Page 30 of The One Who Changed Everything

He smiled softly. “It must run in the family,” Evan said, meeting my gaze for a fleeting moment across the room. “I think you’re about the bravest person I know.”

“I’m just a kid,” Sophia replied, twisting the last knot on her bracelet, her fingers dexterous from practice. “Mom says being brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared, though.”

Evan's eyes lingered on me, searching. I shifted uncomfortably, pressing my lips into a thin line.

“She’s right. I think your mom’s pretty brave, too, actually.”

I rolled my eyes, focusing on the sizzle of the pan.

"Yep, she's the bravest person I know," Sophia declared, oblivious to the tension that hummed between us like a live wire.

I watched them laugh together, and it was like observing a scene from another life—one that could have been mine had things been different. I was torn between happiness for Sophia, seeing her connect so effortlessly with someone new, and the sting of my own unresolved feelings for Evan. The way his brow furrowed in concentration as he struggled with the tiny bead in his giant fingers, the easy tilt of his mouth when he smiled—it all clawed at memories I kept locked away.

"Doing okay over there?" Evan asked, his voice pulling me back to the present.

"Fine, just fine," I said, perhaps too quickly. I gripped the spatula a little tighter, wishing it were as simple to hold onto my composure.

"Mom's the best cook," Sophia chimed in, pride evident in her voice.

"Is she now?" Evan glanced in my direction, a polite smile on his lips. "Something smells amazing."

"Thanks," I muttered, focusing on the sizzle of the meat in the pan, letting it drown out the chatter behind me.

"Look, Evan finished his bracelet!" Sophia held up his creation—a clumsy yet endearing band of interwoven colors.

"Looks great," I said, the praise catching in my throat.

I turned back to the stove, stirring the pasta with more force than necessary. Through Sophia’s questions, I was discovering another facet of the man I once thought I knew completely. Why did he choose to run into burning buildings instead of boardrooms? He’d been a business major at the University of Chicago, almost ready to graduate and move on toward his MBA. I took a deep breath, willing my heart rate to slow down, focusing on the rhythmic scraping of the spatula against the pot.

"Okay, dinner's ready," I announced, more to break the spell than anything else. I set the plates down, my movements deliberate, trying not to let the swell of emotions overtake me. “Can you clear off the table, Sophia?”

Sophia cleared the bracelet-making supplies off the table and made room for the three of us. Evan stepped into the kitchen, and suddenly, the small space felt even smaller.

I could sense him behind me, the quiet presence of him a weight against my back. He didn’t touch me—he didn’t have to. The heat of him, the steady rhythm of his breath, the faint scent of clean soap and smoke—it all pressed in around me, making it hard to think.

"Want me to grab drinks?" His voice was even, controlled.

"Sure," I said, forcing myself to sound just as unaffected. I pointed at the cabinet to my left.

I busied myself at the stove, plating the food and pretending I wasn’t hyperaware of him standing so close. Pretending I wasn’t remembering the last time we’d shared a space like this—so long ago, in a too-small hotel kitchenette where we’d stolen kisses between bites of takeout.

But that was then.

Now, Evan reached past me to grab a glass from the cupboard, his arm barely brushing mine. The briefest touch, yet it sent a jolt through me. I swallowed hard, gripping the serving spoon tighter than necessary.

He nodded, stepping away as if nothing had happened—as if I wasn’t standing there, every nerve ending in my body on high alert. He moved through my kitchen like a man who had everything figured out, utterly composed, every action precise. There was no hesitation in him, no indication that he felt any of what I did.

I envied that.

I turned to find him setting glasses down on the table, his expression perfectly detached. Not cold, exactly, but unreadable. Like he’d drawn a firm line between the past and the present, and I was the only one still tripping over it.

"Thanks," I murmured, clearing my throat as I set the last dish down.

His eyes flickered to mine for the briefest second—then away again. A polite nod, nothing more.

And maybe that should have been a relief.

"Let's eat," I said, offering a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. As they dug into their meal, I watched them, a silent observer to the bond forming right before me. I watched him effortlessly slip into conversation with Sophia, his laughter low and warm, and something inside me twisted.

---