Chapter Twenty
Corbin
Jules has been avoiding me for the past four days. Then again, Mom’s been here, and I doubt she wants to risk Mom overhearing us discuss the whole we kissed and felt each other up situation. Can’t say I blame her.
But Mom leaves this morning, and Jules will be over for family dinner tonight. She mentioned wanting to go out for pizza or something casual. Maybe dinner away from the house will ease some of the tension—or make it worse. Who knows?
“You have everything?” I ask Mom as she hugs Tate goodbye.
“I do,” she answers, squeezing him tighter. “And if I forgot anything, I’ll just get it next month when I come back for Thanksgiving.”
Tate clings to her. “I don’t want you to go!”
“Oh, Tater Tot,” she whispers, stroking his hair. “I don’t want to go either.”
“You should stay,” he begs.
“I have to get back to work,” she gently reminds him. “But you can send me lots of pictures and videos of Yuri, okay?” Yuri . The snake I bought. The one Jules quickly insisted had to live here instead of at her apartment.
“I promise,” Tate replies, still clinging to her side.
Mom finally lets him go and turns to hug me next, holding on tightly. “I love you, son.”
Those words still feel strange and comforting all at once. My dad’s never said them. Not once in my entire life. Sure, he gave me a decent job at his company, but a good salary doesn't replace the one thing every son craves from his father.
“I love you too, Mom.”
I pick up her suitcase and carry it down the walkway to her car, with Tate trailing behind, shoulders slumped and bottom lip sticking out.
Guilt twists in my chest as I glance at him.
He has exactly one good grandparent, and she lives four hours away.
My dad barely even acknowledged Tate on his birthday.
He spent the whole party parked at a table, glaring at Mom and ignoring the rest of us.
I still have no clue why he bothered showing up. He should have done all of us a favor and skipped the event entirely.
The house my father built for us was always on shaky ground.
I grew up watching him charm clients, waitresses, and other people’s children.
Always making time for everyone else. Always playing the hero for strangers.
But me? I was nothing more than an afterthought.
The one he criticized the most, the one he never had time for.
He never asked how my day was, never cared if I needed him.
Then I met Jules.
She did the opposite. She treated me better than she treated anyone else.
Not that Jules has ever treated anyone poorly.
She just put me first. She gave me the best parts of herself, the kind of love that was unshakable, unwavering.
And I wasted it. Too stuck in a past I refused to stop letting dictate my present.
I tried. I really did. I wanted to give her the best of me, but maybe I was always too afraid she’d break it.
That she’d take those parts and dismantle them like my father always did.
But Jules isn’t my dad. She never was. She’s better. Far better.
If I’m going to win her back—really win her back—I can’t do things the same way I did before. I have to put her first. I have to give her all of me, not just the pieces I was willing to share.
Mom’s car disappears down the road, her hand waving frantically out the window.
She never took me with her when she left. She would always come back for visits, then take off again. Said she was too afraid to fight my dad for custody.
But the truth is, I needed her just as much as I needed him.
I glance down at Tate, leaning against my leg, a forlorn look on his face.
He needs both Jules and me. Together. Under the same roof. The same way I did.
More than that, he deserves it. And that guilt? That’s mine to carry. This was my undoing, and it’s up to me to fix it.
“Come on, bud,” I say, resting a hand on his head. “Let’s get ready for dinner with Mom. We’re taking her out tonight.”
Tate peeks up at me, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Where are we going?”
I smile, already knowing exactly where I want to take her. “You up for a little drive?”
“Yes!” Tate bounces on his toes before racing for the front door.
Jules might be painting and processing, but me? I’ve found my purpose. And I’m going to see it through to the end.
***
“Where are we going?” Jules asks, carefully adjusting the silky black skirt around her knees in the passenger seat.
I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, trying—and failing—not to look. Not to remember how those thighs felt under my hands. Warm, soft, inviting. My throat goes dry.
“It’s a surprise,” Tate reminds her from the backseat, his voice full of excitement. “We already told you this.”
Jules tucks an auburn curl behind her ear, refusing to look at me. Guess she’s still not ready to address what happened after Tate’s birthday party. She can keep avoiding it, but eventually, she’s going to run out of places to hide.
“You’ll like it,” I promise, shifting the car into drive and pulling onto the road. “It’s a bit of a drive, so settle in.”
“I thought we talked about getting pizza or something… simple?” Her voice is quiet, uncertain.
I glance over. She’s staring out the window, body turned fully away from me, putting as much distance between us as possible.
I exhale through my nose. “Are you going to avoid looking at me all night?” The words come out softer than I expect.
For a moment, I don’t think she’s going to answer.
Then, she says, “I don’t know.”
I nod once, gripping the wheel a little harder. “I know we talked about pizza,” I clear my throat, keeping my voice even, “but I think this will be just as fun.”
Jules lets out a scoff. “You don’t have fun, Corbin.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf.”
Finally— finally —she looks over at me, skepticism clear in those hazelnut eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
I shrug, turning on the radio. “Ye of little faith.”
She sighs, exasperated. “Seriously, where are we going?”
“And you say I’m no fun,” I tease, sneaking a glance at her.
She’s still looking at me.
Our eyes lock—for just a second—before I have to turn back to the road. But it’s enough. Enough to send a pulse of something sharp and electric through me.
“I just don’t get why you won’t tell me,” she pushes. “Why does it have to be a secret?”
“It’s not a secret,” I correct, smirking. “It’s a surprise.”
“What’s the difference?” she challenges, amused.
“A secret is something you keep from someone indefinitely,” I explain. “A surprise is something you keep from someone for a little while. Big difference.”
Jules lets out an easy, light laugh, shaking her head. “You’re really not going to tell me.”
I grip the wheel tighter, fighting the urge to reach over, to take her hand in mine like I used to.
I miss this. Not just what happened in her kitchen. Not just the heat between us.
I miss this.
The quiet moments. The teasing. The way we could just exist together. Talking, breathing, fingers entwined, driving in the same direction.
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself wonder. Maybe we really can have this again.
An hour later, Jules exhales, shaking her head. “Really?”
“What?” I playfully shrug as I park the car.
“You drove us all the way to our diner?”
“The diner!” Tate hollers from the backseat, bouncing excitedly. “Does this mean we’re getting ice cream for dinner?”
“No,” I quickly throw over my shoulder at him. “You have to eat real food first.”
He lets out an exaggerated, “Ugh!”
Jules laughs as she climbs out of the car, falling in step beside me. “I can’t believe we’ve never brought Tate here.”
Before I can respond, Tate shoves his way right between us and reaches for both our hands at the same time. Jules and I share a laugh as he jumps up and down, squirming with excitement. He really does seem happiest when we’re all together.
The familiar neon glow of Peggy Lou’s Diner flickers above the entrance, its soft hum blending with the faint buzz of an old streetlamp nearby.
Inside, the scent of warm syrup, sizzling burgers, and fresh-baked pies wraps around us like a childhood memory.
The diner hasn’t changed in years. Red leather booths lined up along the large front windows, checkerboard flooring scuffed from decades of foot traffic, and a long Formica counter where an older woman, probably Peggy Lou herself, wipes down the surface with a rag.
Jules spots our old booth instantly and leads the way to it. It’s the same one we always sat in, tucked in the far corner, away from the front door, where we spent countless nights sharing milkshakes and stealing fries off each other’s plates.
I slide into the seat across from her as Tate wiggles into the seat next to Jules. Something in my chest squeezes as I watch her brush back the blond hair on Tate’s forehead.
“This is where we used to eat ice cream until our stomachs hurt,” Jules tells him, her voice laced with nostalgia.
Tate’s blue eyes widen as he looks up at her like she’s the sun burning bright. The only thing in the sky. “And you sat right here?”
She nods, running her hand over the smooth tabletop like it holds every memory we ever made. “This exact one.”
A small smile pulls at my lips as I watch them, my heart tightening in my chest. Coming here was the right decision. Maybe this place—the history, the familiarity—might remind her of what we had. Maybe it’ll remind her that it was always real.
We order burgers and fries while Tate fires off a million questions about our college years. He wants to know everything—where we lived, what we studied, what we were like before we became his parents.
I was a business major, and Jules? She double majored in economics and art, balancing spreadsheets by day and losing herself in oil paints by night. She was always the smartest person in the room. Still is.