Chapter Twenty-Three
Jules
I shouldn’t be thinking about Corbin.
I should be sitting down with a notebook, listing out the pros and cons, making an informed decision about what the hell I’m doing with my life. Instead, I’ve been scrubbing the same damn table for five minutes straight, my mind caught in an endless loop of doubt and possibility.
I’m not going anywhere. So, when you’re ready to do this, I’ll be right here.
Those words keep replaying in my head, twisting themselves into something softer, something hopeful.
The truth? I don’t know what I want.
But I do know what I don’t want.
I don’t want to disappoint Tate. I don’t want to make a choice that will hurt him, to start something with Corbin only to rip it away again. I don’t want to hurt myself either. Or Corbin.
And I will if I jump into something without knowing if this is real.
I haven’t let myself experience anyone else. I’ve gone out with one man. One . I kissed Trey, and all it did was make me wish Corbin had been the one in front of me.
That scares me.
What if I’m just settling because I’m comfortable? Because I’m attracted to him? Because I know the way his body fits against mine?
Or what if Corbin is the only person I want?
What if he’s always been the only one I’ll ever want?
I press my palm to the table, my breath shaky. My reflection stares back at me in the freshly wiped surface, eyes clouded with uncertainty.
"You’ve been wiping down the same table for the last five minutes."
I jolt at Sarge’s voice, my stomach twisting.
Clearing my throat, I mutter, “Just making sure it’s really clean.”
Sarge leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyebrows lifted. “You’re thinking about Corbin, aren’t you?”
I shrug, wiping aimlessly at an invisible stain. “Does it matter?”
“I just don’t get it,” he exhales, shaking his head. “What is it about that guy that makes you lose all… common sense?”
I bristle. “I take offense to that statement.”
“You should be on dating apps,” he says bluntly. “Going out with Connie. Meeting new people. Instead, you’re running around town with the guy who smashed your heart into a million pieces and then did the same damn thing to Tate’s. Or have you forgotten?”
The words hit like a slap.
I haven’t forgotten.
I remember the nights I cried myself to sleep. The way I packed up my life into boxes. The quiet moments when Tate would ask why Daddy didn’t live with us anymore. The way it felt to be discarded, to be the one left picking up the pieces.
But that’s not the full picture, is it?
“That’s not fair,” I say softer than I intend. “Neither of us were fulfilled in our marriage.”
“So what’s changed?” Sarge presses.
I look away. Because everything has changed.
Corbin stayed all night when Tate was sick, never once acting like it was just my responsibility.
He shows up because he wants to, not because he has to.
He listens. He’s different. The man I was married to—he was afraid of his father’s shadow, of failure, of being vulnerable.
This version of Corbin? He’s standing on his own.
And his father? Mr. Banks has been absent from everything except Tate’s birthday party.
The grip his father had on his life is loosening. Maybe even gone.
I take a breath, choosing my words carefully. “People change.”
Sarge scoffs, shaking his head. “Just like Dad did?”
The words land like a punch.
“He came back once, too,” Sarge says, his voice hard. “But then he left again. People leave, Jules. They do it once, they’ll do it again.”
I flinch. Because the worst part?
I don’t know if he’s wrong.
“Why aren’t you on dating apps?” I turn the conversation on him. “Why aren’t you putting yourself out there?”
Sarge laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Because I’m content being alone. People can’t hurt you if you don’t let them in.”
My heart aches at his words. “But that’s so… lonely.”
He shrugs. “I have you and Tate. What else do I need?”
I think back on Sarge’s dating life. Or lack thereof. He’s never been in a serious relationship, never let anyone get too close. He’s always kept people at a distance, guarding himself like his heart is a fortress no one is allowed to enter.
“Companionship?” I offer. “A partnership?”
“I’m good,” he chuckles before heading toward the kitchen, effectively ending the conversation.
“Ignore him,” Connie interjects as she takes the cleaning supplies from me.
“Kind of hard to,” I admit, glancing toward the swinging kitchen doors.
“When it comes to your love life,” Connie smirks, unimpressed, “he has a lot of opinions for someone who’s never actually been in a relationship.”
I nod. “Yeah, that’s fair.”
“Listen,” Connie leans in, lowering her voice like she’s about to impart some sacred wisdom. “If you want to give it another try with Corbin, you should. No one should be denied a second chance at happiness.”
I exhale sharply. “It’s complicated.”
Connie waggles her eyebrows. “All the best relationships are.”
I snort. “Is that so?”
“On a more serious note,” she continues, sincerity coating her words, “you should go on a date with the guy. Just the two of you. No Tate. No distractions. See if there’s still something real there.”
I press my lips together, considering it. “That’s not a bad idea.”
She gives me a knowing look. “I’ve watched you build this business from the ground up, but I’ve never seen you quite as happy as you are when that disgustingly handsome Corbin Banks walks through the door.”
I roll my eyes, but she’s not wrong.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, I mutter, “What if we screw it up again?”
Connie hitches a shoulder. “Better to try again than to live with regrets.”
“You’re making my mental pros and cons list way too easy,” I tell her.
“That’s what I’m here for,” she teases. Then, as if reading my mind, she adds, “Why don’t you take the rest of the evening off? Sarge and I can close up. Go home, clear your head.”
“There’s a painting I’d like to finish,” I admit.
“Then go!” She shoos me with both hands. “I’ve got this.”
I glance toward the kitchen, where Sarge has disappeared, then back at Connie. “You’re sure?”
“Positive,” she grins. “Now, go figure out your life, Jules.”
I shake my head, laughing despite myself, but I don’t argue. Maybe some time alone with my thoughts—away from the coffee shop, away from everyone else—will help me figure out what I really want.
***
The paintbrush skims across the canvas, the watercolors bleeding together in soft, fluid strokes.
Blues, greens, and browns. Pine trees. Tall and sturdy, like Corbin.
They don’t sway or bend easily. They stand strong against the elements—shielding against the summer heat, bearing the weight of thick snow, enduring raindrops the size of half-dollars.
Everything reminds me of Corbin.
One date.
We can try one date. It’s not enough to get my heart broken again. Not enough to let my hopes climb too high. But it’s enough to see if there’s something still there—something more than just the undeniable attraction simmering between us. Because I know it’s not just me. He feels it, too.
It’s why I ended up in his bed. Why my body reacts to him like a magnet to steel. I can deny it all I want, but Corbin has always been my favorite place. The only place that’s ever really felt like home.
Maybe that’s why I haven’t put myself out there. Why dating has never felt… right. No one else has ever measured up to him.
I know how that sounds.
But what if you do find your soulmate at nineteen? What if there is no one else for you, no matter how far and wide you search?
And yet… what if we get it wrong again?
What if I can’t be what he needs? Worse. What if I can be what he needs, but he can’t be what I need?
And Tate.
It always comes back to him, doesn’t it? His happiness. His stability. I don’t want to give him false hope. But he lights up when we’re all together. Maybe we don’t have to tell him anything yet. Maybe we can figure things out quietly, away from his watchful eyes.
I just hate keeping secrets. Even when it’s for the right reasons.
One date.
We can try one date.
Hell, we might sit across from each other and realize that the divorce was the right choice all along. That we were always destined to be something almost , but never enough.
But those eyes. God, those blue eyes that see me. All of me. And his hands. His arms. The way his touch burns and soothes all at once.
And his toned ass.
One date.
I can do one date.
I exhale and set my brush down, finally stepping back to look at the painting in its entirety. The pine trees stand tall, their deep green stretching toward a sky brushed with streaks of soft gold and fading blue. Strong. Resilient. Rooted.
Just like Corbin.
Just like us.
I don’t know what the future holds, but for the first time in a long time, I finished something. And maybe that’s a sign. Maybe it means I’m ready to try again.
I wipe my hands on an old rag, take one last look at the painting, and grab my glass of wine.
One date.
I can do this.