The Mercer house was quiet for once — a rare thing. The kind of quiet that only came when Bobby and Angel were out and Jeremiah had taken the kids for the afternoon.

You stood in the kitchen, the smell of rain drifting in through the cracked window as you stirred a pot on the stove. Behind you, music played low from the old record player — something soft and old-school that Jack always claimed “sounded better on vinyl.”

You didn’t hear him come in until his arms slipped around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.

“Smells good,” he murmured against your neck, his breath warm on your skin. “Almost as good as you do.”

You laughed quietly, reaching up to rest your hand on his arm. “You trying to charm your way into dinner again?”

“Maybe.” His lips brushed your shoulder before he added, “Or maybe I just missed you.”

You turned in his arms, hands resting on the front of his worn flannel. The soft light from the window caught in his hair, and you could see the faint smile tugging at his lips — the one he only ever showed you.

“You saw me this morning,” you teased.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low, eyes on yours. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss you when you’re not right here.”

You didn’t even have time to answer before he kissed you — slow, tender, the kind of kiss that made the rest of the world go still. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I don’t know what I did to get you,” he whispered. “But I’m not ever lettin’ go of it.”

From the front porch, you could hear Bobby yelling something about the rain and Angel laughing, but neither of you moved. You just stayed there — in the kitchen, with the storm outside and Jack’s arms around you — like it was the only place that ever made sense.