Page 62 of The Long Way Found

He set the table. Lit a candle. Put on Spotify’s Celine Dion channel—low and easy, not romantic enough to seem like he was trying too hard.

Then he stood at the kitchen window, watching the sun set over the mountains, his heart beating faster than it should for a simple Sunday dinner.

The knock at the door came right at six.

"Come in!" Luke called.

Jack walked in, carrying a bottle of expensive sparkling mineral water. He set it on the counter, then crossed to Luke and kissed him hello. "What are we making?"

"Pasta. Salad. Garlic bread. Nothing fancy." Luke handed him a cutting board and a knife. "You're on vegetables."

"Yes, sir."

They worked side by side in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Jack chopped bell peppers, the knife striking the cutting board rhythmically, while Luke stirred the sauce.

The kitchen smelled of garlic and tomatoes. The music played softly. Jack's shoulder brushed against Luke's as they moved around each other, an easy intimacy that felt both new and ancient.

Luke took a breath. Now or never.

"Friday was intense," Luke said finally, keeping his eyes on the pot.

Jack glanced over. "Yeah. Good, though. Right?"

"Yeah. It was good." Luke paused, then set the spoon down and touched him on the arm. "But, Jack... I don't need you to fuck me like that every time things get complicated between us."

Jack's knife stilled. Heat crawled up his neck. "I wasn't⁠—"

"You were." Luke's voice was gentle, without judgment. "After Wednesday at the bar, you were trying to prove something. I get it. But..."

He stepped closer, put his hand on Jack's chest, felt his heart beating fast, and said, "That's not what I need from you."

Jack set the knife down and asked, "What do you need?"

Luke smiled. "Just this. You. Here. Chopping vegetables in my kitchen."

He took another breath.

"You don’t have to do anything else. I'm already yours, Jack, you know. I love you."

Jack's whole body went still.

Luke felt it, the way Jack froze, the way his breathing changed, the way every muscle tensed. Jack's hand came up to cover Luke's.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. An instrumental version of an old ballad played. The sauce bubbled. Marley snored softly in the living room.

Luke watched Jack's face. He thought he saw something about to change there.

Say it, Luke thought. Say it back.

And then the moment was gone, and whatever had begun to shift in Jack’s expression shifted back.

"You don't have to say it," Luke added quickly. "I just needed you to know how I feel. I'm yours. I love you. I've loved you since I was sixteen, and I love you now.”

Jack's hand clung still to Luke's over his heart.

For a moment, Luke thought Jack might say it. Maybe this time would be different.

"Thank you," Jack whispered.