CHAPTER 11
“That hadto be hard to learn that news,” Amayah finally said.
She slid the wooden spoon through the sauce again, grounding the moment with the soft scrape of the pan, the fragrant steam rising between them.
Luke’s shrug looked casual, but something beneath it wasn’t. “Depends on how you look at it. I had a good childhood. Really good. My parents were kind. Steady. The type who showed up to every school play even when I only had two lines.”
Warmth brushed through her expression. “That sounds . . . wonderful.”
“It was.” He paused, thumbs hooking in his pockets as if bracing himself. “That’s why the rest hit harder.”
She waited.
“One day I thought I understood my whole story.” His voice lowered, softer but clearer. “The next, I found out there was this huge piece of it I’d never been told. Not because it was bad. Not because they didn’t love me. But because they thought hiding it would protect me.”
The admission hung between them, honest and unguarded.
Something tightened in Amayah’s chest. “That must have been . . . confusing.”
“That’s one word for it.” He huffed out a quiet laugh. “I trusted them. I still do. But suddenly I was looking at everything through a different lens. The things that didn’t make sense when I was younger. The times I felt . . . different and couldn’t explain why.” His eyes flicked to hers. “It’s amazing how a single truth can rearrange everything you thought you understood.”
She sprinkled parmesan cheese into the bubbling cream sauce, the aroma making her stomach grumble. “Did it change how you see yourself?”
“Yes. Not in a dramatic way. Just . . . a constant awareness. Like there’s a before and after in my life now. Before I knew the truth. And after—where I’m still trying to figure out what parts of me were shaped by love and what parts were shaped by something I never knew was missing.”
Outside, snow drifted past the glow of her porch light. Inside, the quiet softened around them like a blanket.
The garlic scent deepened as she stirred, steam rising in soft curls. The room felt alive—light, warmth, gentle music—wrapping around them like a fragile sanctuary.
And yet beneath it all, the memory of her front door—open just an inch when she knew she’d latched it—lingered, reminding her that danger could be close.
But standing beside Luke somehow made her feel a little safer and less alone.
She forced herself back to the present, to the quiet confidence of Luke’s presence beside her, to the gentle glow of the Christmas tree.
Working beside him didn’t erase the worry.
But it layered something stronger over it.
Hope.
Community.
The fragile illusion of peace.
And for now . . . she let herself breathe in the warmth of it.
Luke hadn’t planned on eating dinner with Amayah. He definitely hadn’t planned on enjoying working in the kitchen with her.
The quiet rhythm of chopping, the way Amayah hummed absentmindedly as she stirred the sauce, the ease of standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a kitchen . . . it felt good. Really good.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He ignored it.
Right now, he didn’t want to think about his story, and he had a feeling it was Linda calling.
As soon as the phone quieted, a sharp knock rapped against the front door.
