52: Chapter 52 Jack and Sophia

Jack stood outside Sophia's restaurant for ten minutes without going in.

He was wearing his best cotton-padded jacket—the one he’d worn on Christmas—and holding a bottle of red wine.

David had helped him pick it out. Thirty-two dollars. Jack had winced at the price for ages, but he’d bought it anyway.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Sophia was wiping down the tables.

The restaurant closed at eight. It was now 8:15. The last customer had already left.

Little Miguel was asleep in a chair in the corner, a crayon still clutched in his hand.

"Jack?" Sophia looked up and froze for a second. "What are you doing here?"

"I—I came to eat."

"We're closed."

"Then—I'm here for a drink."

He gestured with the wine bottle in his hand.

Sophia glanced at the bottle.

"You’re drinking? I thought you quit."

"I quit beer. Red wine doesn't count."

Sophia couldn't help but laugh.

"Who taught you that nonsense?"

David.

"That figures."

The two sat down at a table by the window.

Jack didn't know how to open wine. When he tried to pull the cork, it snapped in half, and the rest fell into the bottle.

Sophia sighed, took the bottle, and used a safety pin to fish the cork out.

"You've worked on the farm for three years, and you still can't open a wine bottle."

"I only ever opened beers before. The twist-off kind."

"Clumsy."

"Yeah."

The wine was poured. One glass for each of them.

Jack took a sip.

"So sour."

"It's a dry red. It's supposed to be sour."

"Then why is it so expensive?"

"Because you don't understand it."

Jack took another sip.

A brief silence followed.

"Sophia."

"Yes?"

"Are you... doing okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—raising a kid alone, running a restaurant, managing the production line—don't you get tired?"

Sophia set her glass down.

He watched her.

"I am."

"Then you—"

"But it's better than before," she said softly. "Standing for eight hours at the supermarket was more exhausting. And... back then, no one ever asked if I was okay."

Jack rubbed his finger along the rim of his glass.

It was an old habit—the motion of handling a control lever.

"Someone is asking you now."

"Yeah. You." Sophia smiled. "You're asking me."

"Not just today," Jack said.

"What do you mean?"

"I... I want to ask you every day."

His voice was very low, nearly drowned out by the hum of the refrigerator.

"You pass by my restaurant every day," Sophia said. "Did you think I didn't notice?"

Jack's face flushed.

A thirty-eight-year-old, broad-shouldered man who had spent his life driving tractors—blushing.

Like he was eighteen again.

"I—I was just passing through—"

"Your fields are on the west side of town. Your house is to the north. Passing my restaurant is a twenty-minute detour."

Jack opened his mouth.

But no words came out.

Sophia looked at him.

In her deep brown eyes, there was a look—

Not the cinematic kind of passion.

But a kind of—

"I know. I've always known. I just didn't know how to respond" kind of expression.

"Jack."

"Yeah?"

"You're a good man."

"I wasn't always," Jack said, head bowed. "I used to be a drunk. I couldn't even take care of myself, let alone anyone else."

"And now?"

"Now..." He looked up. "Now I can take care of myself. I can farm. I can drive a tractor. I can..."

He looked at Sophia.

"I can bring someone a glass of red wine. Even if I don't know how to open it."

Sophia's eyes welled up.

She looked down at the wine in her glass.

"When my ex-husband left... he just left a note saying 'sorry'."

"He didn't even call."

"I used to wonder if it was because I wasn't good enough. If my cooking was bad. If I—"

"No," Jack's voice was suddenly firm.

"It's not that you weren't good enough. It's that he was blind."

Sophia looked at him.

"Jack Miller."

"Yeah?"

"You really... only know how to farm."

"Yeah."

"You don't know how to say sweet things."

"Yeah."

"You don't know how to open red wine."

"Yeah."

"And that jacket—the one from Christmas—the zipper isn't even done up right."

Jack looked down. The zipper really was crooked.

"But..." Sophia stood up.

She walked over to him.

"But you pass by my restaurant every single day."

"You watch over me every day."

"You never say anything, but you're always there."

"That's enough."

She reached out her hand.

Jack looked at it.

Slender fingers, rough tips—the marks of a life spent cooking and washing dishes.

He took her hand.

Just like he held the control lever of a tractor—

Steady. Firm. Not letting go.

"I'll keep passing by," he said.

"I know."

Later, Chen Yifei heard about it.

Ivanka was the one who told him.

"Jack and Sophia are together!"

"Since when?"

"Since last night. Jack brought a bottle of red wine to her restaurant."

"And then?"

"Then he couldn't open it. Sophia had to do it for him."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Chen Yifei thought for a moment.

"They're a good match."

"You think so?"

"One farms, one cooks. One produces the raw materials, the other processes the finished goods."

"It's a perfect industrial chain."

Ivanka rolled her eyes.

"Honestly... where is your sense of romance?"

"On the system panel."

"You—"

She laughed.

"Forget it. That's just who you are."

"What kind of person is that?"

"The kind who can only describe feelings in terms of an 'industrial chain'."

"I—"

"But I don't hate it."

She turned and walked away.

Her ponytail swayed in the wind.

Chen Yifei stood there.

The system panel flickered.

He didn't look at it.

Some things didn't need a system evaluation.