Then Sara appeared.
Same sheet pan. Same effortless grace. But this time, Jaxon looked closer—because he saw it now. Not just food. Not just presentation.
Heart.
The way she passed each bowl like it mattered. The careful dusting of cajun seasoning on the edges. The warmth on her face when people smiled after the first bite. It wasn’t a dish.
It was intention.
And Jaxon, being who he was, couldn’t help but speak it.
“Taking something simple and making it this special… that’s beauty in itself,” he said, locking eyes with her. “You didn’t just cook, Sara. You created. That’s the difference.”
She blinked. A little caught off guard. And for a split second, Jaxon saw it—the same quiet vulnerability he carried when someone saw him more deeply than expected.
“Thank you,” she said, softly. “That… means more than you think.”
The bowls clinked gently against the wood table, everyone too busy devouring to speak—until Macie broke the silence.
“Alright, someone spill. What really happened in Denver?”
Jaxon wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Depends on what you’re asking.”
“Oh come on,” Sara grinned. “We’ve gotten maybe three details and one of them was about onion rings.”
Claire laughed lightly. “We went exploring. The hotel was ridiculous—like, chandelier-over-the-bathtub kind of ridiculous. He made reservations the first night. Candlelight. Gorgeous food. Total romance.”
“Okay, and?”
“The next day, we wandered the city. He found these local spots—not the ones on TikTok. The kind that don’t even have a website. Just… real places.”
“That’s the best,” Sara said, leaning back. “That’s where the soul of a city lives.”
Claire nodded. “Exactly. It wasn’t flashy. But it felt… real.”
“And the diner?” Trevor asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Best burger I’ve ever had,” Jaxon said immediately, mouth already watering at the memory. “Two quarter-pound patties, house-made pickles, grilled onions—buns toasted on the flat top.”
“Holy hell,” Carter muttered. “I need a moment.”
“You even got Claire to eat there?” Macie asked, amused.
Claire rolled her eyes. “I’m not that bad.”
“Girl,” Sara laughed. “You used to think takeout meant waiting at the valet.”
Everyone laughed—but it was gentle now, good-natured. Even Claire chuckled, letting herself take the jab with grace.
But Jaxon could sense the turn. The edge of awkward approaching. So he pivoted.
“Sara,” he said, nudging his empty bowl. “This is incredible. Have you ever thought about opening your own spot?”
She froze, then blinked. “I mean… yeah. But leases around Atlanta? Forget it.”
“What about catering?” Jaxon offered. “You have no residual overhead and only the initial investment of equipment and licenses. If you got into corporate events, you’d stay booked solid.”
She tilted her head. “You think?”
