sound of his breathing, steady and close despite the miles between you.

Jack listened too.

He should have ended the call. He had made the plan. He had told you the time. He had done the thing he said he would do. But your voice was still in his ear. So he stayed there one second longer.

“I’ll see you at seven,” Jack said.

You smiled down at the floor. “Seven.”

“I’ll be there,” Jack said.

Your chest tightened.

“I know,” you said.

Jack was quiet for one more second.

Then he said, “Bye, Trouble.”

You closed your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Bye, Jack.”

The call ended.