Chapter Twenty-Five
Jules
I grab my purse and hurry toward the door, my pulse a steady thrum of anticipation. Corbin dropped Tate off at Leo’s fifteen minutes ago, which means he should be here any second. I don’t even bother checking the mirror. I already know nothing I see will change how I feel tonight.
Excited. Nervous. Hopeful.
The moment I step outside I see him.
Corbin climbs out of his car just as I close the stairwell door behind me, and for a second, I stop moving.
Dark wash jeans. A charcoal pullover that clings just right. He looks like a dream. Like the kind of man who, once upon a time, changed the way I saw the world. The kind of man who, against all odds, still manages to do that.
This is our first second date. The first time, I never wanted to go home after it.
I think I’m hoping for the same thing tonight.
“You look beautiful,” Corbin says as he moves toward me, his voice warm, his eyes trailing over me like I’m something worth admiring.
I will my feet to work again, closing the space between us. “So do you.” My cheeks immediately heat. “I mean, you look handsome .”
He laughs, that deep, easy sound that always makes something flutter in my stomach. When he opens the passenger door, I step closer and reach for him, my fingers curling into the soft material of his pullover as I lift onto my toes to kiss him.
It was torture on Wednesday night during family dinner, pretending nothing had changed, pretending I wasn’t feeling everything all at once while Tate watched us a little too closely, as if he knew something was going on.
I lasted the entire night. Until after Tate was asleep and Corbin was about to leave. Then, in the dim glow of the stairwell, he tugged me into him and kissed me slow, like he had all the time in the world.
I’ve been craving another kiss since.
When I finally pull back, I exhale softly, my fingers still fisted in his sweater. “You ready?”
His lips tilt into a small, knowing smirk. “Yeah,” he says. “More than ready.”
Corbin closes the door behind me, and as he circles around the front of the car, I take a deep breath, settling what little nerves I still have.
“Where to?” he asks, shifting the car into drive.
“Vine and Copenhagen,” I reply without hesitation.
“The Warehouse District,” he muses, shooting me a side glance. “This should be interesting.”
I laugh. “Oh, it will be.”
He smirks but doesn’t press for details. Instead, he reaches across the center console and finds my hand, threading his fingers through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of his skin settles me completely. I don’t feel nervous anymore. Just excited.
“How was your day?” Corbin asks, but with him, small talk never feels small. He’s never just filling the silence. He genuinely wants to know.
“Good. Busy. It’s officially that time of year when everyone wants coffee all day long.”
“Tis the season,” he agrees, his thumb lazily stroking along the back of my hand. “We haven’t talked about Thanksgiving yet.”
I bite my lower lip. “That’s still three weeks away.”
“Yeah, but did you want to spend it together?”
I glance over at him, my stomach flipping, but I manage to tease, “Ask me again at the end of this date. If it doesn’t go well, that could get awkward.”
His deep chuckle fills the car. “Fair enough.”
As we drive, Corbin tells me about his first week of self-employment. Apparently, many clients only stayed with his dad’s firm because of him, and now that he’s a free agent—one who never signed a non-compete—clients are flocking to him.
“I never knew you wanted to work for yourself,” I say as we pull up to a street lined with rustic buildings and twinkling lights.
Corbin parks, then steps out at the same time I do. “I’ve wanted to for a while. I just needed the push, I guess.”
I slip my hand into his as I lead him toward a white-washed brick building with a dark wood door. “Your dad makes things miserable, doesn’t he?”
“Always has.”
I stop at the entrance, looking up at him with a grin. “We’re about to find out just how well you can paint, Corbin.”
He huffs a laugh. “What does that mean?”
Instead of answering, I push open the door, and we’re instantly greeted by the warm hum of voices, the scent of fresh paint, and the clinking of wine glasses.
Corbin chuckles lowly. “We’re painting.”
“Not just any painting,” I say, stepping in front of him and grabbing his other hand. “We’re drinking and painting.”
A slow, amused smile spreads across his lips. “Okay.”
I lead him through the crowd, feeling a little giddy at the idea of doing something creative with him. When I signed us up for the 6:30 slot tonight, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but now that we’re here, it feels… right.
“Jules!” A familiar voice calls out. Holly, a frequent customer at the coffee shop, waves from the front of the studio.
I smile. “Hey, Holly.”
She glances between Corbin and me.
“This is my, uh… Corbin,” I say, suddenly unsure of how to introduce him.
Holly’s eyes flicker with recognition. “Oh! Tate’s dad.”
Corbin grins and shakes her hand.
“Well, grab a glass of wine,” Holly says. “We’re starting in about five minutes.”
Corbin raises a brow at me as I pull him toward the bar. “Drinking and painting, huh?”
I smirk. “Scared?”
He leans in, voice low and teasing. “Of the painting? No. But watching you drink wine could get very interesting.”
My cheeks warm, but I don’t look away. Yeah. This definitely feels right.
Corbin is not great at painting. In fact, he should really stick to wearing business suits, making high-stakes deals, and taking important conference calls. Basically, anything but art.
“Why does your turkey’s head look like a…” I tilt my head, studying his canvas, trying to figure out what’s so off about the shape.
Holly stops behind us and doesn’t miss a beat. “A penis?”
Corbin and I both lose it .
“It does!” I laugh, maybe a little too loudly, but I don’t care. We’re having too much fun, and for the first time in years , I feel completely, undeniably light .
“I was just copying what you were doing,” Corbin protests, motioning toward Holly’s painting at the front of the class.
I glance between Holly’s carefully constructed masterpiece and Corbin’s very not masterpiece and laugh harder. “Yeah, uh… I don’t think so.”
Holly grins, shaking her head as she walks away, still chuckling.
Corbin sets his brush down and glances at my empty wine glass. “Do you want another?”
I shake my head. “My limit tonight is one.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Being responsible?”
“I have my reasons,” I say, trailing off as I take his brush and add a few strokes of brown paint to his canvas. “There. Much better.”
Corbin studies my fix and smirks. “I didn’t realize you were a turkey expert.”
“I have many skills,” I say, lifting my chin proudly.
His hand drifts to my hair, fingers gliding through my curls, and I lean into his touch, warmth spreading through my chest.
“This is fun,” he murmurs, like he’s realizing it for the first time. “I’m glad you asked me out.”
I nod as my hand instinctively finds his thigh, my palm resting there like it always used to. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“Tate would freak out if he knew what we were doing right now,” Corbin chuckles, shaking his head.
“I don’t want to lie to him,” I say softly. “You know that, right?”
Corbin’s expression turns serious. “I know, Jules. We’ll tell him when there’s something to tell.”
I swallow hard. “I love him so much. And the thought of him hurting, it…”
“Hey.” Corbin shifts in his chair, turning to face me completely. His hands find my arms, his thumbs tracing slow, reassuring circles against my skin. “No one is going to hurt him.”
I exhale, nodding.
“We love our son,” he reminds me, the sound steady and sure. “But let’s focus on us tonight.”
I take a breath, letting the truth of that settle between us.
“What do you want for dinner?” I ask, needing something to ground me.
Corbin’s fingers drift back to my hair, to the nape of my neck, a slow, lazy pull drawing me closer. His lips hover just a breath away from mine. “I have a few ideas.”
A spear of heat flares between my thighs. I swallow hard. “ Food , Corbin.”
His grin is downright wicked. “Sushi?”
“To go?” I add quickly.
He tilts his head, amusement flickering across his face. “You ready to leave?”
I nod. “Let’s go.”
We grab our paintings, thanking Holly on our way out. The night air is thick with the scent of rain, the sky darkening as thunder rumbles in the distance.
“We better hurry,” Corbin says, glancing up at the sky as we load our canvases into the trunk. “Looks like a storm’s rolling in.”
As we slide into the car, Corbin pulls out his phone and places an order at our favorite sushi place.
I listen as he rattles off my exact order down to the extra soy sauce and no wasabi.
He pauses before confirming. “Still the same?”
I nod, surprised. “You remembered ?”
His eyes meet mine, filled with something I can’t quite name. “Of course, I did.”
The storm crackles in the distance, but somehow, I feel nothing but warm.
We pick up the food, and Corbin insists on paying. The rain starts as a light drizzle, but by the time we step outside, thick droplets pelt down from the sky.
“Run!” Corbin laughs as he tucks the to-go bag under his arm, trying to keep it steady while we sprint through the downpour.
Water soaks through my blouse almost instantly, cold against my skin. My hair sticks to my face as we dive into the car, both of us breathless and laughing. The sound is easy, natural, something I haven’t heard in far too long.
Corbin turns on the car, the heater kicking in with a low hum. He glances over at me, something unreadable in his expression. “Your place or mine?”
I hesitate for a second, studying him.
Yours. The answer comes without thinking.
“Yours,” I say aloud.
A flicker of something moves through his eyes before he nods and backs out of the parking lot, heading toward his house— our house.