Page 110 of Julian

I know him well enough now to hear the distance even when he’s trying to disguise it. And then he just cut me off.

“I’m sorry, Harper, but I have a meeting tomorrow that I’ve got to do some prep work on, so I need to get going.”

“Oh, sure… of course. Talk later?”

“Sure,” he’d said, but I didn’t hear any excitement in it.

The worst part is that I can’t tell whether he’s pulling away from me specifically or retreating into himself. Either way, I walk around queasy, unsure of what to do.

I shove my gloved hands deeper into the pockets of my coat as I walk through Lower Manhattan, trying not to let my thoughts spiral.

Finally, just north of Canal Street, I stop walking. The cold air whips through my coat as I pull out my phone and stare at his name for one long second before pressing call.

The line rings once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then finally, he answers. “Harper.”

“Hey,” I say, trying to remain level-headed. “Are you busy?”

He sighs, his voice sounding tired. “I am, unfortunately.”

That’s it. Three words and a mile of distance.

“Oh.” I lean back against the cold stone wall of the building beside me, my frustration simmering. “I just got off work.”

“Oh… how was it?”

The question sounds obligatory.

“It was actually amazing,” I say, trying anyway, hoping enthusiasm might somehow pull him toward me again. “The team is incredible and I already started outlining campaign ideas and everyone was so collaborative and…”

“That’s nice.”

Silence follows and my grip tightens around the phone. “Julian.”

“Yeah?”

“What’s going on?”

The pause that follows is endless. “Nothing’s going on.”

I close my eyes briefly, fighting off what I know are imminent tears. “You’ve barely spoken to me in two days.”

There’s a long pause, then he says, “Just… had a lot on my mind.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, fighting to keep my voice even. “Then talk to me.”

More silence. Finally, he lets out a quiet breath into the phone. “I’m in the middle of something right now, Harper.”

I stare blankly out at the Manhattan street, anger pushing through the hurt now, hot and alive beneath my skin.

“Right,” I say.

Another pause.