6. Shae
6
SHAE
SEVERAL MONTHS LATER
“ P ermission to enter the hermit’s haven?”
I smile without looking up from my book. Julian’s voice through the screen door has become as familiar as the sound of wind in my maple trees. “You’re going to use that joke forever, aren’t you?”
“As long as it makes you do that thing where you try not to smile but smile anyway.” He lets himself in, his presence filling my tiny cabin the way it always does.
It’s strange how comfortable this has become—Julian dropping by unannounced, me not immediately tensing at the interruption. The months since the snowstorm have worn smooth what used to be sharp edges between us. He still teases, still pushes, still tries to draw me out of my shell. But now I know it comes from a place of genuine care, and that makes all the difference. Even if that care sometimes feels dangerous, especially in moments like this when his smile hits me with full force.
“Please tell me you have dried thyme.” He moves into my living room, his cologne wrapping around me as he approaches. “I swear I bought some, but I can’t find it anywhere.”
“For your dinner party?” I slip my bookmark between the pages I was reading and set my book aside.
“Can’t make my famous roasted chicken without it.” He follows me into the kitchen. “Which you’d know if you’d come tonight.”
I pull out the jar of thyme from a kitchen drawer and hold it up. “Here. Now you can make your chicken, and I can get back to my book.”
“Come on, Shae.” He accepts the jar but doesn’t step back. “It’s just a few people. Good food, good wine, maybe some board games after. Nothing crazy.”
“Julian.” I give him a look that we both know well by now.
“What if I promised you could leave whenever you want?” His eyes spark with hope. “The second you feel overwhelmed, no questions asked.”
My chest tightens with familiar anxiety, but also with something else. Something warmer. “I appreciate the invitation. Really. But you know crowds aren’t my thing.”
“Six people isn’t a crowd.” He takes a step closer, and my breath catches. “And they’re good people. You’d like them.”
“I’m sure they’re great.” I force myself to step back, needing distance from the earnestness in his expression. “But I’m good here. With my book.”
He sighs dramatically, but his eyes stay warm. “One of these days I’m going to convince you.” He heads for the door, then pauses. “The offer stands, you know. If you change your mind, just come over. There’s always a place for you in my home.”
“Have fun tonight.”
“Love ya, Shae.” He gives me a little salute with the thyme jar and disappears through the screen door.
My heart stutters at the casual affection in those three words. He’s been saying it for weeks now, throwing it out there like it costs him nothing, like it doesn’t send shockwaves through my entire body every time. I’ve never said it back. I can’t even imagine forming those words without them getting stuck in my throat.
But I’m not sure if that’s because casual affection doesn’t come naturally to me, or because with Julian, it wouldn’t be casual at all.
Later that night, I stand at my kitchen window, stirring a pot of discount mac and cheese. Through the trees and gathering darkness, I can make out several cars parked outside Julian’s house. As I watch, a sedan pulls up, its shape barely visible through the branches, and two women emerge. Even at this distance, through the leaves and shadows, I can tell they’re gorgeous—tall, stylish, exactly the kind of women who would be comfortable at a dinner party. The kind of women who wouldn’t get tongue-tied around Julian’s easy charm.
A knot forms in my stomach as I imagine them inside his house. It’s easy to imagine Julian greeting them with that warm smile of his, pulling them into easy conversation, maybe letting his hand linger on their shoulders as he serves them his perfectly roasted chicken…
I drag my attention back to my sad excuse for dinner, but the mac and cheese suddenly looks even less appetizing than before. Julian’s words echo in my head: If you change your mind, just come over. There’s always a place for you in my home.
But I can’t just show up. I’m not dressed for a dinner party. I’m wearing my usual clothes—practical, comfortable, entirely wrong for a social gathering.
I abandon my mac and cheese and walk to my bedroom, pulling open my closet door. I’ll prove to myself I have nothing appropriate to wear, and then I can stop thinking about it.
But there, pushed to the back of my closet, is a dress I forgot I owned. I bought it months ago for a library fundraiser that I ended up not attending It’s nothing fancy, just a simple wrap dress in deep green, but it’s pretty—and the kind of thing you could wear to a casual dinner party.
So I put the dress on. I brush my hair out, letting it fall loose around my shoulders. I even put on a little mascara. And then I walk over to Julian’s, each step feeling like it’s pulling me in two directions—back toward my quiet cabin and forward toward his warmly lit house.
When Julian answers the door, his entire face lights up. His smile is the brightest I’ve ever seen it.
“You came,” he says giddily. “Holy shit, you actually came.”
“If you’re going to make a big deal about it…” I glance back toward my cabin, but he catches my hand.
He leads me to the kitchen, his hand still holding mine. “Everyone, this is Shae,” he announces to the group gathered around his kitchen island. The way he says it, like they’ve already heard about me, makes my chest fill with warmth. He’s talked about me to them.
The next few hours unfold in a series of small challenges. Each time someone directs a question my way, my heart rate spikes. When the conversation moves too quickly, I lose the thread, and my cheeks heat as I try to catch up. But Julian’s friends are genuinely nice, making space for me in their conversations as if we always gather together like this.
Julian himself is the perfect host, exactly as I imagined he would be. He keeps conversations flowing, makes sure everyone’s glass stays full, and has an effortless way of making everyone feel included. My earlier jealousy proves completely unnecessary—he’s attentive to everyone equally, and there’s no hint of flirtation with anyone.
And, damn, that man can roast a chicken.
After dinner, everyone moves to Julian’s great room for charades. I tuck myself into the corner of his couch, finding myself surprisingly relaxed as I watch everyone take turns. I even join in on the laughter when Dan spends a full minute pretending to be a kangaroo while his wife calls out increasingly ridiculous guesses.
Then it’s Julian’s turn. He unfolds his paper, reads it with a smile, and then pockets it.
He starts by touching his heart, which gets a chorus of “Love!” and “Heartbeat!” When those guesses are wrong, he mimes reading a book. More guesses: “Story!” “Novel!”
Julian turns his attention to me, extending his hand in an invitation to join him. What the hell is he doing? I shake my head, refusing to take his hand, but he gives me a pleading look—one that is impossible to resist.
Damn it. I let him pull me to my feet.
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” I murmur under my breath as he draws me into a dance position. Then, suddenly, he’s guiding me around the room with surprising skill, and I find myself following his lead without stumbling. The others call out guesses—“Ballroom dancing?” “Competition?” “Dance lesson?”—while I try to ignore how warm Julian’s hand feels on my waist, how naturally we move together.
Julian shakes his head at their guesses, his eyes full of amusement. He spins me once more around the room, then guides me to a stop in the center, right in front of everyone. Before I can process what’s happening, he releases my waist and lowers down to one knee.
My heart stutters, then bursts into overdrive, as he takes my hand in his. I swallow dryly as Julian mimes opening a small box, looking up at me with an expression that makes my knees seriously weak.
“Romance!” someone guesses.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Julian says as he rises to his feet. “I was running out of ideas.”
Everyone laughs, but I’m still standing there in the middle of the room, feeling the aftershocks of that moment on his knee. I know it didn’t mean a thing, but my body doesn’t seem to know that. My heart is pounding like crazy.
It’s easier to breathe once we switch to another game, but every time Julian glances my way, my pulse kicks up again. And before long, the evening is over, and I find myself alone with Julian, helping him load the dishwasher.
“So,” he says, glancing at me as he rinses a wine glass. “Be honest. How painful was tonight?”
“It wasn’t bad. Actually, it was…nice.” I hand him another glass. “I like your friends.”
“Funny thing, I like them too.” He grins. “Charades was pretty fun, right?”
My stomach flips as I get a vivid flashback of him on one knee. “Yeah,” I say quickly, grabbing another dish. “Dan’s kangaroo impression was…vigorous.”
Julian laughs, shutting the dishwasher with a click and starting the cycle. When he turns to face me, I feel a rush of butterflies. “Want to stay for a while? We could watch a movie.”
I think about going home to my quiet cabin. It would be fine—peaceful, familiar. But spending more time with Julian sounds better. “Only if we can have popcorn.”
“First you crash my party, now you want my popcorn too?” The way he looks at me makes those butterfly wings beat even harder. “The demands never end with you.”
Ten minutes later, we’re settled on his oversized couch, a generous bowl of buttery popcorn between us. “We are not watching Werewolf Pirates,” I tell him as his scrolling halts.
“It’s a cult classic!” Julian protests.
“It’s terrible. What about an actual classic? Look, there’s an entire section of them right there.”
He groans. “The last ‘classic’ we watched had a ten-minute scene of someone staring out a window. Riveting stuff.”
“The protagonist had just lost the love of his life! Besides, it was not ten minutes long. It was five minutes, max.”
“So you were checking your watch too, huh?”
I roll my eyes and reach for the remote in his hand. But he pulls it away before I can snatch it. “Nope. We’re watching Werewolf Pirates, and that’s final.”
“Julian, come on. There’s gotta be something else we’ll both like.” I try for the remote again, but he holds it high, laughing. A frustrated groan escapes my throat, and before I can think better of it, I'm reaching across him?—
Oh, God. The reality of what I've done hits me all at once. We're pressed together now, my body against his, our faces inches apart. His blue eyes lock onto mine, eyebrows lifting slightly. And his mouth…that infuriating, gorgeous mouth…
I watch as his tongue grazes his lower lip. Then he's leaning in, erasing what little space remains between us.
When his mouth meets mine, the world stops.
He’s kissing me. Actually kissing me. I can’t believe it’s happening but it is happening and oh my God does it feel good. Thoughts spin through my head as I sink deeper into the warmth of him.
When Julian finally pulls back, his eyes are dark and his breathing uneven. We stare at each other across a moment that feels endless, and then his expression shifts to something that makes my chest tight.
“Fuck,” he says, and my stomach drops. “Shae, I…fuck. I can’t not say it.”
“Say what?” I ask in a whisper, my heart hammering and hammering away.
His expression softens, a slow smile spreading across his face. His eyes are full of something that makes me ache. “Shae, I’m in love with you. I have been for months.”