“Absolutely. Fresh coffee every morning and I make a mean omelet.”
I glance around my house—the home I’ve maintained on my own since Miles left. The thought of abandoning it, even temporarily, feels like another kind of surrender. But then I remember the note, the text, the creeping fear that’s been following me for days.
“Just for a few nights,” I concede finally. “Until we figure this out.”
Julian nods, careful not to look too relieved. “Pack whatever you need. Take your time.”
As I move through the house gathering essentials, I find myself lingering over unexpected items—the throw blanket my grandmother knitted, a framed photo of my parents, the silly coffee mug with a chip in the handle that somehow survived my marriage. These small pieces of myself suddenly feel precious, markers of who I am beyond just someone’s wife or someone’s victim.
Julian waits patiently, helping carry my bags without comment when I emerge with more than strictly necessary for “just a few nights.”
The walk to his house takes less than a minute, but crossing that physical threshold between my space and his feels momentous. His home is neat but lived-in, with books stacked on end tables and a half-finished crossword puzzle on the kitchen counter.
“Make yourself at home,” he says, setting my bags down in the living room. “Guest room is this way, but...” he hesitates, “you’re welcome to stay wherever you’re comfortable.”
The lack of pressure in his words makes something inside me unclench. “Thank you. For all of this.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Ellie.”
“I know. That’s why I want to.”
Julian works on his laptop while I read, occasionally looking up to share a thought or just to check in with silent glances. It should feel awkward—this new intimacy layered over the rawness of everything that’s happened—but somehow it doesn’t.
JULIAN
After monthsand months of awkward past entanglements for Ellie, I think her ex-husband, Miles, has finally caught on to the idea that she’s never going back to him. It’s about time. Which, of course, is perfectly fine by me, because I am head over heels for her. Crazy, right? How did my life get here? I blink, and there she is, the reason for this strange bliss, sprawled across my bed this morning, sleeping beside me, and I realize that even though we’ve known each other a shockingly short amount of time—mere weeks—there is no one else in the universe for me. She is everything.
I watch the slow rise and fall of her breath, and I marvel. She’s tangled in my sheets but, somehow, this feels like the most natural thing in the world. Is this what love is supposed to feel like? It clings to me like the scent of her perfume, and I don’t want to wash it away. Ellie twitches in her sleep, murmurs, and I press my lips together to stop from laughing.
She has this little wrinkle that appears between her eyebrows when she’s dreaming. I’ve noticed it before in the rare moments I’ve been awake before her. It’s like her mind is still working through problems even in sleep.
I should get up, make coffee, be productive. But I can’t bring myself to leave this moment. The morning light streams through my blinds, painting stripes across her bare shoulder. I trace one with my finger, so lightly I know she won’t wake.
We weren’t supposed to happen, Ellie and me. When I came to Lawson Ridge, love was the last thing on my mind, until I saw her in her garden next door.
“Mmm, what time is it?” Her voice is thick with sleep as she rolls toward me, eyes still closed.
“Early,” I whisper, brushing hair from her face. “Go back to sleep.”
Instead, she opens her eyes, those impossible eyes that see right through me. “You’re staring again.”
“Can you blame me?”
She smiles, and I feel that familiar tug in my chest. The one that started as a whisper and has grown into a shout. The one that says:this is it. This is what you’ve been waiting for.
“Any regrets?” I ask, because sometimes I still can’t believe this is real. That she chose me after everything.
She props herself up on an elbow. “About you? Well, maybe that we wasted so much time dancing around this.”
“Good. Because I’m all in, Ellie. You know that, right?”
“I know,” she says. “It’s just... sometimes I wonder if we’re moving too fast. If this is too good to be true.”
I understand her hesitation. After her marriage to Miles, trusting again can’t be easy. He promised her the world, then systematically dismantled hers piece by piece. I’ve heard the stories, seen the aftermath in the way she sometimes flinches when a door slams too loudly.
“Hey,” I say, pulling her closer. “We move at whatever pace feels right. There’s no rulebook here.”
The phone on my nightstand buzzes, breaking the moment. Ellie raises an eyebrow as I reach for it.
