Chapter Seven
Jules
It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a first date. Twelve years, to be exact.
Corbin was my last first date. I was nineteen. He was twenty-two. Gorgeous. All dark hair and sharp blue eyes that cut right through me. His smile was easy, his arms solid, like he could hold the weight of the world without breaking a sweat.
And maybe, back then, he did.
He picked me up in dark-wash jeans and a navy pullover, smelling like pine needles and clean laundry. Like something familiar, something safe. Like home.
And after that night, I never wanted to go home again.
I don’t think Corbin did either.
We were inseparable. A single name instead of two. JulesandCorbin. We did everything together. Study sessions that turned into late-night drives, weekends tangled up in each other, whispered dreams about the future over plates of greasy diner food.
Then, one day, we simply weren’t.
I guess that’s what happens when two people stop growing toward each other and start growing apart.
But I never thought it would happen to us.
It did, though, and now I barely recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror.
My wild curls are tamed into a bun, my usual flowy dresses and skinny jeans traded for a red blouse and black slacks. I don’t feel like me. Not really. Then again, do I even know who I am anymore? Not since I stopped being JulesandCorbin.
Now, I’m just Jules.
Alone.
No, this isn’t a pity party. I’m trying. I’m putting myself out there. If I don’t, I’ll spend the rest of my life pining after something—someone—who isn’t mine anymore. Someone who hasn’t been mine for a long time.
I grab my black leather jacket from the hook by the door and slip it on. A small act of rebellion. A reminder that there’s still a part of me left in here, buried beneath the broken pieces.
I’m supposed to meet Trey at the coffee shop in fifteen minutes, but my nerves are unraveling fast. I don’t know how to act.
How to sit. Where to put my hands. Do I make small talk?
Does he? What if the conversation stalls?
What if he likes me and I don’t like him?
Worse—what if I like him, and he doesn’t like me?
Steady, Jules .
Breathe.
It’s just one date.
I’ll be fine.
Sarge suggested I pick somewhere familiar to make it easier, to take the pressure off. The only place that came to mind was Cardini’s, a little pizza place a few blocks away. Tate loves it. Maybe that’ll help. Maybe it won’t feel so awkward.
Tate.
He’s with Corbin tonight. Probably doing something fun. Sundays used to be family days—back when we were still a family. We’d have picnics at the park, grill on the back patio while Tate ran through the yard, or take long evening walks, counting the stars as they blinked to life in the night sky.
The memories press in, sharp and relentless, tugging at something deep inside me that still aches to be whole.
But that life—as beautiful as it was—took more from me than I was willing to give.
With Corbin, I was always making choices. Choices between who I was and who he needed me to be. Choices between my dreams and his expectations. And the disappointment? That was the worst part.
Disappointing Corbin led to divorce papers. And now I’m here, walking down Main Street toward the coffee shop, heading to dinner with a man I’ve never even met before.
Funny how life folds in on itself. How it bends and twists into shapes you never saw coming.
When I reach the coffee shop, I hesitate, peeking through the glass windows. Sarge is behind the counter, laughing with someone. Someone tall, wearing a gray, long-sleeved shirt.
My stomach twists. Well, here goes nothing.
The bell chimes as I step inside. Sarge’s eyes meet mine instantly, his face breaking into a grin.
“She’s here!”
The man—Trey—turns slowly. His smile is warm, effortless.
A perfect row of white teeth. His skin is tawny, his black hair cropped close to his head.
There’s stubble along his sharp jawline, but his eyes—green like fresh spring grass—are what hold me still.
Kind eyes. Open. He wears a silver chain around his neck, though I can’t quite make out the pendant that rests against his chest.
“Hi,” I say, my voice softer than I intend.
Trey’s dark brows lift, his expression easygoing. “Jules? Finally?”
I force a smile and extend my hand. His is much larger as it closes around mine. Warm, solid. For the briefest second, my breath catches. His grip is different. His touch doesn’t fit mine like…
I take a steadying breath.
There’s more to life than Corbin Banks.
“Sarge says you’re a big fan of pizza,” Trey says, keeping things light.
“I am,” I reply, grateful for the small talk.
“You up for a walk?” he asks.
I hesitate, flicking a glance at Sarge, who is grinning like he’s just won the lottery. Idiot.
“A walk sounds nice,” I say.
We head for the door, but before I can escape, Sarge calls after us, “Have fun, you two!”
I don’t bother turning around. He’s enjoying this way too much.
We walk side by side down the road, Trey on the outside, closer to the passing cars. It’s subtle, but sweet. That small, instinctive gesture—putting himself between me and the street, like he’s shielding me from some unseen danger.
“How did you meet Sarge?” I ask as he shoves his hands into his pockets. The crisp autumn air wraps around us, full of the same quiet anticipation Trey seems to carry. I wish I could say I feel it, too, but my thoughts keep drifting.
What would Tate think of Trey? Would he like him? Would it feel strange to see me with someone other than his dad?
Why am I thinking about Tate right now?
“I gave him his first tattoo,” Trey says casually.
I glance over at him, surprised. “Really?”
He nods. “Yeah, I’m a tattoo artist.”
I blink. Okay, definitely didn’t expect that.
“I think Sarge mentioned that you guys work out together at the gym,” I say, remembering the story my brother fed me.
“We do,” Trey confirms. “But only after he got his tattoo done.”
“The bleeding heart?” I ask.
Trey grins. “So you’ve seen my work?”
“I have,” I admit, unable to stop a small smile from forming.
He nods. “He told me it was for your mom.”
My throat tightens. Of course Sarge told him that.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice softer. “It was her favorite plant.”
Trey must sense the shift in my mood because he smoothly steers the conversation in another direction. “Sarge also said you paint.”
I shrug. “I used to. Not so much anymore. Between the coffee shop and Tate, I don’t have the time.”
“That’s a shame,” Trey says thoughtfully. “Being creative is one of the best parts of life, don’t you think?”
I swallow hard. It used to be. Before Tate.
Before my heart literally started living outside my body.
Every time he gets into Corbin’s car and drives away, every time I drop him off at school, every second I have to be away from him, it feels like I lose a piece of myself.
Painting was something I did for me. Tate is something I live for.
“I find that different parts of my life are the best parts,” I reply, my words a little more careful now. “Do you have kids?” I ask, mostly to shift the conversation to safer ground.
Trey shakes his head. “No. I almost got married once, but no kids. Never found anyone I wanted to be tied to forever, you know?”
My heart stumbles over his words. Tied to forever .
“Yeah,” I say a little quieter than I mean to. “I know.”
Trey exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean—” He groans. “I’m sorry. I know you’re divorced, and I wasn’t trying to—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt, offering a small shrug. “I didn’t get married thinking I’d end up divorced.”
Trey winces. “That was a really shitty thing for me to say. I’m sorry.”
“You were just being honest.”
“Too honest for a first date.”
I huff out a soft laugh. “Maybe. But honestly? It’s fine.”
Trey watches me for a moment, like he’s trying to gauge if I really mean it. Then, he shakes his head and sighs. “I do love kids, though. Just… you know, in general.”
A nervous laugh escapes me. Let’s not go down this road.
“How about,” I suggest, “we avoid talking about kids and divorce for the rest of the night?”
“I think that’s a solid plan,” Trey agrees. He exhales, then blurts, “I’m just nervous. You’re really… you’re really pretty.”
My lips press together, heat rising to my cheeks. It’s been a long time since I’ve been called that by someone other than Corbin.
“Thank you,” I say softly. Then, after a beat, I admit, “And I’m nervous, too.”
Trey smirks. “Because I’m ridiculously good-looking?”
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head as we stop in front of Cardini’s. “We’re here.”
He opens the door, motioning for me to go in first. The scent of basil, oregano, and red pepper fills the air as I step inside.
I scan the room and point to a cozy table tucked in the back.
Trey nods, following me over. He pulls out my chair, and I settle in while he takes the seat across from me.
His green eyes are warm, observant, watching me a little too closely.
“Do you have a toppings preference?” I ask, reaching for the menu.
“I like it all—pepperoni, sausage, peppers.”
I glance up at him. He’s smiling. Too much.
He likes me. And I… I don’t know what I feel.
Off my game, maybe. Five days ago, I was dropping off Tate’s backpack, and then I woke up in Corbin’s bed.
I should probably dissect that, but I’m afraid if I do, I’ll break more than just my own heart. I’ll break Tate’s, too.
“Sounds good to me.” I return the menu to its holder. “How do you feel about garlic knots?”
“On a first date?” Trey raises a teasing eyebrow.
“I have gum in my purse,” I say breezily.
“Fearless.” His smirk deepens, like he really thinks I’m bold and daring. If only he knew how tangled my emotions are right now.
Kona, the owner, appears beside the table, his brown eyes flicking between Trey and me. He’s known me long enough to recognize what this is, but thankfully, he spares me the embarrassment of calling it out.
“What can I get for you and your friend, Jules?” He pulls a notepad from his red apron.
“We’ll start with garlic knots and a medium thick-crust pizza—pepperoni, sausage, and peppers.”
“And drinks?” Kona asks.
I glance at Trey.
“Whatever beer you have on tap,” he decides.
Kona nods. “I’ll bring a pitcher.”
“Perfect,” I say as he tucks the notepad back into his apron.
Trey leans back in his chair, smirking. “Beer and pizza? Are you trying to win ‘Best First Date of My Life’ right now?”
I shrug. “We could hit the bowling alley after this and really seal the deal.”
Trey clutches his chest in mock agony. “You’re killing me here.”
I laugh. It feels nice. Light. Easy.
But that laughter shatters in an instant.
“MOM!”
The sound cuts through the restaurant like a bullet. My heart drops. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
Tate .
I whip around, and sure enough, my son is barreling through the pizza joint, heading straight for me.
Panic flares in my chest as my eyes dart past him, searching—
Corbin .
He stands in the doorway, his gaze locked on me, his expression unreadable. His eyes flick from me to Trey, assessing, calculating.
And just like that, the air shifts.
Uh oh.