Chapter 10
JULES
We walked up the stairwell, finally leaving the noise and fancy chaos of the restaurant behind. I carried my shoes in one hand, feeling the cool concrete under my feet as we climbed. Every once in a while, I’d glance back at Chris. He was trying to hide it, but he looked a little winded.
Maybe the rooftop idea was too ambitious for a first date.
But the elegant, over-the-top atmosphere of that place had made me feel even more self-conscious than usual.
I didn’t need all that tonight. I wanted to know this man beside me, to see if he was anything like the Chris I’d conjured up in my head over the years.
“Why are we going to the rooftop again?” He asked.
I shot him a grin over my shoulder.
“Beautiful view, privacy, and good company. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I was hoping for, you know, a chair or two to be included.”
I stopped at the rooftop door, turning back to him.
“What’s the fun in life if you don’t break the script of ‘normal’ once in a while?”
I waited as he climbed the last step and stopped in front of me. So close. Close enough that every time I breathed in, my breasts brushed him, and it was like a little spark of electricity shot straight through me. For a second, his eyes dropped to my lips, and my stomach flipped.
Was he about to kiss me?
He didn’t. Instead, he lifted a hand and brushed his fingers against my cheek.
“You’re not like other women, are you?”
I tilted my head, trying not to let him see how my pulse was racing.
“Don’t sexualize my weirdness.” I rolled my eyes. And with that, I pushed open the door, finally stepping out onto the rooftop.
The view before us was like something out of a postcard.
City lights twinkled as far as we could see, and there was nothing but open air between us and the sky.
As Chris scanned the place for somewhere to sit, I tipped my head back, taking in the full moon’s glow.
The sky was mostly clear, something rare and magical for the city.
“Full moon. Beautiful.” He said.
“See?” I threw him a smirk. “What meal doesn’t taste better under the moonlight?”
He laughed and shook his head.
“The meal that gets cold on the windy rooftop.”
“Hmm… grumpy.” I gave him an exaggerated scowl.
I closed my eyes for a second, letting the moonlight wash over me. Something about the moon had put me at ease since I was a kid, when I used to imagine I lived up there, floating around and befriending aliens. It was silly, but somehow, the same calm washed over me now.
When I opened my eyes, Chris was watching me.
“You look better now. More comfortable.” He was right. I did feel better. I loved order and routine, but sometimes, stepping out felt freeing.
That was my mind for you. Constantly fighting between craving the unique and clinging to what felt safe.
The rooftop was my kind of perfect. The night sky stretched out above us instead of that claustrophobic dining room.
No loud conversations and no stiff shoes.
Indeed, perfect. And now that I was feeling more at ease, my curiosity was bubbling up again.
Once I started with questions, I couldn’t stop myself.
I was feeling bold, maybe even a bit reckless.
“So, why did you never marry? You are like… old.” I teased, raising an eyebrow at him. Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but Chris was nearly a decade older than me and an A-lister. People expected him to be at least in his first marriage by now.
“Ahn…” He looked like he was scrambling for a more diplomatic answer, but I wasn’t going to give him a chance to do the PR-trained speech.
“Mom issues?” I asked while balancing on a piece of pipping on the floor, tiptoeing across it like I was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. I couldn’t keep still if I tried, especially in such a nerve-wracking situation as this one.
The malfunctioning filter in my brain had already said bye-bye, so I was going at it. It was, honestly, the best way to figure out if someone could handle me. Not the socially acceptable, small doses version, but the fully unhinged Jules.
“If I had to bet, I’d say dad issues. Guys with mom issues are usually the clingy, possessive types.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. It was so hot that he wasn’t running for the hills.
“Who says I’m not possessive and clingy?” He was playing along. Dangerous territory, Chris Jones.
I hopped down and stepped closer to him, giving my most mischievous look.
“Are you?”
Our eyes locked, and neither of us said anything. We didn’t have to. The playful tension was slowly shifting to something else. An energy that my whole body recognized from earlier today when it went rogue and straight into his arms.
I tried to keep it together, but every passing second felt like a dare. I was pretty sure I couldn’t last two more without giving in and jumping on him. As I felt myself leaning in, he broke the silence.
“I’m pretty sure that’s a conversation for the third or fourth date.”
Get it together, Jules.
I steadied my breathing, hoping I wasn’t giving away how ridiculously horny I actually was. It had been a while, and being alone with this man was not helping. I laughed, shaking my head like I could physically shake the tension away.
“What do people even talk about on first dates, anyway?” Small talk had never been my thing. Clearly.
He shrugged casually.
“I don’t talk much on first dates.”
Oh. I caught the implication loud and clear. Obviously, women didn’t stand a chance of resisting him for long. And honestly? No judgment. If it weren’t for my loud brain, my big mouth, and the insane way we met, I probably wouldn’t have lasted this long either.
But here’s the thing: if he was more of an “action guy” than a “let’s chat over dinner” type, why was he talking so much on this first date?
He could’ve made a move not two seconds ago because, let’s be real, I wouldn’t have the strength to stop him.
I was gone on those ocean eyes. Totally hypnotized. But he didn’t.
I guess I was easier to resist than the parade of runway models and actresses he slept with before.
Don’t even go there, girl.
“Try. It’s your turn… ask me a question.” I said, choosing to ignore the comment, determined to see if he’d actually give me something real this time.
He hesitated for a beat before going with something safe.
“Okay, okay… so you have a kid, right?”
“I have two. Liam and—”
“Nova.” Her name rolled off his tongue.
My heart skipped.
“Yes…” I said slowly.
How the hell did he know that?
I was so starstruck by how ridiculously hot he was, like a hormonal teenager, and was having so much fun on my first date in forever that I’d completely forgotten the bizarre way we’d met.
Everything was going so smoothly up until now.
Now, the questions I’d been ignoring came rushing back, demanding to be answered.
“How long do I have to wait to ask what I really want to know?”
He laughed lightly.
“Were you seriously holding back? I thought it was my turn to ask the questions, but sure… go ahead.”
He was trying so hard to play it cool, but I wasn’t buying it.
Not when I noticed the tension on his jaw and how his eyes focused on anything but mine.
I could read his tells like a book I’d reread hundreds of times.
He was holding something back, like he had earlier when I’d asked about his family.
I took a small step closer and locked my eyes on his, trying to piece it all together. There was no point pretending this was a regular date anymore. We both knew it. I didn’t even hesitate.
“How did you know my name when we first met?”
The question hung there, and his smile wavered. He took a breath, his eyes searching for something like he was trying to come up with a convincing answer. If he knew how bad he was at lying to me, he’d probably give up.
“I heard your sister call you.” He finally said.
I debated whether to laugh or shake him and say, “I know you’re lying.” But I played along.
“And my daughter’s name?”
“Well…” He stammered. “I… It’s embarrassing, but I Googled you before our date.”
I didn’t even flinch.
“There’s absolutely nothing about my kids on the internet,” I said as steadily as I could.
“I’ve made sure of it.” And I had. I was very serious about keeping their names, faces, and lives offline.
No photos, no posts, nothing. So, his excuse?
Completely implausible. “So, let’s try this again,” I said, staring him down. “How did you know our names?”
He took a step back and rubbed the back of his neck.
His usual Hollywood swagger glitched for a moment, like a mask slipping.
But it didn’t take him long to catch it and slide it back on.
His shoulders squared, his movements reset into that staged confidence.
He gave me a smile, ready to put his resume to work and prove just as good of an actor he actually was, presenting me with some lame follow-up story.
That’s when it hit me. I wasn’t dealing with daydream Chris Jones, the perfect, honest husband. This was someone else, someone messy, someone with secrets. And I didn’t have any room in my life for it.
“You know what? This was a bad idea.” I said, cutting him off before he could start his scene, and turned on my heel, heading for the door. I could hear his deep breaths, like he finally realized he’d backed himself into a corner. I was almost out when his voice cut through the silence.
“Wait!”
I turned slowly, arms crossed, waiting for whatever excuse he had lined up next.
But when I looked at him, his posture had shifted.
It wasn’t the charming movie star looking back.
It was someone different. More vulnerable.
Torn. Like he was on the edge of some truth, he wasn't sure he was ready to share.