Chapter 52
CHAPTER
FIFTY-TWO
RYAN
My heart does some weird super-beat thing when I see the text from Julie.
Landed. Exhausted. Home in a few hours.
I smile at my phone, a feeling of relief spreading through me. She’s back.
Welcome back. Let me know if you need anything.
Three months. She's been gone for three months. She said she found something out on the sea, so she extended the length of her trip. I hope what she found were some of the pieces of her that Asher stole.
Ninety-one days of daily texts. Sometimes just emojis—a sunset, a palm tree, a coffee cup. Sometimes paragraphs about what she saw or ate or thought about. Sometimes just I'm okay today or Today was hard or I miss Seattle.
I always responded. Always showed up, even from thousands of miles away. And now she's back. I set my phone down and stare at the ceiling of my bedroom.
I've spent almost three years now keeping my feelings locked away.
Years of watching her with Asher, telling myself it was fine, that I'd missed my chance and that had to be okay.
Years of comparing every woman I met to her and finding them all lacking.
But I never let myself go there. Not really. Not when she was with my best friend.
Then everything fell apart and I watched her world shatter. Now, three months later, she's finally home. And I don't know what will happen next.
I don't see her for two days. Jamie texts me updates. She's sleeping a lot. Jet lag is brutal. But she seems better. Lighter.
On the third day, Julie texts me herself.
Coffee? I need to see a friendly face.
We meet at a café in Fremont. When I walk in, she's already there, sitting by the window with a latte and a book she's not reading.
She looks different. Her hair is sun-streaked.
Her skin is tan. She's wearing a loose linen shirt and jeans, and there's something softer about her.
Less guarded. When she sees me, she smiles.
It's not the carefree smile I remember from before Asher. But it's real. And that's enough.
"Hey," I say, sliding into the seat across from her.
"Hey." She closes the book and pushes it aside. "You look good."
"So do you."
"Liar. I look like I've been on a boat for three months."
"You look amazing, and like you've been healing."
Her smile falters, just for a second. Then she nods. "Yeah. I guess I have."
We talk for an hour. She tells me about the cruise—the ports, the food, the people she met. Her mom's terrible karaoke performances. The way the ocean made everything feel smaller and more manageable.
"I needed the distance," she says. "From Seattle. From everything."
"I get that."
"But I missed it too. Missed the shop. Missed Jamie." She pauses. "Missed you."
My heart does something stupid in my chest. "I missed you too."
She looks down at her coffee. "I don't know if I said this enough, but... thank you. For everything you did. For helping me get out. For—" Her voice cracks. "For not giving up on me."
"Julie." I reach across the table and take her hand. "I will never give up on you."
She squeezes my hand, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I know," she whispers. "And that means everything."
We fall into a rhythm over the next few weeks.
Movies on Thursday afternoons because she loves a matinee.
Coffee on Sunday mornings. Dinners at my place or hers, nothing fancy, just takeout and conversation.
It's easy. Comfortable. Like we're rebuilding something that was always supposed to be there.
But there's a fragility to her that wasn't there before.
A hesitation. Like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don't push. I just show up.
One Saturday, Jamie mentions that she's looking for a new place. The condo she's been renting is going up for sale, and she wants to buy something of her own now that she has the money to do whatever she wants.
"You should come with us," Julie says. "We're going to look at a few places this afternoon."
"You're looking too?"
She nods. "Now that Jamie is ready to move, so am I."
So I go with them. Jamie falls in love with a luxury condo in Belltown. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a chef's kitchen, a rooftop terrace with views of the Sound. It's sleek and modern and very Jamie, now that she’s got money.
"This is it," she says, spinning in the middle of the living room. "This is the one."
Julie smiles. "It's perfect for you."
"What about you?" I ask. "See anything you like?"
She shakes her head. "Not yet. But I will."
Two weeks later, we're standing in front of a Craftsman in North Capitol Hill.
It's a disaster. The absolute lemon of the neighborhood. The paint is peeling. The porch is sagging. The yard is overgrown. The price is just over two and a half million dollars. Even in it’s current condition. Which is horrific.
The realtor keeps saying it needs "a little TLC."
"A little?" Jamie mutters. "This place needs a prayer circle and a miracle."
But Julie is smiling. She walks up the steps carefully, testing each one. She peers through the windows, cupping her hands around her face to see inside. "Can we go in?" she asks the realtor.
"Of course."
The inside is worse than the outside. The floors are scratched and stained. The kitchen is from the 1970s. The original Craftsman colonnades on the exterior and almost all of the millwork on the interior need extensive restoration. But Julie doesn't seem to notice.
She walks through each room slowly, running her fingers along the walls, looking up at the crown molding, studying the built-in bookshelves. "The bones are amazing," she says.
Jamie looks skeptical. "The bones are the only thing that's not falling apart."
"Exactly." Julie turns to me. "What do you think?"
I look around. At the high ceilings. The original hardwood under the grime. The bay window in the living room that would be stunning with the right light.
"I think it has potential," I say. "A lot of potential."
Her smile widens. "Right? I can see it. This could be stunning.”
"This is more than a full gut. This is a complete head to toe restoration.
And for all the things you can see, there are five more buried beneath the floorboards and in the walls.
All of the systems will have to be totally redone," I point out.
“A good restoration always costs more than you think and takes longer than you hope.”
"I know it’ll be hard. But I have the money,” she laughs. “And I can see myself on the porch. On a swing. I can picture a garden in the yard. A clawfoot tub in one of the bathrooms. I can look for antique light fixtures. This place could be amazing.”
I can see it too, now. The house she's describing. The home she's imagining. "It's a lot of work," I say.
"I know." She looks at me, her eyes bright. "But I want to do it. I want to take something broken and make it beautiful again."
The metaphor isn't lost on me. "Then you should do it. I’ll help in any way I can,” I say.
She grins. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Jamie sighs. "You're both insane. But okay. Let's make an offer."
Julie starts going back to the shop, but only to make products in the back room. "I can't handle the front yet," she tells me one night over tacos. "People recognize me. They ask questions."
"What kind of questions?"
"'Are you the one who was married to Asher Stevens?' 'Is it true he cheated with his stepsister?' 'Did you get a big settlement?'" She glares at her taco. "I just... I can't."
"You don't have to," I say. "Take your time."
"Jamie's been great. She hired three more people to cover the front. But I feel guilty."
"Don't. You're doing what you need to do to heal. That's not something to feel guilty about."
She nods, but I can see the doubt in her eyes.
"Julie." I wait until she looks at me. "You're allowed to protect yourself. You're allowed to set boundaries. You don't owe anyone an explanation."
"I know. It's just... hard."
"I know it is."
She takes a sip of her wine. "Have you heard anything? About Asher?"
I hesitate. I don't want to bring him up. Don't want to drag her back into that world. But she asked. And I won’t fucking lie to her. Not like he did. "Some," I admit. "He and Devon moved to California. Beverly Hills."
"Of course they did," she says bitterly. "Fresh start in the land of fake everything."
"That's what people are saying."
"And the company?"
"He's not going back to Ancre. The press statement was them buying time so the stock didn’t slide into hell. The board made it clear he's not welcome back. Who knows what he’ll do now."
She's quiet for a moment. "And Devon?"
"She posted something on Instagram about wanting to be on Real Housewives when he finally marries her."
Julie's eyes widen. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious."
"Jesus Christ." She laughs, but it's hollow. "The divorce isn't even final yet."
"I know."
She shakes her head. "I don't know why I'm surprised. She's always been delusional."
"There are also rumors," I say carefully. "About Asher. That he's using."
She tilts her head, confused. "Using what?"
"I don't know. Coke, maybe. Pills. It's just talk right now, but..."
Understanding dawns. “But you believe it.”
I nod. "Yeah. I do."
She looks down at her plate. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"That you lost your friend. I know you two were close."
I think about that. About the friend I thought I knew. The guy I trusted. The man I watched marry the woman I’d known at my core could have meant something to me.
"The friend I thought I knew never existed," I say. "Just like the husband you knew. He’s not well. I know that now. Asher was always this person. I just didn't see it. Didn't even know there was anything to look for."
"That's not your fault."
"I know. But it still sucks. I spent years thinking he was good for you. That you two were perfect together. That I'd—" I stop myself. "That everything worked out the way it was supposed to."
She's watching me carefully now. "Ryan."
"I'm okay," I say quickly. "I just... I'm glad you're out. That's all that matters."