Tate takes his plate and heads to the table, already humming as he digs in.
And then Jules is beside me, closer than I expect. She doesn’t check to see if Tate’s watching. Doesn’t hesitate.
She just reaches for me.
Her arms slide around my waist, and she presses her face into my neck. The feel of her there makes me close my eyes for a second as I wrap her up tight.
She clings to me like she’s afraid to let go, her fingers curling into my back.
Across the room, Tate glances up, his blue eyes wide as he watches us. But he doesn’t say anything, just keeps eating, his head tilted slightly like he’s trying to understand what’s happening.
“How’d you sleep?” I murmur, running my hand up and down her back in slow, steady strokes.
She exhales, her lips brushing my neck. The softest kiss. It sends a shiver racing down my spine.
“Not good,” she whispers.
“I know,” I say gently. “You were tossing and turning all night.”
“I can’t shut my brain off,” she admits, pulling back just enough to look at me. Her eyes are heavy with exhaustion, but there’s something fierce behind them, too.
“I’m worried about you, Jules.” I tuck a stray curl behind her ear, my fingers lingering at her jaw.
She searches my face, as if looking for something. Maybe a reason to hold it together. Maybe a reason to fall apart.
“As long as I’m with you,” she breathes, “I’m fine.”
My throat tightens. “You don’t have to be fine. Not for me.”
Her hand slides up to my chest, her fingers curling in the fabric of my T-shirt. “But I am.”
And I know she means it.
At least right now.
“Let’s eat,” I say quietly to her, watching the way her fingers tremble as they push her curls behind her ear. “Then we’ll all head to the coffee shop for the afternoon.”
She nods, swallowing hard as she takes a slow, steadying breath. “Thank you for letting me be here. With you.”
There’s something about the way she says it like she’s still unsure if shebelongshere, like she’s waiting for me to change my mind. That makes my chest ache.
I know Tate is watching us from the table, watching everything, like he always does when something feels different. I know I shouldn’t push it. Shouldn’t confuse him. But I can’t help myself.
I step closer to her, cupping her face gently in my hands, and press a soft, careful kiss to her lips. Like she’s breakable. Like I’m afraid if I don’t hold her now, I’ll lose the chance.
Her breath stutters as she melts into me for just a second before I pull away.
“Wherever I am, Jules,” I murmur, my thumb brushing along her jaw, “there’s always a place for you there.”
Her face softens, eyes glimmering in a way that makes my throat tighten, and she gives me a quiet, grateful smile.
She lets me go, and I turn to the stove to grab a plate. I pile an omelet high and spoon salsa on the side before handing it to her.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely carrying as she takes the plate from me and heads to the table, sliding into the chair next to Tate.
I exhale slowly, willing my heart to calm, before piling a few pancakes on my own plate and joining them.
As I sit down and glance between them—Jules picking at her eggs, Tate chattering about snakes and school like it’s just another morning—I feel something inside me shift.
