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Hallie’s first reaction to that was a burst of joy. And relief. This distant bond she’d always felt with Julian . . . maybe it wasn’t a figment of her imagination after all.
“That makes sense to me, too,” Hallie rasped into the kitchen, the sound of rain almost drowning her out. Wait. Now she was having a full conversation with him about the contents of her letter. That wasn’t good. She’d never intended this, and she needed to come clean right now—
“Lately I’ve been wondering if I’m so trapped inside this need for structure that it’s ceased to have any meaning at all,” Julian said, looking just beyond her shoulder. “I haven’t used minutes or hours on anything besides my job, and does that mean I’ve essentially . . . wasted some, if not all of it?” His attention fell to the note. “Maybe I haven’t evolved, as this person says. Maybe I’ve been too distracted to grow, when I thought I was being so productive.”
She related to that so hard, she almost reached across the island for a high five. “Sort of like, as you get older, you start taking on myriad responsibilities that make you an adult. But really, they’re just distracting you from the things that matter. And then you’ve misspent your time, but there’s no way to get it back.”
“Exactly.”
“When your colleague had his breakdown, you started to wonder about this?”
“Almost immediately. He should have been somewhere else. A healthier place for him. With his family. And then I thought, is this where I’m supposed to be?” He tucked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, examined her. “Do you ever lose sleep wondering if you’re in the wrong place or timeline?”
You have no idea. “Sure,” she whispered, wondering if he could read her mind. Maybe he could. After all, there was something magical charging the air in that moment, in the nearly dark kitchen with a thunderstorm rioting outside. Standing with this staid and private man while he confessed his inner turmoil. There was nothing she could do to stop herself from leaning into the intimacy. Going after it with both hands.
Not even her conscience, apparently.
“The first fourteen years of my life, I was on the road with my mother. We were never in the same place longer than a week. And my mom . . . she’s kind of this beautiful chameleon. She likes to say midnight transforms her back into a blank canvas, like Cinderella and the pumpkin. She became whatever her current love interest wanted. If she changed bands, went from soul to country, she’d go from a lounge act to a cowgirl. She evolved constantly, and she . . . took me with her. On the road and on these makeovers. She redesigned me over and over. I was punk, I was girly, an artist. She’d kind of impress these different identities on me, and now . . . sometimes I don’t know if this is the right one, if this is actually me. It felt right when my grandmother was here.”
Julian’s gaze dipped to her multitude of necklaces. None of them made sense together, but she could never decide which ones to wear. Throwing them all on got her out of the house and away from the mirror fastest. The simple act of picking a piece of jewelry or restricting flowers to certain beds of soil felt like major decisions.
So she flaunted them, committing to everything and, thus, to nothing.
“Anyway,” she said quickly. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re in the right timeline. You were there to help your colleague in a moment of need and it propelled you here at the same time as your sister, who also needs help. Not to mention the vineyard. That can’t be an accident.” A smile stretched her lips. “If you weren’t in this timeline, who would the perpetually late, unsystematic gardener be driving crazy these days?”
For some reason, that drew his brows together.
And he started around the island. Toward Hallie.
Her breath came out in a short burst, and she couldn’t seem to replace the expelled oxygen. Not with Julian looking at her like that, his jaw locked, each step purposeful, his gorgeous features arranged in a near scowl. He reached the closest corner of the island and turned. Continued. Then, oh Lord, he moved in close enough to Hallie that her head tipped back automatically to maintain their searing eye contact.
“I don’t like being driven crazy, Hallie.”
“I sort of noticed.”
He propped his hands on either side of her on the island. Stepped closer. Enough that his body heat warmed her breasts, his jagged exhale stirring her hair. “I also spend a lot of time wondering who else you’re driving crazy.”
Hallie melted back against the island. In theory, she wasn’t a woman who found jealousy attractive. At least, she didn’t think so. No one had ever displayed envy where she was concerned. That she knew about, anyway. Still, she shouldn’t like it. She also shouldn’t like the smell of gasoline. Or cold pizza crust dipped in barbeque sauce, but explain the word “shouldn’t” to her tastebuds. Explain “shouldn’t” to the hormones that went absolutely wild at the knowledge that he’d spent his precious minutes and hours thinking about where she was.
