She nods, pressing the canvas into my hands.
“Why?” I ask, my voice quieter now.
Jules lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug, but her eyes betray her. They shine with something raw, something unspoken. “I painted it with you in mind.”
My heart beats out of sync as I hold her work in my hands, the weight of it heavier than it should be. “Thank you.”
“It’s the first piece I’ve finished in over two years,” she admits softly, like she’s confessing something private.
I glance between her and the painting before turning to the black-and-white modern piece hanging behind my desk. It’s sterile, impersonal. Something my dad had put up when he remodeled the office a few months ago. I’ve never really liked it, never really cared enough to take it down.
Until now.
Reaching for it, I pull it from the wall and set it aside before lifting Jules’ painting into its place. I step back, taking in the way the deep greens contrast against the sleek lines of my office. Itdoesn’t just look better. It feels right. Like it belongs here. Like she belongs here.
“There,” I say. “Perfect.”
Jules exhales, her fingers twisting together like she’s working up the nerve to say something else. Her teeth graze her lower lip before she finally looks up at me.
“I, uh…” She hesitates, just for a second. “I actually stopped by for another reason.”
My brows lift slightly. “Yeah?”
She takes a small step closer, and it’s like the air shifts between us, crackling with something unsaid. “I’ve been thinking,” she starts, carefully choosing her words. “And I wanted to ask you if you’d go on a date with me?”
A date.
I stare at her, my brain trying to process what I just heard.
She must sense my temporary mental shutdown because she clears her throat and quickly adds, “Yeah, um, I just… I think we should do something alone together. Without Tate. And see if there’s… you know, something still here.”
Something.
I know there’s something still here. It’s in the way she looks at me when she thinks I don’t notice. It’s the way her breath catches when I touch her. The way she keeps coming back, even when she’s unsure of where we stand.
If she needs a date to prove it, then hell, I’m all in.
“I’d love to,” I say steadily despite the way my pulse kicks up.
Her face softens into a wide smile, like she wasn’t entirely sure what my answer would be. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nod, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep from reaching for her. “What did you have in mind?”
“I have it all planned,” she says, her confidence building now. “Tate is spending the night at Leo’s on Friday,” she reminds me, “so I was thinking we could go on our date then.”
Friday. Four days away. That’s an eternity.
It might actually kill me to get through the rest of the week knowing that a night alone with her is waiting on the other side.
“Yeah,” I say, my lips curving into a slow smile. “That works.”
She exhales, like she’s been holding her breath this whole time. Like maybe this is as big a moment for her as it is for me.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel something dangerously close to hope.
“Come here,” I murmur, reaching for her hand.
She laughs softly, a sound that slides right under my skin, warm and familiar. But she doesn’t resist as I tug her to me. Her palm instinctively lands against my chest, right over my heart, and I wonder if she can feel the way it pounds for her.
