Chapter Twenty-One
Jules
“Dad’s here!” Tate’s voice rings through the coffee shop as he sprints across the floor, hands smeared with streaks of green and orange paint.
I hand a fresh coffee to a customer before wiping my hands on my apron and instinctively smoothing down my hair.
Sarge, leaning against the counter, scoffs. “You’re not seriously preening for him, are you?”
I untie my apron and hook it onto the kitchen door. “You’ll be fine for a few hours on your own?”
“Do I have a choice?” he grumbles, already irritated.
“Nope.” I grin sweetly and step away.
The door chimes, and Corbin walks in, wearing dark wash jeans and a fitted gray pullover that clings just right to his arms. A mistake.
A mistake, because my insides melt instantly, heat flooding my chest as he runs a hand through his thick, dark hair.
How is it possible that he’s even more handsome now?
And why does that make my heart ache?
“Morning,” Corbin greets, his cool blue eyes sweeping over me before flicking to Sarge. “And good morning to you, too.”
Sarge rolls his eyes and disappears into the kitchen.
“Ignore him,” I say, shifting my focus back to Corbin. “Thanks for picking us up. Tate’s been talking non-stop about going to the pumpkin patch today.”
“Mom is sewing my snake costume!” Tate jumps up and down beside Corbin. “She stayed up all night to get the head just right! You wanna see it?”
“It’s at home,” I interject before Corbin can answer. “And I didn’t stay up all night. Just until two a.m.”
Tate gives me an incredulous look, hands folded under his chin. “That’s basically all night.”
“Can you go wash the paint off yours hands?” I ask Tate, who begrudgingly trudges toward the bathroom.
Corbin chuckles, a rich, warm sound that sends a dangerous thrill straight through me. “I thought he wanted to be Spider-Man?”
I step closer before I can second-guess it, drawn in by the effortless warmth coming off his body. “He changed his mind last second. So, we made an emergency run to the fabric store. Since Halloween’s in three days, I’m devoting every spare second to it.”
Something shifts in Corbin’s expression, something soft, reverent. “Is there anything you wouldn’t do for our son?”
For some reason, that look gives me the confidence to move even closer, to press into his space. The corner of his mouth tugs up like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
His hand lifts, his thumb dragging gently across my cheek. “You have flour,” he murmurs.
I lean into his touch, just slightly, just enough to let myself feel it. “Comes with the territory.”
“This is a place of business,” Sarge’s sharp voice cuts through the moment.
Corbin’s hand falls from my face, and the absence is immediate. Sharp.
“If you want to do… whatever that was, do it somewhere else,” Sarge adds, looking two seconds away from losing his last shred of patience.
Corbin’s lips twitch. “Oh, we do, Sarge. We do.”
I laugh as Sarge’s left eye twitches. “Go away,” he grumbles, shaking his head.
Corbin steps even closer, his voice dropping just for me. “Come on, Jules, let’s go find somewhere else to do whatever it is we’re doing.”
Suddenly, it slams into me.
I’m falling.
All over again.
For the charming, laid-back, dangerously magnetic Corbin Banks.
The man who once made me feel like I was the only person in the room.
Maybe he still does.
“I’m ready!” Tate announces with his hands raised high so we can see they’re clean.
“Let’s go, then,” Corbin returns with just as much enthusiasm.
Tate leads the way. And just to mess with Sarge—I’m sure that’s all it is—Corbin’s hand slides to the small of my back and I shamelessly inhale his cologne.
I’m in trouble.
So.
Much.
Trouble.
***
The pumpkin patch is alive with energy, buzzing with families of all sizes.
Grandparents shuffle to keep pace with their excited grandkids.
Toddlers toddle, bundled in puffy coats, their tiny hands reaching for pumpkins too big to carry.
The air is thick with the crisp scent of fallen leaves, cider, and warm kettle corn drifting from the nearby food stalls.
Strings of orange lights crisscross overhead, glowing against the early evening sky, while a tractor-pulled hayride rumbles past, the laughter of its passengers floating through the cool autumn air.
We blend into the crowd, making our way toward the wooden fence that houses the petting zoo.
Tate tugs Corbin’s hand, pulling him eagerly toward the animals.
The enclosure smells of fresh hay and earthy warmth, and the soft bleats of sheep and playful nibbles from goats fill the air.
A volunteer hands us a small paper cup filled with feed, the pellets rattling inside as Tate grabs his portion.
Tate takes his time, petting every single sheep and goat on the head, his giggles ringing out as their rough tongues tickle his palms. Corbin stands beside him, patient as ever, his broad shoulders relaxed, his eyes soft as he watches Tate.
Meanwhile, a determined little brown goat has taken a particular liking to me. He nudges my hand repeatedly, his floppy ears bouncing as he chews, demanding every last bit of food.
“You going to hog all the food?” I tease, scratching behind his ears as his stubby tail wags.
Corbin chuckles, stepping closer. “I think you’ve made a friend.”
“More like an entitled acquaintance,” I mutter as the goat nudges me again.
Tate looks up from the sheep he’s petting and grins. “Mom, I think he loves you.”
I laugh, feeding the little guy one last handful before brushing stray bits of hay off my coat.
Around us, the sounds of the pumpkin patch continue.
A mix of joyful screams from kids bouncing on hay bales, the distant whistle of the cider stand, and the crunch of leaves underfoot as families navigate the winding rows of pumpkins.
And for the first time in a long time, everything feels… easy. Comfortable. Like the past isn’t a shadow hanging over us, but a memory blending into something softer, something that doesn’t hurt quite as much.
“Are you ready to go find your pumpkin?” I ask Tate as Corbin takes the empty feed cup from me. Our fingers graze—just the briefest touch—but it’s enough to send a jolt straight through me.
My eyes flick up to his, and he’s already watching me. Not just looking, watching. The way he used to, back when everything was effortless. Back when we were tangled in something we thought was unbreakable.
My breath catches as Corbin’s lips curve into a slow, knowing smile, one that feels like a secret between just the two of us.
“Can I please ride the rides first?” Tate dramatically pleads, breaking whatever spell Corbin has on me.
Corbin ruffles our son’s hair, his gaze lingering on mine for a fraction longer before turning to Tate. “Let’s go get some tickets.”
The lines are short, and Tate takes off at full speed toward the bumper cars, climbing into one and buckling himself in with a look of pure excitement.
Corbin and I lean against the metal railing, side by side, the air thick between us. We wave at Tate, but my pulse is too erratic to focus on anything other than the heat radiating off Corbin’s body.
“Are we going to talk about it?” he asks, low, careful.
I exhale slowly, knowing exactly what he means. The kiss after Tate’s birthday party. “We should.”
His elbow brushes against mine. Just a small movement, but my skin burns from the contact.
“I don’t… uh…” Corbin clears his throat, searching for the words. A rare sight.
I turn to face him, and he’s already looking at me. “I told you I still find you attractive,” I remind him, though my voice is softer now, more vulnerable. “Maybe it was just… a weak moment.”
He lets out a rough chuckle, shaking his head. “A weak moment was when you stayed the night. That? That was…”
I hesitate, dragging my bottom lip between my teeth.
“I was jealous,” I admit, watching his blue eyes sharpen, searching my face.
“I might… sort of have these really confusing, complicated feelings when it comes to you. And I don’t know if it’s just leftover from the ten years we were together or if they’re… ” I trail off, afraid to finish.
“New?” he asks.
I swallow hard, turning my gaze to Tate as he crashes into another car, laughing hysterically. “Maybe.”
Then Corbin reaches for me, his fingers curling gently around my arm, pulling me closer. I don’t resist. I never want to resist him.
“I was jealous, too,” he confesses, his voice like gravel. “When I saw you and Trey getting pizza.”
I frown. “You didn’t act like it.”
His thumb brushes over my skin, the barest touch. “I feel things, too, Jules.” His tone is soft, warm, raw. “New things. But also the old things.”
A slow smile tugs at my lips. “Are you saying you like me?”
He nods, his gaze darkening as he watches me. Really watches me. “I like you a lot.”
My breath stutters. We’re too close, our bodies aligned, heat swirling in the small space between us.
I miss him. God, I miss him.
Not just the way his lips felt against mine in the kitchen that night, but the way he kissed me before. The way his hands would slide into my hair and tilt my head back just right, like he knew exactly how to kiss me in a way that made my whole body weak.
“Then kiss me,” I whisper.
He blinks, surprised. “Really?”
I quickly check to make sure Tate is too busy slamming into another bumper car to notice. Then, I tilt my chin up, a silent challenge. “Now.”
Corbin doesn’t hesitate.
He crashes his lips against mine, and I melt instantly, completely.
His mouth moves with mine, slow at first, teasing, coaxing. But then I hook my arms around his neck and pull him closer, needing more. Needing all of him.
His hands find my curls, fingers tangling and tugging until my head tilts back, giving him more access, and he deepens the kiss. His tongue slides against mine, sending a shiver down my spine.
I don’t care that there are people around.
I don’t care that this is dangerous—too dangerous—for my heart.
Because right now, in his arms, nothing else matters.
Then suddenly, it’s over.
His fingers slip from my hair, his lips lingering for a beat longer before he finally pulls back.
My eyes flutter open, my chest heaving. His breathing is just as uneven, his expression torn between restraint and the same hunger I feel pulsing through my veins.
We stare at each other, lost in something neither of us is ready to name.
“What are we doing?” Corbin frowns, his thumb sweeping slow, soothing circles across my cheek.
I shake my head, my breath unsteady. “I don’t know. I…”
I can still feel the press of his body against mine, still hear the unsteady breath he let out when I pulled him closer.
“You said you couldn’t do this to Tate,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “Has that changed? Do you…” He trails off, watching me, waiting.
I lick my lips, the taste of him still there, sending another pulse of longing through me. “I’m not sure,” I admit. “I need to figure out… you know, how I feel. About you. Specifically.”
A flicker of something—hurt, maybe—crosses his face before he tamps it down. He clicks his tongue and his fingers slip from my cheek, back into my hair. “You should take some time to do that,” he says evenly. “But we can’t keep doing this to each other if this isn’t what you want.”
I press my palm against his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat beneath my fingertips. He’s always so calm. Always so sure. It’s maddening.
His other hand finds my waist, his fingers flexing, pulling me closer once more. He leans in and presses his lips to mine—soft, unhurried, patient.
He’s giving me space to pull away.
I don’t.
I lean in, meet him halfway, sinking into the heat of him, the familiarity, the comfort. I know what my body wants. It wants him. The feel of his hands on me. The rasp of his breath against my skin. The way he holds me like I belong to him.
But my heart? My heart is caught somewhere between past and present, between what we were and what we could be.
And my mind? My mind is a battlefield of logic and longing, of don’t go down this road again and what if he’s right?
I part my lips, needing more of him, needing answers.
Instead, he pulls back. Just enough to leave me breathless, just enough to leave me aching.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly, the promise wrapped in certainty. “So when you’re ready to do this, I’ll be right here.”
He means it.
I can see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his hands linger a second too long before he lets me go.
“Mom! Dad!”
Tate’s voice slices through the moment like a blade, jerking me back to reality.
Our son scrambles out of the bumper car, his blond hair a mess, his grin wide and full of joy as he races toward us.
I tear my gaze from Corbin, blinking past the emotions warring inside me.
My heart aches.
I told Corbin we couldn’t do this because I couldn’t put Tate through another heartbreak. Because I couldn’t withstand another heartbreak.
But what if I was wrong?