But he didn’t. So, homemade soup it was.
He reached the kitchen counter and paused to catch his breath. Not that he was out of breath, really, but the pain made it seem that way. And once he could sort of breathe again, he shuffled a few more steps forward, still gripping the counter, and then turned slightly so he could see his houseguest.
The man—whose name Jakestilldidn’t know—had spent most of the afternoon and early evening sitting huddled in the corner, his arms wrapped around his knees, watching as Jake sat on the couch with his laptop in his lap and worked.
Nothing else had happened.
The day had passed uneventfully after those tense few minutes out on the patio, where Jake had thought maybe hewouldbe calling the coast guard to comehelp. He’d been sure the man was going to take off down the stairs to the beach and then... just disappear. Jake’s stomach lurched at the thought.
He gave the man a smile—the best smile he could manage anyway. “Uh, it’s about dinner time, I think. I was planning on making chicken soup and grilled cheese. Does that sound okay to you?”
The man’s face tightened, as it had on occasion when Jake had asked him a question. Maybe he was processing Jake’s words. Or maybe something else, Jake wasn’t really sure. But then the man blinked and nodded once as he lowered his eyes to his hands, which sat clasped around his knees.
And Jake swore he saw another tiny hint of a smile, like he thought he had earlier. Some small glimmer, for just half a second or so, before it disappeared.
He hoped it meant something.
“Great. Shouldn’t take too long.”
With a steadying breath, Jake moved the two steps over to the freezer and opened it up to take stock of what he had. Then he sent a silent thank you to his past self as he spotted a reusable silicone container near the back of the freezer labeledchopped chicken breastin his own messy handwriting.
Not having to thaw, chop, and cook the chicken meant at least five minutes less that he’d need to be on his feet. And that five minutes might just mean the difference between him making it through the rest of the evening or not.
He pulled out the container and set it on the counter, then closed the freezer and opened up the fridge to find the other ingredients.
It took a little longer than twenty minutes, unfortunately, because he was just moving very slowly still. Every step had to be taken carefully. And every step hurt, the sharp pains shooting deep into his thigh. Vaguely, he wondered if it was something worse than just his damaged muscles acting up, though he realized if it was, he probably wouldn’t even be able to walk by now.
Somehow, he let that reassure him, or maybe just boost his stubbornness another notch, and he kept moving forward. He cooked the soup and sandwiches and set the table, then he made some more tea—one of his favorite herbal blends that would hopefully help him sleep later. And when everything was set, he managed to coax the man out of the corner for the first time in what had to be hours.
Only when the man was settled in his seat did Jake finally sit again. The relief was instant and yet still not quite enough, and he found himself staring at the food on the table in front of him, forcing slow, steady breaths to keep himself in check.
Dammit. He hated this pain. So much.
He closed his eyes for a long beat, and when he opened them, he felt the man’s gaze on him. But he hesitated to look up, knowing how ragged his expression must be. Instead, he just moved one hand forward slowly, picked up his tea, and took a long sip.
It was immediately soothing—both the warmth and the flavor—and Jake found himself humming quietly in approval as he took another sip.
The meal, too—the meal was simple and just the perfect comfort food, at least to him. He ate in silence, not even attempting to make conversation. It would likely be one-sided if he tried anyway, so he just let the silence be. And that was fine, really. Especially since he could hear the sounds of the ocean waves just outside.
It was another thing that was strongly soothing, and as he finished eating and set his spoon down in his now-empty bowl, he wondered whether maybe he’d be able to sleep that night after all. He could crack the window open in his bedroom—even if it was quite chilly outside—so he could let the ocean distract him and lull him to sleep. And even though the pain in his leg hadn’t really faded at all, hedidfeel much more relaxed. He was certainlytiredenough to sleep.
He finally glanced up at the man sitting across from him, and something in his heart broke, the sensation strong and abrupt.
The young man held half of his sandwich in his hand, but his eyes were closed as he chewed slowly, deliberately, like he was trying to savor the bite.
The thing that got Jake, though—the thing that had Jake holding his breath—was the tears rolling down the man’s cheeks. Big, fat, wet tears that the man appeared to be valiantly ignoring in favor of enjoying the simple pleasure of a plain grilled cheese sandwich.
God, what did that even mean? How could this young man be moved to tears over a grilled cheese sandwich?
Jake had tried to be as detached as possible the previous day when he’d had to undress the man—a huge invasion of the man’s privacy, but one that had been necessary to get him out of the cold, wet clothing he’d been wearing so that he could warm up. But he still remembered seeing the man’s body—thin and obviously malnourished—and with a sharp pang, he wondered just how long it had been since the man had had a real, honest-to-goodness meal, even something as simple as a grilled cheese sandwich and chicken soup.
And as simple as the food Jake had fed him was, he knew it was also filling and hearty and nutritious. Maybe just what the man needed. But something in the man’s expression gave Jake the impression that it was more than that, too. Much more.
The man glanced up at him, blinking back more tears, and then he swallowed the bite he’d just taken and set down the rest of the sandwich. His hands dropped to his lap, and his eyes lowered, his shoulders tensing.
“It’s pretty good, right?” Jake said gently, finally breaking the silence.
He watched, his heart still aching, as the very corners of the man’s mouth twitched up ever so slightly. It was brief, and if he hadn’t been watching for it and hoping for it, he was sure he would have missed it. But, no. He saw it, just as he had earlier—the very beginning of a smile.
