Melanie rolled her eyes. "You're not helping."
"I'm not sure those are equivalent, buddy," Cooper said, ruffling his son's hair.
"They're not," Jude agreed, grateful for the child's inadvertent rescue. "But thanks for the support."
Chloe looked up from her plate, her gray eyes serious. "My teacher says everyone needs someone to love them. Even the grumpy ones."
"I'm not grumpy," Jude protested mildly.
"You kinda are," Cooper said with a grin.
Melanie reached over and patted Jude's hand. "It's part of your charm."
The conversation moved on to other topics, but Jude found himself turning the children's words over in his mind. Did he need someone? He'd convinced himself for years that he didn't. That his work was enough. That the occasional dinner with friends like this satisfied any need for human connection.
But lately, there had been moments when he'd caught himself wondering what it would be like to come home to someone. To have a place that felt lived in rather than just occupied.
And those thoughts had started right around the time Angela Burke had entered his life. She was the one who came to mind when his thoughts wandered in the direction of home and hearth.
"Earth to Jude," Cooper's voice broke through his thoughts. "You with us?"
"Sorry," Jude said, shaking his head slightly. "Just thinking about work."
Cooper's expression said he didn't buy that explanation, but he didn't push. Instead, he stood and began clearing plates. "Why don't you help me with the dishes?"
Jude nodded, grateful for the distraction. In the kitchen, he and Cooper worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the sound of running water and clinking dishes filling the space.
"You know," Cooper said finally, handing Jude a plate to put in the dishwasher, "I've known you for what, five years now? And I've never seen you this distracted."
Jude focused on organizing the dishes in the rack with more attention than it required. "I told you, work's been busy."
"Right. Work." Cooper shut off the water and turned to face him. "Want to try again?"
Jude reached for another plate. "There's nothing to try again."
"Jude." Cooper's voice was gentle but firm. "I'm a cop. I know when someone's avoiding a subject. And you're avoiding this one like it's radioactive."
For a moment, Jude considered deflecting again. But the weight of keeping everything bottled up was becoming harder to bear. And if he couldn't trust Cooper with this, who could he trust?
"There's someone," he murmured, not looking at his friend.
Cooper's eyebrows rose. "Someone?"
"Yeah." Jude ran a hand through his hair. "Someone I can't have."
"Ah." Cooper leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "Married?"
"No, of course not." Jude set the plate carefully in the rack. "Worse."
"Worse than married?" Cooper's brow furrowed. "What could be worse than—" His eyes widened. "Wait. You don't mean…"
Jude nodded grimly. "Angela."
Cooper let out a low whistle. "Duncan's daughter."
"The very same." Jude closed the dishwasher door with more force than necessary. "And before you ask, nothing has happened. Nothing will happen."
"But you want it to."
