A pot of water hissed as it came to a boil. Garlic sizzled in foaming butter, releasing a rich, savory aroma that curled around them, warm and grounding.
The scent of comfort. Of normalcy.
They were making way too much, but that was okay. Leftovers were always a good idea.
“You’re surprisingly competent with a knife,” Amayah teased, watching the steady rhythm of Luke’s hands.
“Years of frozen dinners finally changed me,” he replied dryly, not even looking up. “It was either learn to cook or go broke eating out.”
She laughed, the sound soft and genuine, and something inside her loosened. Just a little. Working beside Luke felt natural. Steady. Safe.
Almosttoosafe.
He’d surprised her.
Not many men did anymore—not since Isaac.
A shadow of memory brushed past her thoughts, sharp as winter air. The last man Amayah had let get close to her had worn kindness like a costume. His words had been gentle, his gestures thoughtful, and he emanated a warmth that she mistook for trust.
But none of it had been real.
Not the way he acted.
Not the way he loved.
Not the version of himself he’d presented.
She’d essentially fallen for a man who didn’t exist.
When the mask finally slipped—when she saw the selfishness, manipulation, and lies—it had shattered something inside her she hadn’t known was breakable.
Luke wasn’t Isaac. She knew that.
And yet the ease between them—the comfort—made an old fear stir inside her, quiet but persistent. The fear of mistaking a facade for truth. The fear of being fooled again because shewantedto believe the best in someone.
She tried to shake the feelings off. Yet her gaze drifted toward the back hallway, then the front door, to the corners where unease lingered like a breath she couldn’t fully release.
Because safety, she’d learned, could feel real right up until the moment it wasn’t.
“Are your neighbor kids always outside like they were tonight?” Luke glanced briefly toward the darkened window as he slid the sliced chicken from the cutting board into the preheated pan.
“Always? No. But often.” Amayah adjusted the heat beneath the pan. “Their mom isn’t much on supervision. I try not tohover, but it’s hard to ignore when little ones are wandering after dark.”
“That’s too bad.” He stirred the chicken slowly, his movements careful, almost restrained. “It reminds me that I really have a lot to be thankful for.”
Amayah’s hand stilled briefly, fingers tightening on the wooden spoon. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I was adopted.”
Her eyes widened. “Were you?”
“My birth mom left me outside a fire station when I was a day old. It makes me realize just how different my life could have been.”
Luke was opening up, she realized. He’d shared something very personal.
This moment somehow felt pivotal.
And that awareness made her entirely happier than it should.
