The thing about Jules is that she’s never stayed the same. She’s always growing, evolving, becoming someone new, and I love every version of her. I think I always will.
And that’s the truth, isn’t it? I’ve been in love with the same woman for twelve years… but she’s been a hundred different women in that time. Stronger, wiser, braver. And every single one of them is still the only person I want to spend my life with.
I stare down at the rings in my palm, my thumb brushing over hers with a reverence I don’t fully understand.
Maybe someday, these won’t be tucked away in a drawer. Maybe someday, they’ll be on our fingers again.
But until then, I keep holding on.
My phone dings, pulling me out of my thoughts. With a reluctant sigh, I slide the rings back into the drawer—nestled together the way I wish we were—and gently close it.
I reach for my phone, knowing exactly who it is.
Jules:I can’t wait to see you.
A slow smile tugs at my lips as I immediately type back.
Me:It’s going to be hard to not kiss you all night.
Her reply is almost instant.
Jules:It’s been five days.
Like I don’t feel every single hour of those five days.
I hesitate for only a second before typing the words I’ve been holding back since I woke up this morning thinking about her.
Me:Stay with me tonight, Jules.
Three dots appear, and I hold my breath like a lovesick teenager, waiting.
Finally, her reply lights up the screen.
Jules:What about Tate?
I start to type, ready to say we’ll figure it out, but before I can hit send, her next message comes through.
Jules:I can always sneak out early tomorrow morning.
I exhale, a rush of something warm and right filling my chest.
Me:Sounds like a plan.
Jules:Leaving here in five. See you soon.
I set the phone down, my thumb brushing my bottom lip as a grin spreads across my face.
She’s coming over.
And this time, I’m not going to let her go.
***
Jules is wearing a delicate flower crown nestled in her curls, her auburn hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. The plum-colored, long-sleeved dress she’s wearing hugs her in all the right places, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
Our eyes lock the second she walks through the door, but I force myself to shift my attention to Tate before I do something reckless, like pull her straight into my arms without caring who’s watching.
Instead, I kneel as Tate barrels toward me, launching himself into my chest with all the strength his little arms can muster. I hug him tightly, holding on a little longer than I probablyshould, but I’ve missed him more than I want to admit. It’s only been two nights apart, but it feels like longer.
