Chapter Twenty One
Dating Julian is crazy. Not in a bad way. It's insane in the way that makes me feel like I stepped into someone else's life. A life that's softer, brighter, and filled with adventure every weekend that I never knew existed.
"Close your eyes," Julian insists. He's got his stubborn face on.
"I hate it when you say that," I tell him, but I close my eyes.
His hand is warm around mine, guiding me forward.
"Trust me."
I huff. "You've said that before." And he certainly was not trustworthy when he nearly walked me into a pole.
"I didn't mean to," he feels genuinely remorseful so I don't retort with anything snarky. I let the bond speak for itself, sending him consternation. I get remorse tinged with amusement back.
He laughs under his breath.
"Okay. Open."
I do and I actually gasp.
"Oh my! Julian."
The movie screen glows softly in front of us, but that's not what catches my eye first. It's the cars. They're vintage, polished, and colorful, lined up in neat rows like something pulled straight out of a different decade.
A drive in theater themed for decades ago. Slipping back into another time.
It's perfect.
And when I look down at my outfit, I'm dressed for it.
He had shown up to my apartment earlier with a bag, told me to "just trust him," and somehow I put on the dress and did. The dress is vintage and soft, cinched in tight at the waist and then flowing out past my knees.
I turn slowly, taking everything in, and stop short when I really look at him.
"You're kidding."
He's wearing a suit, but it's not just any suit. It's a vintage suit that's fitted and classic. He looks like he walked out of the 1950s just to stand in front of me.
"What do you think?" he asks, a little quieter now.
"It's so fun," I breathe.
His eyes soften.
"Yeah," he says. "You are."
I roll my eyes, but my face is warm. He holds out his hand and I take it and let him lead me over to the soft pink car. He opens the car door for me like it's second nature.
The whole night feels like that. Easy, intentional, and perfect.
The next weekend, he takes me to a park. Unlike the week before there's no big reveal or dramatic setup. Just sunlight and open space and a rusted swing set that looks like it's been there forever.
"Get on," he says.
I stare at him. "Perfect I've been waiting for this moment."
His smile crinkles the corner of his eyes, "I thought you might find this fun," and then he winks.
I laugh and then plop myself down into the swing. His hands grip the sides of my waist and then start to push me. The first couple of pushes it's very gentle and I swing forward a bit and then back into his arms. And then he quickly starts pushing me higher and higher.
"Julian!" I laugh, gripping the chains.
"Trust me," he calls.
"I'm going to kill you!" I yell back at him, still hysterically laughing as I swing higher and higher.
"You love me!"
I don't answer that, but my chest feels tight anyway.
Because I do. I fell in love with Julian in pieces of a puzzle that has been completed for longer than I'd like to admit.
He takes me hiking the next weekend on slow, steady trails where he matches my pace without making it obvious or complaining.
Other weekends we venture to museums where he reads every plaque like it matters and then leans down to whisper ridiculous commentary in my ear.
"You think they'd notice if we took this?"
"Yes, Julian," I say as I stare at priceless artifacts.
But we talk about how we could do it and get away with it anyway, even though we would absolutely be caught before we stepped foot out of the building.
We play and have fun together.
Every time.
And then there's the office supply store, which sounds absolutely ridiculous, because it is. Well, it is until it's not.
"Anything you want," he says casually, pushing the cart behind me.
I glance back at him. "Dangerous."
"I'm aware."
I pick up a pack of pens and then a pack of markers in a different brand I've been eyeing, tossing them into the basket of the cart.
Then I stop.
"Oh my god," I breathe. It's beautiful.
"What?"
I turn slowly, holding up the box like it's sacred.
"A yellow laminator."
He doesn't even hesitate.
"Get it."
"Julian, it's—" pricey.
"Get it, Claire," he insists, reaching over to grab it from my hands and put it in the cart. I neatly avoid him by jumping back and hugging the box.
I narrow my eyes. "Don't give me false hope. You don't even know how much it is."
"I don't care."
I stare at him for a second. Then I put it in the cart.
He doesn't blink. And I walk away with a new laminator that night, among other things.
He comes into my classroom one day, volunteering again. The kids are actually starting to like him.
He's grown on them as well, which is already insane. But what's more insane is the lunch he brings.
"Did you pack a... charcuterie board?" I whisper, staring at the neatly arranged container.
He shrugs. "You need to eat."
The kids notice immediately that he's brought me lunch. Second graders are observant and ruthless.
"Miss Claire," one of them whispers loudly, "is that your boyfriend?"
I choke, but Julian doesn't. He just smiles at him.
"That depends," he says, glancing at me.
I glare at him for egging them on. The kids lose it.
"OOOOOOHHHH!"
"Miss Claire has a BOYFRIEND!"
"Are you gonna have babies??"
"OOH! Miss Claire, I can babysit!!!"
"I'm calling all your parents," I mutter under my breath.
Julian the traitor is clearly enjoying himself and not even trying to hide it.
We take a cooking class. He's terrible at following instructions because he likes to "wing it".
"Julian, that is not what the instructor said," I hiss at him as he stirs instead of folds.
"It's close enough," he says as I cringe.
"It is not close enough," I glare at him, trying to rip the spoon from his hand.
"It'll taste better."
"It will not!" I insist. Because it's not gonna be fluffy, it's gonna be flat. Because he didn't fold, he stirred.
It tastes better, looks better, and we are complimented by the instructor. He walks out with his chest puffed up in pride.
I hate him.
I love him.
Every date is different, but all of them are thoughtful and intentional. Like he's trying to give me pieces of the world I didn't even know I wanted.
At the end of every single date, Julian gets quiet and his hands find mine. He looks at me with soft eyes and vulnerability slipping through the bond.
"I love you, Claire," he whispers every time with no hesitation or expectations of hearing it back. It's a simple truth given freely.
It wrecks me every time. I feel his love in a million different ways. In the way he looks at me and shows up for me. In the way he chooses me over and over again.
I love him. It sits in my chest, heavy and real and undeniable. But every time the words rise and I try to say them, they stop, right in the base of my throat.
A small part of me still held back, still hurting just a little. Just enough.
So instead, I squeeze his hand, I smile, and I hope that one day soon, I'll be strong enough and brave enough to say them out loud.