Page 63 of Midnight Ink

“When she got sick and it was clear this was it, I had this like, thing hit me. An epiphany maybe. This was my life and if I didn’t make a change, that’s all my life was ever going to be. Waking up at six. Driving an hour to work. Meetings, numbers, sitting in my cubicle ten hours a day. Another hour’s drive home. All for what? To make some other asshole richer? I don’t need a lot of money to be happy. I don’t. People care too much about shit that doesn’t matter. I love art, drawing, but it wasn’t practical. She was always my priority. I don’t regret putting my dreams on hold to give her the life she deserved.” He swallows. “But then she was gone.”

“You said she left you money, right?”

“Yeah. Lottery, of all things. I didn’t know until after.” He huffs. “Not like millions, but enough to give me some time. She left it to me with one condition—I quit my job and chase what I love. It was enough to last me a couple of years until I figured my shit out.” His voice breaks. “Sorry.”

I pull him into me without thinking. He drops the putter and holds onto me tight. His warmth steadies me. “She’d be so fucking proud of you,” I whisper, holding him steady, my hand soothing along his spine, the other cupping the nape of his neck. “She raised an amazing man. I bet she was incredible.”

I let him hold on to me for a moment before he pulls back, his thick lashes wet. “I miss her a lot. I wish she could see all this.” He smiles sadly. “She would’ve loved you. I have no regrets but . . . I wish she could have seen this version of me.” He scrubs his face, taking a deep breath. “Alright. I’m done.” He gives me a lopsided smile.

I squeeze his arm and pass him his putter. “Your turn.”

We move to the next hole, where a glowing Eiffel Tower looms above us. “Have you ever seen the Eiffel Tower?” he asks.

“The building or the sex position?” He stares, then laughs. “I’ve seen neither, Jules.”

“Same.” He thinks. “More than one person seems complicated.” He shakes his head. “I know I’d overthink it. I’d be worried about not giving everyone equal attention. Too many bodies and room for error. I’m not a good multitasker in bed, I’ll admit.”

He says it as a joke, but damn, that is not the image I need right now. I’m sure Julian’s great at a lot of other things in bed. I clear my throat. “Agreed. Too many limbs. Someone is getting hit in the nuts.” He laughs at that, lining up his shot, and again he gets it on the first try. “Why are you so good at this?”

“Not my first time around a hole.” He winks then thinks about his question. “Do you ever want to be in a relationship again?”

The way he’s looking at me makes my chest ache. “I don’t know,” I admit. “For a while it felt like a betrayal.” I swallow. “I miss having someone, though. Not sex, not just sex, but the person. I miss that. Having a person. My person.”

Silence stretches between us and I want to talk about last night.

I step forward and think. While I’m having a lot of fun I need to do this. A tiny step, and maybe to see where Julian’s head is at with me. The thing is, if it’s not with Julian, I don’t know if I’d really want to try. I’m lonely, yeah, and the idea of a new relationship seems nice, but the truth is I don’t really want just any relationship.

I want him.

I grab my putter and focus on my shot. This one is more straightforward than the swamp one. I tap it lightly and watch the way the ball climbs to the hole before dropping in. “Professional.”

Julian snorts. “Your turn.”

He’s close to me, so close I can feel his heat.

My turn.

Be brave.

Make a move.

“Why um—” I think for a moment and push past the embarrassment. “Last night when I leaned in and you said⁠—”

“Ian—”

“It’s my question.” I need to ask or else it’s just going to drive me crazy. “Why didn’t you want to kiss me?”

Julian looks at me a moment. “I told you why.”

“And what if you’re wrong?” I watch the handsome set of his face twist with confusion. Honesty. I need to be honest and find out if this is completely off the table. I won’t push for something he doesn’t want. I just need to know where his head is at.

“You weren’t trying to forget our shitty day?”

I look at him now and see the slight insecure set to his eyes. He looks down, but I need him to look at me. I step toward him and run my fingers along the hem of his shirt. “No. I wasn’t.” I look at him and I feel my throat tighten. “I just wanted to kiss you.”

“And now?” His words land like a punch.

I touch his arm, curling my fingers around his bicep. Electricity shoots straight through me. His fingers come up, slow and hesitant, then cup my face as if he’s memorizing it. “I still want to kiss you.”