Chapter 24
JULES
My body felt unusually relaxed, and I wasn't sure if it was because of the long, scalding bath I'd soaked in or because I saw Chris again.
A part of me still wanted to punch him for talking to my kids this morning, but if I was being honest, I had to admit that seeing him, Carol, and the kids all together had left me with this low, warm sense of.
.. bliss. Probably because it mirrored my daydreams so closely.
And I knew how dangerous it was, building something on the foundation of a fantasy.
But still...
The funny, vulnerable Chris, the one who didn't flinch at my weird comments or blunt questions, the one who looked at me like I was precious and rare, the one who treated my kids (who were very selective with strangers) with so much kindness and ease. That was him. The real Chris.
Maybe he was right. Maybe I was creating a monster problem in my head. Maybe it really was that simple: We were single. We liked each other. We should give this a try.
Still in my robe, I tossed the towel from my damp hair onto the vanity chair and crawled straight into bed. I'd pay for it in the morning when my hair looked like a bird's nest, but I didn't care. Sleep called my name. Or at least it was, until my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I rolled my eyes to the right, catching a glimpse of the screen.
I debated whether to reach over and silence it or suffer through the buzzing.
I chose suffering, until it dragged on too long.
Groaning, I dragged my arm out, barely lifting off the mattress, and declined the call.
I was about to turn off the phone when a text lit up the screen.
"It's me. Chris. Pick up."
My body snapped upright before my brain could catch up. The phone rang again. This time, I didn't hesitate. I answered on the first ring.
"Jules?" came his voice right there in my ear.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt. I barely recognized myself.
I'd never been this affected by someone. Ever. You know that phase of your teenage years when any half-decent pubescent boy with long bangs and questionable style was enough to launch months of pining and endless name-scribbling in notebooks? I didn’t have that.
"The way you sounded so determined this morning, I thought you'd call me earlier," I said, sitting up straight in the bed. My fingers curled tightly around the phone, as if I didn't hold on, he might disappear.
"I wanted to call you the moment I stepped out of the house, actually... but I had some urgent matters to take care of." I couldn't read him over the phone, but his voice carried something. He sounded tired and... unease.
"Ominous," I muttered.
He forced a laugh and then cleared his throat, like he was trying to shake something off. But then, his tone shifted to a lighter one.
"What are you doing?" He asked.
"I took a long bath and was seriously considering passing out in my robe, because reaching for my closet sounds like actual torture right now.
" I didn't push. We were walking on thin ice here. I wouldn’t go into a spiral and crack whatever balance we’d found.
I didn't want to overthink—not his tone, not the whole PR engagement mess, not the fact that we somehow already knew each other. .. from a dream.
"So... you're telling me you're naked right now?"
"I said I'm wearing a robe."
"With nothing underneath?"
"That's usually how one takes a bath, yes..."
Silence. And then I hear a sharp metallic clink.
"Chris?"
"Yes?" His voice had shifted again. Now it was low, almost a whisper.
That soft, needy tone I knew all too well.
The one he used when he was close, when he wanted to touch me, ask for more.
.. do more. Shit. I thought I was too tired to be horny.
Apparently not. Chris Jones' voice—on the phone—was enough to override my exhaustion.
"What was that?" I asked, referring to the noise I'd heard.
"My keys," he said. "I'm on my way..."
I froze. I couldn't tell if he was joking, and I kind of hoped he wasn't. My body was begging for sleep, sure, but as loudly, it was begging for him. For the way his hands had moved across my skin like he already knew me.
No.
I couldn't act on impulse. Not now. If we were going to have any shot at this, we had to learn about each other. About the versions of us that existed here, in the real world. Without distractions. Without shortcuts. Without that supernatural pull that made us reckless.
"Don't," I said, using all the strength I had to make it sound convincing.
He let out a deep, slow breath. I could picture it perfectly, the frustrated tilt of his jaw and tension in his shoulders.
It made me smile. "I don't think I'd be able to do anything anyway.
I'm exhausted." A lie. A big one. Because I could do a lot.
A whole. Damn. Lot. But he seemed to believe me.
"I'm sorry, by the way..." he said, his voice shifting again. The heat was gone; it sounded heavier and serious now. "I shouldn't have shown up drunk at your house at three a.m."
I was going to say, "It's okay." But it wasn't. So I didn't. The way he showed up here last night scared me.
The thought of him driving intoxicated, in those weather conditions.
.. it still made me shiver. It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't bold. It was reckless. It was stupid.
And it wasn't fair to me. At all. So I stayed silent, letting that truth settle between us.
Chris didn't strike me as someone who got many chances to apologize and take responsibility.
Not because he didn't want to, but because people probably didn't give him space to.
So here I was, giving him that chance. Not to prove to me that he could be the version of Chris I knew he could be. .. But so he could see it, too.
"The last few weeks were... hard," he said. "I snapped. And suddenly, I couldn't take it. I needed to see you."
"I'm glad you came. I'm glad we got to see each other again. But you could've waited. If your phone wasn't working, you still could've come over. Sober. The next day."
"Yeah. It was an asshole move. I've got a lot of asshole tendencies, remember?" He made fun of himself, trying to ease the tension. I didn't laugh. "I'm not going to erase them all in a day... or maybe in years, Jules."
I took a deep breath. I knew that. And it was exactly what scared me.
Because I could handle his asshole tendencies, I could wait for him to figure things out.
God knows I had plenty of my own issues to resolve.
But it wasn't just about me, was it? I had my family, and they had gone through enough as it was.
Having someone in our orbit who was this careless was risky. It could all be too much.
"I can only promise you that..." he paused. "I'll keep trying."
I wanted to believe that. So badly.
"That's all I can ask for," I said quietly.
Chris was driving, and I sat beside him, staring out the window, trying not to let my grogginess slip into full-blown crankiness. In the backseat, Carol, Liam, and Nova were half-asleep.
I still wasn’t entirely sure where we were going. Chris and I had been talking over the phone every day for a week, and then, a couple of days ago, he asked me to clear our weekend. At first, I was going to say no, but something in his voice, almost pleading, made me reconsider.
He had promised things were in motion to end his “engagement,” and I kept replaying his words in my head about how our connection was surreal but not complicated.
Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was me, being me, and overthinking everything until it became impossible to be a good idea.
Besides, the kids hadn’t stopped asking about him since the pancake incident. There was no escaping this.
I told myself I would go with it. One weekend.
I would leave the worries and doubts behind and pretend he was this guy I’d met.
Someone kind to my kids that I was attracted to and wanted to spend time with.
I wouldn’t think about the fact that he’d been my husband in my mind for twelve years.
Or that he was a famous, ridiculously wealthy actor.
Or—at least while the kids were around—that he’d done things to my body, I still felt phantom tingles from.
“Why did we wake up at five a.m. again?” I asked. Waking up before seven was basically a crime in my book, especially since most nights, I didn’t go to bed until after one. Last night, I managed 11:30, which was practically a miracle, but still.
“For future reference, we are not fans of waking up this early,” Carol complained from the back, her head leaning against the window. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Nova’s head droop onto her aunt’s shoulder, her small body giving in to exhaustion. “See?” she added, pointing at her niece.
“I don’t really mind waking up a bit earlier,” Liam chimed in, his voice bright and upbeat like he hadn’t read the room at all.
“Shhhh…” Carol shushed him without looking up, clearly in no mood for his optimism.
Chris and I exchanged a quiet laugh, and he placed his hand on my thigh gently and with no expectations behind it.
Without even thinking, I rested my hand over his.
It felt… nice. This moment—the kids, the car ride, the touch of his hand—felt familiar.
Too familiar. Like something pulled straight from my daydreams. I had to keep reminding myself where the line was.
Where the dreams stopped and reality began.
His phone buzzed from the cup holder, the name ANNA flashing across the screen. My eyes landed on it before I could stop myself. Something twisted inside me. I didn’t think of myself as the jealous type, but seeing his “fiancée’s” name on his phone sparked something.