Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
JULIET
J uliet trembled, waiting for Nate to respond. Dread mixed with desperation, leaving her dizzy. She couldn’t lose him over this—a foolish, fixable mistake. Please, please say something .
“That’s a shame,” he said slowly.
Juliet blanched, completely taken aback. What did he say? She’d expected him to be upset, hurt, maybe even angry, at what she’d done. Even though she hadn’t planned to publish her novel as is, she knew how it looked, how it might make him feel. He had every right to air his grievances. So, why were his features soft, so affectionate?
Adding to her shock, a slow smile spread across his face. “I admit, I was upset when I first saw what you’d written. But then, I realized that would make me a hypocrite. I’d just given you a whole speech about how our scars are meant to be shared.”
“But by us, on our own terms,” she corrected, still reeling from his unexpected response. “I had no right to use your story for my own. It’s yours to tell, not mine.”
“Maybe,” he said thoughtfully. Glancing back at her laptop, he ran his fingers through his hair, as if searching for what to say. “But maybe not.” He met her gaze again, his eyes warm with admiration. “What you’ve written is really good, Jules. Great, even. You’ve told my story in a way I never could. And honestly, made it a whole lot more accessible to way more people. You have a way with words. A gift.”
At his words and expression of loving, unbridled pride, a wave of emotion crashed into her, cleansing and bolstering all at once. She wanted to write them down, to imprint them on her heart with an everlasting ink. No man—no person —had ever made her feel this way before. As if she had something worthy to contribute to the world.
“What you’re doing is important, Jules. And I don’t want a little bit of discomfort on my part to get in the way of that.”
“Important?” she echoed, caught off guard by his word choice. Her novel may be good but hardly important in the grand scheme of things. At least, not to anyone but her. “It’s just a romance novel,” she said, in case he hadn’t read enough to discern the genre.
“There’s no such thing as just a romance novel. All books are special. They can evoke any number of emotions, from anger to outrage, grief and empathy, even joy. Especially joy.” His eyes clouded for a moment, turning a deep, hazy blue. “There’s so much sadness in the world, Jules. I’ve seen it. I’ve been mired in its darkness. And if you can make the world even a little bit brighter with your books, that’s as worthy a goal as any award or recognition. If you want to tell my story—or use any part of it—it’s yours. I trust you with my life, even in print.”
As Nate spoke, tears of wonder and overwhelming gratitude trailed down her cheeks. How had she ever existed without this man? His view of the world—and her place in it—was so much richer and fuller than she’d ever imagined.
She crossed the room, and their lips met in a kiss that spoke all the words in her heart—words that transcended time and logic.
She loved this man for his strength of character and his kindness.
And no amount of distance between them would take that away.