Chapter Twenty-Two
Corbin
I’m trying to keep my distance from Jules. To give her space. But it’s wreaking havoc on my sleep.
The past three nights, I’ve laid awake staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of that kiss at the pumpkin patch. Every lingering glance. Every touch. Wondering if I pushed too far.
But how could I not?
I want her. I’ve always wanted her. I love her. I’ve always loved her. She should know that. She deserves to know that. If she’s weighing her options—deciding whether we have a future—then she should at least know the truth.
I want our family back together. And I was a coward who never deserved her.
But I’m not that guy anymore.
I’ve changed. Matured. Figured out what I can and can’t live without. And living without Jules? Too damn hard.
“You’ve got it bad.”
The voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I glance over to find Pearla standing there, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
I let out a short laugh. “I know.”
“You should tell her,” she suggests, tucking a strand of sandy blonde hair behind her ear.
“Oh, I have,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. “Pretty sure she already knows.”
Pearla hums. “Good.”
A beat of silence passes before I shift my focus to her. “How are you?”
She hitches a shoulder. “I’m okay.” But the way her fingers twist the hem of her sweater tells me otherwise. “I always miss Roger this time of year. Halloween was his favorite holiday.”
Her tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent of grief beneath it, the kind that settles deep in the bones and never fully leaves.
I nod, understanding that kind of ache all too well. Maybe not in the same way, but loss is loss.
And I’ll be damned if I let myself lose Jules again.
“Everyone was right,” Pearla muses, her gaze sweeping over the decorations Jules meticulously arranged.
Vampires and ghosts sway in the October breeze, cobwebbed archways frame the entrance, and strings of bats dance under the dim glow of festival lights. The school’s Halloween festival is always a spectacle, but watching Jules in her element? That’s something else entirely.
Pearla tilts her head, eyes twinkling with amusement. “I heard she’s doing the face painting, too. Is there anything she can’t do?”
Make up her mind about me.
I exhale through my nose. “Not that I’m aware of.”
Pearla falls quiet for a moment before shifting closer. “Can I ask why you two separated?”
My jaw tightens. “I guess one day I realized I was caging her in… so I let her go.”
The words feel heavier now than they did two years ago. Back then, I convinced myself I was doing the right thing. Giving her the freedom she needed.
But now?
Now, I know I was just a coward.
Pearla exhales, glancing at me with something that looks like understanding. “You know there’s a saying. If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it never was.”
Jules does come back. Over and over again. But then she gets scared and runs.
I huff a humorless laugh. “I think Jules and I are a little more complicated than that.”
Pearla nudges me with her elbow, her voice quieter now. “If there’s one piece of advice I’d give my younger self, it’d be to fight for the people you love. Really fight for them.” She pauses, something flickering behind her gaze. “Because you never know when they’ll be gone.”
The finality in her tone settles deep in my chest.
I lost Jules once.
I’m not about to let that happen again.
"Well," Pearla clicks her tongue, adjusting the sleeve of her sweater. "I have to run the cake walk. Better head over there and get it started."
"Good luck," I say as she heads toward the gymnasium, though my attention never strays from Jules.
She’s in her element, soaking in the endless praise from passing teachers and parents.
The decorations, the atmosphere, the little details only she would think to include.
She’s the reason this festival feels like magic.
And she graciously accepts every compliment, even though she never seeks the spotlight.
I’m tired of watching from a distance. I move toward her, slowly, deliberately. My pulse pounds harder with every step, but I don’t hesitate.
As if she senses me, she turns—just slightly—and catches my approach. Her lips twitch with the faintest smile before she looks away, but I see it. She’s happy I’m here.
That’s all the encouragement I need.
I step in behind her, my presence pressing close enough that she instinctively leans back just enough to let me know she’s aware of me. Jules can say whatever she wants, let her mind twist itself into knots, but her body never lies.
She wants me.
She always has.
My hand finds the small of her back, fingers grazing the soft fabric of her sweater. Her breath catches as she turns to face me, those hazelnut eyes darkening as they lock onto mine.
"Corbin!" Greta, Tate’s teacher, greets me brightly. “Have you seen all of Jules’ decorations? They’re amazing!”
"They are," I confirm, not looking away from Jules.
She meets my gaze, and her tongue flicks out to wet her lips.
My pulse trips.
She’s nervous. Good. She should be. Because I’m done playing this game.
"She’s a talented painter," I add, my voice dropping an octave.
More people chime in, throwing out compliments like confetti.
“And Tate’s snake costume! You’re beyond talented, Jules.”
“Just phenomenal, really!"
Jules tries to focus on them, but we’re in a world of our own. My thumb traces slow circles against her back, and the black pupils in her hazelnut eyes widen.
She feels it, too.
The spell breaks when Greta clears her throat. “There’s a line of kids waiting,” she announces. “We should let Jules get to work.”
Jules blinks, her cheeks turning a shade of pink I’d give anything to feel warm beneath my lips.
I smirk, stepping back, but not before dragging my fingers lightly along her back one last time. "I’m going to check on Tate," I tell her. "He and Leo are in the bounce house."
She nods, still looking a little dazed. “Don’t let him eat too much cotton candy.”
"I know, I know," I chuckle. "He’ll puke it all up."
She shivers dramatically. “I’ve had enough puke after that stomach bug he had a few weeks ago.”
Her expression shifts, turning thoughtful. I know exactly what she’s remembering.
The way I held her in the dark, her body curled against mine. How, even exhausted and vulnerable, she didn’t pull away. How I never wanted to let go.
Me too, Jules . Me too .
I step away, putting some distance between us before I do something reckless.
“Make sure you save some paint for me,” I call over my shoulder. “I want a custom Jules face paint.”
She shakes her head, but her smile is soft, lingering. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I grin as I head toward Tate, knowing one thing for sure. She’s not running this time.
I spend the next hour trailing behind Tate and Leo, who’s dressed as Spiderman sans the face mask, as they sprint from attraction to attraction, their laughter slicing through the crisp autumn air.
They scream at the top of their lungs in the Haunted House, their hands clutching each other’s sleeves like lifelines.
They dart between game booths in the parking lot, pockets quickly filling with cheap prizes and candy.
They dance wildly in front of the live band, oblivious to the amused smiles of passing parents.
And then there’s the cake walk.
Tate grins up at me, eyes full of mischief. “Dad, you have to do it with us.”
“Tate, I don’t think—”
“Come on,” he pleads, tugging at my sleeve. “It’s for charity.”
I sigh dramatically, but the second the music starts, Tate and Leo both shriek with excitement and take off running around the numbered circle. I follow behind at a more reasonable pace, shaking my head.
Somehow, I win.
“Mom loves strawberry and chocolate,” Tate reminds me as I scan the cake options. “You should get one of those.”
I glance down at him, lifting a brow. I think my son might be trying to help me woo Jules. Not that I need help.
“You pick,” I tell him, watching his face light up with determination.
He reaches for a rich, glossy chocolate cake in the center, eyes gleaming. “This one.”
It’s almost too big for him to lift, so I step in to help, my hands steadying his before the whole thing ends up on the pavement.
Pearla helps us box it up, then leans in conspiratorially. “Don’t forget, costume contest is in thirty minutes.”
“Got it,” I nod as Tate and Leo take off running ahead.
When we reach the face-painting booth, Jules is finishing up a delicate purple butterfly on a little blonde girl’s face.
I stop just short of the booth, watching as Jules works, completely focused.
A tiny crease forms between her brows as she blends the purple into a shimmering blue along the girl’s cheeks.
God, I’ve missed watching her like this.
“Mom!” Tate hollers, completely shattering the moment. “Dad won you a cake!”
Jules’ eyes flick toward me, landing briefly on the box. “What flavor?”
“Your second favorite,” Tate announces proudly. “Chocolate.”
A flicker of amusement dances behind Jules’ hazelnut eyes before she returns her attention to the little girl in front of her. “All done.”
The kid gasps as Jules hands her a mirror, eyes going wide with wonder.
“Do you like it?” Jules asks softly.
The little girl nods enthusiastically before hopping out of the chair and sprinting toward her mom.
I watch as Jules wipes her hands on a napkin, finally looking up at me. I swear there’s something in her gaze that wasn’t there before.
“You ready?” Jules asks, her voice laced with amusement.
“For?” I arch an eyebrow.
“Your face painting,” she laughs, reaching for a brush.
I set the cake down on the nearby table and slide into the chair across from her. Jules narrows her eyes, tapping a finger against her chin as she considers. “Devil horns?”
Tate immediately doubles over, clutching his stomach as he howls with laughter. Beside him, Leo rests an elbow on Jules’ shoulder, grinning.
“What about a shark?” Leo suggests, giving Jules a light pat.
“A monkey!” Tate chimes in, his excitement bouncing off the walls.
Jules tilts her head, waiting for my verdict. “Well?”
I lean forward, my voice low and deliberate. “Surprise me.”
Her hazelnut eyes darken slightly, a slow smile tugging at her lips. “Okay.”
Then she scoots her chair closer, her knees brushing the outside of my thighs.
My hands instinctively find purchase on her jean-clad legs, thumbs grazing over the fabric in slow, absentminded strokes.
Jules doesn’t pull away. Instead, she dips her brush into the paint, her free hand tilting my chin as she concentrates.
She chews her bottom lip while she works, the same way she always does when she’s focused. Her fingers rest lightly on my jaw as she drags the paintbrush across my cheek, careful and precise.
I watch her, my pulse thrumming.
Tate and Leo hover behind her, their small faces betraying nothing of what she’s creating.
But I hardly care. The only thing I care about right now is Jules—her scent of coffee beans and vanilla, the way the golden glow of the setting sun outlines her auburn curls, the feel of her legs beneath my hands.
I almost tell her.
Almost tell her I’m sorry. That I never should have let her go.
That I let my own cowardice and insecurities push her away.
That I didn’t understand back then what I know now.
That marriage isn’t about one person leading while the other follows.
It’s about walking side by side. About making decisions together.
She never even wanted to buy the house.
She wanted to be near the water, maybe in a different state. I should have listened. I should have done better.
Instead, I let my father’s voice dictate what stability should look like, and I didn’t see that what Jules and I had—what we built—was stability.
I should have fought for her.
Jules finally sets down the brush and reaches for the mirror. “All done.”
Her smile is small but warm as she hands it to me.
I keep one hand on her thigh as I take the mirror, tilting my head as I take in my reflection. A snake winds its way up my cheek, curling over my forehead. I should’ve known she’d make sure Tate and I matched.
I chuckle, handing her back the mirror. “Clever.”
“I thought so.”
The space between us crackles. Her lips part slightly, and my fingers tighten on her thigh. I want to kiss her. Right here, in front of everyone. But I can’t. Not with Tate watching. Not with the entire festival buzzing around us.
So instead, I squeeze her leg—gentle, lingering.
“I’ll take the boys through the haunted house again,” I offer, standing.
Jules glances toward Tate and Leo, who are already buzzing with anticipation. “They’ll love that.”
“Join us?” I ask.
She hesitates. “I have to clean up first. I’ll catch up with you.”
I nod, but the disappointment settles in my chest like a weight.
I want her to come. I want her to pick me.
But I also know she needs to figure things out on her own. That if she doesn’t choose me—if she decides to walk away for good—I’ll have no one to blame but myself.
And if that happens… I’m not sure how I’ll recover.