Chapter 7 - Sonya

I’ve moved in with Jack Thomas, and I’m already wondering if I’ve made a colossal mistake. The house is a whirlwind of half-finished projects, and boxes are everywhere. My suitcase sits awkwardly in the living room, surrounded by a sea of Fiona’s baby gear and random piles of Jack’s stuff. Jack’s out helping Alpha Evan go through food inventory, and I’m standing in the middle of this chaos, feeling like I’ve walked into a storm I’m not ready for.

Fiona’s asleep in her crib, looking like a tiny bundle of peace in the otherwise disorderly room, and I take a second to just breathe. The quiet is nice, a stark contrast to the constant hum of stress I’ve been carrying around. It’s weird, but the idea of not having to race between three jobs just to make rent is both a relief and a new kind of anxiety. I’ve spent so long trying to prove I can do it on my own that accepting help feels like admitting failure. But then again, I didn’t have many options left.

I’m grateful Jack didn’t press me for details when I told him why I stayed in Green Lake. It’s one thing to say I wanted a fresh start; it’s another to admit that going back to Stardust Hollow would’ve meant facing a million questions I wasn’t ready to answer. Jack, to his credit, just nodded and let it be, and I’m thankful for that small mercy.

I pull my hair into a loose bun, glancing around the kitchen that’s in desperate need of some organization once again. It’s like Jack never quite got the hang of putting things away, and if I’m going to be living here, I might as well make it livable.

I start with the basics—putting Fiona’s bottles in a sensible place, rearranging the cabinets so I can actually find things. It’s almost therapeutic, and for the first time in a long while, I feel like I’m doing something that’s purely for me.

After an hour of sorting through the mess, the kitchen looks halfway decent. I wipe the sweat off my brow and glance at the clock. Fiona’s still napping, which is a miracle considering how unpredictable her sleep schedule can be. I take advantage of the rare quiet, grabbing a quick snack and leaning against the counter. I should be unpacking, but honestly, the idea of having my own space—even if it’s just the spare room down the hall—feels like such a luxury that I’m in no rush. For once, there’s no landlord breathing down my neck, no customers yelling at me for their coffee, and no ticking clock telling me I’m late for my next shift.

It’s strange, feeling this light. I haven’t felt this kind of ease in… well, maybe ever.

Jack’s been decent about everything, which surprises me more than it should. He’s gone most of the day handling whatever pack business keeps him so busy, but he’s always here when it matters—tucking Fiona in at night, taking over when she’s fussy, and making sure she sleeps in her room even when I offer to keep her with me. It’s like he’s determined to make up for lost time, and as much as I give him crap, I can’t help but respect that. Jack’s got his flaws, but when it comes to Fiona, it’s clear he’s all in.

With Fiona still out cold, I decide to keep going. The living room needs help, too—half the furniture is shoved against the walls like Jack never decided on a layout, and there are stacks of old magazines and random gear that just don’t have a home. Typical Jack, as I’ve come to learn. All impulse, no follow-through. He probably built this cabin on a whim without giving it much thought at all.

I get about halfway through folding a mess of baby clothes when I feel the exhaustion creeping in. The couch looks inviting, and before I know it, I’m lying down, just for a second. I close my eyes, telling myself I’ll get right back up. But the quiet of the house, combined with the sheer relief of not having to run myself ragged, is too much to resist. My eyelids grow heavy, and before I know it, I’m out.

I wake up to the sound of Fiona’s soft breathing still coming from the baby monitor, and I watch the gentle rise and fall of her tiny chest on the screen. A quick glance at the clock tells me I’ve been out for nearly an hour. My muscles are stiff from the awkward position I fell asleep in, and I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The house is still quiet, and I realize Jack must still be out. Good. I’ve got time to get my bearings and finish what I started.

I stretch and wince at the lingering ache in my back. Living out of a suitcase and couch-surfing between shifts has done a number on me. I feel gritty and disheveled, and a shower sounds like the best idea I’ve had all day. I head to the bathroom, running my fingers through my hair and trying to make myself look somewhat human again.

The door’s slightly ajar, which strikes me as odd because I remember closing it earlier. I push it open the rest of the way, and the instant I step inside, the sound of running water hits me. The bathroom is full of steam, fogging up the mirror and curling the edges of the wallpaper. Before I can process what’s happening, I see Jack’s silhouette behind the glass shower door, clear as day.

Crap.

“Oh my God, sorry!” I squeak, backing out so fast, I nearly trip over the bathmat. My face flushes hot, and I’m not sure if I should run, hide, or somehow erase the last five seconds from existence. I slam the door shut behind me, and my heart is pounding as if I’ve just sprinted a mile.

I can’t unsee it—Jack, with water cascading down his shoulders, every line of his body outlined by the foggy glass. Muscles I didn’t even know existed are now burned into my brain. And his face—half-obscured by steam, eyes closed, completely oblivious to the fact that I just barged in like an idiot.

I slump against the wall, pressing my hands to my cheeks, trying to will away the embarrassment. But it’s not just that. There’s a lingering image of Jack, raw and real, that I know will haunt me for days. I’ve seen him half-dressed plenty of times—shirtless around the house, in casual shorts—but this is different. This is up close and personal, and the heat I’m feeling isn’t just from the shower steam.

That man is pure muscle.

“Get it together, Sonya,” I mutter to myself, forcing my legs to move away from the bathroom. I duck into the kitchen, hoping the distance will help cool my flushed skin. This is the last thing I need—to be rattled by Jack Thomas, of all people. It’s already awkward enough living here. I don’t need to complicate it by turning into a hormonal mess every time he’s around.

I focus on breathing, counting backward from ten like it’s going to magically erase the memory. But no matter what, it’s there. Jack, under the shower spray, relaxed and unguarded in a way I’ve never seen him. And worse, the part of me that’s still flustered isn’t just from the shock. It’s from how my mind lingers on the image, tracing the lines of his muscles and the way his skin glistened under the water.

God, what is wrong with me?

I grab a glass of water, gulping it down like it’s going to drown out the thoughts swirling in my head. I can’t let this affect me. I’ve got enough on my plate without throwing a crush—or whatever this is—into the mix. Jack is Fiona’s dad, my boss, and the last person I should be fantasizing about. But try as I might to bury the thought, it keeps bubbling up, unbidden and persistent.

The bathroom door opens, and I freeze, half-expecting Jack to waltz out and make some snarky comment. But he doesn’t. I hear his footsteps padding softly down the hall, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. A few seconds later, Jack appears, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his hair still damp and tousled from the shower.

“Hey,” he says, his tone casual, like I didn’t just catch him naked.

“Sorry about earlier. I didn’t know you were back,” I reply, my voice a little too high. I can’t meet his eyes.

Jack shrugs, his smile easy. “No big deal. Happens.”

Does it? Does it really? Because it sure feels like a big deal to me.

I nod, desperate to change the subject. “Fiona’s still asleep, but I was thinking about starting dinner soon. Anything you want?”

He leans against the counter, watching me with an amused look that makes me want to squirm. “I’ll handle dinner. You’ve been at it all day.”

“Oh, okay,” I mumble, turning away and pretending to go through one of the boxes piled against the wall. My cheeks still burn, and I can feel Jack’s eyes on me, like he knows exactly what’s going on in my head. It’s unsettling, the way he can get under my skin without even trying.

Jack picks up a stray toy from the floor, tossing it back into the basket with a practiced ease. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly—too quickly. I can’t let him see the way my thoughts are spinning. “Just tired. You know, moving in and all that.”

We fall into an uneasy silence, and I focus on busying myself with unpacking. Jack’s still hovering, and I can’t tell if it’s because he senses my discomfort or if he’s just waiting for me to crack a joke. Either way, the tension is palpable, and I hate how aware I am of his presence. How every move he makes seems to draw my attention.

As I sort through my things, my mind keeps drifting back to the shower, to the sight of Jack’s strong, solid frame under the water. I bite my lip, trying to push the image away, but it’s stubborn, refusing to be ignored. I’ve seen plenty of guys without their clothes on, but none of them ever made my heart race like this.

I glance over at Jack, who’s now scrolling through his phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world. The normalcy of it all is infuriating. Here I am, trying to keep my composure after accidentally walking in on him, and he’s acting like it’s just another Tuesday.

Maybe it is, to him. Maybe Jack’s used to women seeing him like that, to shrugging off those moments like they don’t matter. But to me, it does matter. Because for all our bickering and teasing, I never expected to be thrown into the deep end of whatever this is. And now I’m struggling to find the line between helping Jack with Fiona and getting caught up in feelings I can’t afford to have.

I pull one of my books out of a box, and I can’t help but steal another glance at Jack. He looks up, catching my eye, and there’s a flicker of something in his expression—something that makes my breath hitch. It’s like he’s reading my mind, like he knows exactly why I’m flustered. And instead of calling me out, he just gives me a slow, knowing smile that sends my pulse racing all over again.

This is ridiculous. I’m Sonya Welsh—practical, no-nonsense, and definitely not the type to get weak-kneed over some guy, especially not Jack Thomas. I can’t let this get to me. I’ve got a job to do, and Fiona needs me focused, not distracted by her dad’s stupid smile and perfect abs.

But as I stack the empty boxes and pretend not to notice Jack still watching me, I can’t help but wonder if I’m in over my head. Because if this is how it feels just living under the same roof, what’s going to happen when we’re both here, day in and day out, sharing space and trying not to drive each other crazy?

I don’t know. But as much as I hate to admit it, I’m kind of looking forward to finding out.