Chapter 120

Rapid footsteps echoed through the hallway.

Sherry, who had just stepped into the room, came rushing back out with a brand-new set of bedding in her arms. Her eyes landed on the picture frame in Jack's hand.

Jack looked up at her.

"This photo... you still have it."

It was their first photo together. Their only one.

Sherry hugged the bedding tighter against her chest, her knuckles going slightly white from the grip.

Those eyes of hers — always so composed and cool — were now restless, darting back and forth between Jack and the photograph, unable to meet his gaze directly.

A flush crept up her cheeks, spreading from the tips of her ears all the way down to her neck.

It was the kind of embarrassment that belonged to a softer, younger version of herself — as if the deepest, most carefully hidden secret in her heart had been suddenly pulled into the light without warning.

"I..." She opened her mouth, her voice barely above a whisper, searching for something to say that might cover up the moment. But whatever words came to mind felt hollow before they even left her lips.

Jack said nothing. He just watched her quietly.

His gaze rested on her flushed cheeks, on her lashes trembling ever so slightly, and something inside him took a hard hit — a dull, aching kind of pain.

He lowered his head and looked down at the yellowed photo in his hands, his thumb slowly tracing the edge of the frame.

"I thought..." His voice was soft, careful, like he was afraid of disturbing something. "You would've thrown it away long ago."

Sherry bit her lower lip and stayed quiet for a moment.

Then she took a slow, deep breath — like she was finally working up the nerve — and lifted her eyes to meet his.

Her eyes were faintly red at the corners. Her voice was quiet, but there was a stubborn sincerity to it:

"I couldn't bring myself to."

The words dropped like three small stones into still water.

"I've moved so many times over the years. Lost so many things." She lowered her gaze, her voice dropping with it. "But this one... I always kept it with me."

She didn't explain any further.

Some things don't need to be said out loud. All those late nights she'd spent alone with her thoughts, all those restless hours in the cold and the rain — they were all tucked away in the worn, fraying corners of that photograph.

Jack stood up and walked over to her.

He didn't reach for the bedding. Instead, he raised his hand and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

When his fingertips grazed her warm earlobe, they both went still for a moment.

"Sherry." He said her name in a low, rough voice that didn't quite sound like himself.

She didn't pull away. She just stood there quietly, letting his fingers linger beside her ear.

Jack drew a slow breath and pushed down whatever was rising inside him. He knew this wasn't the time to get lost in the past.

He pulled his hand back, took the bedding from her arms, and turned toward the empty room.

As he passed her, he stopped — but didn't look back. He just said quietly,

"Thank you."

Sherry stood there and watched his tall figure disappear behind the door. Without quite meaning to, the corners of her mouth curved up.

It was the faintest of smiles — like moonlight touching the surface of water, gone almost as soon as it appeared, but real all the same.

After making the bed, the two of them cleaned the room together.

When they were done, Sherry slipped off to the kitchen on her own.

About twenty minutes later, she came out carrying two plates.

Spaghetti bolognese.

The pasta was cooked just right, coated in a rich, deep red sauce, topped with two poached eggs — edges slightly crisp, yolks still runny — and finished with a few fresh basil leaves.

Steam curled up into the cool light of the apartment, carrying with it that warm, tangy, comforting smell of a home-cooked meal, slowly filling the space that had felt a little too quiet before.

"Just threw something together. Hope it's okay." Sherry set one of the plates down in front of Jack, her tone back to its usual calm — as if the woman who'd stood there red-eyed and flustered just minutes ago had never existed.

She sat down across from him, picked up her fork, and began twirling a small bundle of noodles.

Jack watched her, his expression unreadable.

He didn't pick up his fork right away. He just looked at her — this woman who seemed somehow softer in the quiet of the evening.

While they'd been cleaning the room, neither of them had brought up the photo again. But the air between them still carried something — warm and thick, like the sauce on the pasta, too dense to simply dissolve.

"I seem to remember you couldn't cook at all back then." Jack gave a small smile and took a bite.

The tangy, savory sauce clung to the firm noodles, and the taste hit him with a strange, familiar weight.

He was the one who'd taught her this dish, actually. Back then, Sherry had been a complete disaster in the kitchen — the kind of person who could somehow burn a pot just boiling water.

He hadn't expected her to get this good.

Sherry glanced up at that, and something flickered briefly in those pretty eyes of hers. "You weren't around to cook for me, so I had to figure it out myself. After a while, it just became habit. I got better."

Jack's hand paused on his fork.

He looked down, keeping whatever was moving through him well out of sight.

He knew that what he owed her couldn't be settled with an apology.

"It won't be like that anymore," he said quietly, his voice low and steady.

Sherry blinked, caught off guard by the words.

She looked at him. Her lips parted slightly. Then, without saying anything, she gave a small nod and went back to her food.

After dinner, Jack took it upon himself to wash the dishes.

When he came back to the living room, he found Sherry sitting there with a deck of cards in her hands, idly shuffling through them.

She looked up when he walked in.

"How did you do it?" she asked. "Back at the casino?"

"Do what?"

Jack paused.

"You called two ties in a row," she said. "You even predicted what that dealer — the one they call God — was going to play. I want to know how."

"Want me to teach you?" A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he sat down.

"Never mind. Forget I asked." Sherry set the cards on the table with a cool, detached air, as if she hadn't really been that interested to begin with.

Jack looked at her — that stubborn, too-proud expression of hers — and held out his hand.

"Give me the cards."

Sherry's eyes flicked up slightly, but she kept her face neutral and handed them over.

Jack took the deck and shuffled it casually for a moment.

Then he pulled out a single card and placed it face-up in front of her.

"What card is that?"

Sherry looked at it, not sure where this was going. "Two of hearts."

"Is it?"

The corner of Jack's mouth lifted. "Look again."

"It's the two of—"

The words died in her throat.

In the instant her eyes dropped back to the card, Jack's fingers gave it a small turn — and the two of hearts was gone. In its place sat the ace of hearts.

Her eyes went wide. Something flickered in them — pure, unguarded disbelief.

"How did you..."