She’d never thought of it in quite those terms—especially after Jack had relayed its history. Yet she did feel safe and contented and at home here. Had from the instant she’d stepped over the threshold that first foggy night. It wouldn’t take much to make it a happy place. Just a little love to fill the empty corners.

“Cake delivery.” Jack hefted the plate as he approached. “You’re in for a treat.”

“I can’t wait to try it.” She closed the door behind him and motioned toward the back of the house. “Let’s cut it in the kitchen.”

After giving the empty room to the left of the front door a sweep, he took the lead through her sparse living room.

Christi followed as he surveyed the interior.

If he wanted proof she no longer lived the high life, the bare-bones space offered irrefutable evidence. There hadn’t been room for more than a few pieces of furniture in her tiny efficiency in Dallas, and the small couch, upholstered chair, side table, and lamp had been adequate.

Here, they seemed lost.

But they served her needs. And it wasn’t as if she was trying to impress anyone.

Never again.

While Hannah busied herself getting plates, forks, and paper napkins, Jack set the cake on the counter, watching his daughter. “You’re very at home here.”

“I help Christi fix dinner and set the table.” She continued with her task, folding the napkins in half diagonally and placing them on the small table.

“She’s an excellent helper.” Christi stopped a few feet away from the counter. “I put on coffee, if you’d like a cup. And I have milk in the fridge for Hannah.”

“Sold. Why don’t I pour us each a cup and get Hannah’s milk while you cut the cake?”

“You don’t want to do the honors?”

He snorted. “After tonight’s dinner fiasco, I don’t want to get anywhere near food for the rest of the day—except to eat it.”

“What happened with dinner?” She opened a drawer and removed a large knife.

“It was yucky.” Hannah made a face. “The macaroni was gloppy and the carrots were hard.”

Christi arched an eyebrow at Jack.

“Hey. What can I say? I’m a stereotypical bachelor. For the most part I live on cereal, takeout from the Myrtle, and frequent visits to Charley’s. But in light of recent developments, I decided to try to up my game. So far I’m striking out.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

“If you survive the practice. Where are the mugs and glasses?”

“Cabinet to your right.”

He opened it, no doubt wondering about the sparse interior. But why buy more than two or three of anything? Tasha had been her only guest the past couple of years.