Page 66 of Julian

“I can tell,” she replies. “Big Al alone is an experience.”

“He’s been doing that dance for fifteen years. Did you notice the scarf he was wearing? The Vipers one. Apparently, his mom made it for his dad decades ago and his dad passed it down to him. I’ve been meaning to see if our merchandise team can start producing them.”

“Well, he’s an icon. And his dancing was incredible. And you just… joined him,” she says, still both amused and possibly impressed. “I did not see that coming.”

“Neither did I,” I admit.

Harper looks at me as we reach the end of a sidewalk and wait for the light to change. “I like this side of you,” she says.

I glance over. “This side?”

“The jeans, the T-shirt and hat, the guy who sits with the season ticket holders and knows all their names,” she says, her voice light but meaningful. “The one who… fits there.”

I let that sit for a second before answering. “It’s still me.”

“I know,” she says quickly. “And I like the other version too. The one in the suits, the one who runs everything and somehow makes it look easy.” She smiles faintly. “But I didn’t expect this part.”

“Most people don’t see it,” I reply. “Not because I hide it. It’s just… not always necessary.”

She nods. “Well, I’m glad I did.”

So am I.

We turn onto her block, the noise of the city tapering further, the familiar rhythm of her neighborhood arriving. The buildings here are different: older, closer together, more authentic than most parts of Manhattan… just like her.

We reach her stoop and she turns toward me, lingering instead of immediately reaching for the door.

“I really did have fun tonight,” she says, her voice softer now. “Not just the game. All of it.”

“I’m glad,” I reply.

She hesitates for a fraction of a second, then as if it’s an afterthought, adds, “You know… the way you interact with those people, I know it’s you just being you, but I can tell it means a lot to them.”

“I enjoy it, I do.”

“I know how important it makes them feel,” she says.

“It was nothing,” I say.

She shakes her head. “No. It’s more than nothing. It’s special… and thoughtful.”

I step closer, my hand coming lightly to her waist as I lean in.

Her mouth meets mine.

The kiss is deeper than our prior ones. She leans into me, her hand finding my T-shirt, the cherry ChapStick on her beautiful lips, the way she responds. Everything else falls away.

When I pull back, it’s slow, but I don’t put distance between us.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say.

Her eyes search mine. “That’s dangerous.”

“Occasionally,” I reply, a faint smile touching my mouth before it fades. “About Christmas.”

She nods slightly.

“You’re going to be here. Alone.”