8. Julian
CHAPTER 8
JULIAN
H olding Natalie close, I'm acutely aware of every detail—the warmth of her body pressed against mine, the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips, the delicate scent of her hair that fills my senses. There's a comfort in the closeness, a rightness that I haven't felt in a long time.
As I kiss along her collarbone, I feel her shiver, a silent communication that sends a surge of protectiveness through me. It's in moments like these, quiet yet charged with emotion, that I realize the depth of my feelings for her.
The seriousness of the situation isn't lost on me. I let someone in before—my ex-wife, Tara—and then she left me for an older guy. A guy with money.
Natalie isn’t like that, I don’t think, but it’s difficult to lock those thoughts away. Especially when I'm not the only one I have to consider; Tara left Aria behind, too, which made it all the more painful.
And then there's Jack—Natalie's brother and my once best friend. He’d never approve.
Despite the near certainty of complication, of the messiness that might ensue, the pull towards Natalie is too strong, too insistent to ignore. I want this. I want her.
"You know," I murmur between kisses, my voice low against her neck, "for someone who's so concerned about preserving this building, you're doing a hell of a job shaking its foundations."
The words are meant to be playful—to get another rise out of her—but there's an undercurrent of truth to them. Natalie has, in a very short time, become a force in my life, unsettling the steady ground I've stood on for so long.
She laughs, the sound musical and bright, easing the anxiety that's begun to weave its way through my thoughts. Not the reaction I was expecting, but one just as welcome. Encouraged, I dive down for another kiss, deeper, more insistent than the last.
My hands, seemingly with a mind of their own, find the hem of her blouse, gently untucking it from her jeans. The action is bold, bolder than I've allowed myself to be in a long time, but the desire to be closer, to feel more of her, is overpowering.
Natalie's response is equally fervent, her hands pulling me closer, fingers deftly working the buttons of my shirt. My muscles clench under her touch, my body growing hungry for more.
As the fabric parts, revealing the ink that adorns my skin, her touch becomes more exploratory, tracing the lines and contours of the tattoos that map out significant chapters of my life. Each piece is a story of battles fought both externally and within.
She pauses over one, hands skimming over the word “perseverance.”
It's one of the first I got after Tara left us, a symbol of my determination to weather the personal storms I was facing at the time.
Noticing Nat's interest, I try to tame the wild desire within me, to follow her pace. I place my hand over hers, tracing the lines together. "Got this one not long after Tara and I split. I had to leave the military after that, to look after Aria. She was only three. It was…pretty rough for a while.”
The mood shifts, our recklessness forcibly shoved aside by the heaviness of our reality. There's been too much left unspoken, too much we've tried to leave buried in the past to continue on like this. The closeness between our bodies now feels strangely inappropriate given the gravity of the situation.
Sensing the turn, I reluctantly start to button up my shirt, the distance suddenly necessary as we navigate the delicate terrain of our shared past.
"I know it's been a long time," I begin, my voice tinged with a somberness that mirrors the shift in atmosphere. "I'm sorry for how things ended between us. We were kids, and we had different ideas about what it meant to be adults."
I can't help but reflect on the drama all those years ago. I knew back then that I wasn't worthy of anyone—especially Nat—as I was. I needed to become a provider, to make something more of myself than the directionless, punk kid I had been at the time. But with the grades I had and the family support I lacked, college was never an option. So, I left for the military when Natalie was in her last year of high school. I thought it was the best course of action, for both of us.
She didn’t take it well. She and Jack fought with me, told me not to go; and I ignored them. Jack and I had never fought like that before. We’ve hardly spoken since.
“Look,” I continue softly. “I know it hurt you. Me leaving, I mean; but I made my choices. And I don’t regret joining the military.”
The admission hangs in the air, a bridge between our past and present selves, a tentative step towards understanding our individual journeys. It's a moment of vulnerability, of laying bare the wounds that time has only partially healed.
Our teenage relationship failed before it had ever started. My feelings for Nat had been building for years, and I'm pretty sure it was the same way for her. But I waited too long to make my move. It was only one kiss, and then I skipped town without a proper goodbye.
Part of me knew I was in too deep even then, and I'd be lying if I said part of me wasn't running away from too many uncertainties.
Natalie watches me, her expression soft. Sympathy, understanding, perhaps even a hint of regret flicker in her dark gaze. It's clear that this conversation, this reckoning with our shared history, is as necessary as it is difficult.
Regardless, the possibility that Natalie has never forgiven me is a very real one. I can't blame her for it, and if our relationship is too much for her to revisit, I'll have to respect that. As miserable as that would make me.
"We were so young, Julian," she says gently, soothing the raw edges of my confession. "We were bound to make mistakes, to hurt each other without meaning to."
Her words, spoken with the wisdom that comes from years of carrying and eventually setting down the burdens of the past, offer a semblance of peace, a recognition of the pain we've both endured and the growth it has spurred. A single wave of relief washes over me, but it’s short lived as I realized what this means for us now.
The silence that falls between us is profound. I’m at a crossroads: the desire to lay all my cards on the table warring with the fear of revealing too much, too soon.
"I've probably said enough for today," I finally admit, my voice laced with a hesitancy that's foreign to me. "I don't want to overstep or scare you away."
Natalie offers me a small, understanding smile as she tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a simple gesture that captivates me all over again. Her beauty strikes me anew, reigniting my desire to pull her close, to steal another kiss and make up for years of missing her.
But the moment has passed. Natalie deserves some time to reflect on everything and decide what she wants. This thing between us is so new, so fragile, I'm afraid it might shatter with a single misstep.
As she moves to turn off the music, the bright melodies that have been our backdrop come to an abrupt halt, shrouding us in a sudden, almost tangible silence. The absence of sound feels like a void, emphasizing the distance that's crept back between us.
"I... I should probably get going too," she says, breaking the silence, her voice tinged with a reluctance that mirrors my own. "It's been a long day, and we've both got a lot to think about."
I nod, understanding her need for space, for time to process the emotional torrent we've both waded through. "Yeah, of course," I reply, the words feeling inadequate to express the tumult of emotions swirling within me. I know I shouldn't say anything else, but the question escapes before I can stop it. “Will I get to see you again?”
She pauses halfway through tucking her shirt back into her pants. It's obvious I don't mean just running into each other at work, and she takes her time before she speaks.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to commit,” she answers honestly. It stings, but it's my own fault for asking. “I don’t want to be held down, you know?”
I consider this for a moment. “So you want no strings attached?”
She bites the inside of her lip, then nods. “Yeah.”
I don’t answer that. How can I? Jack once said I look like the kind of guy who’d love a good fling, who’d have a different woman each week, but I’m not. Besides, we already discussed the need for space, or at the very least, to take things slow.
As much as it hurts to admit, the truth is despite how much I want Nat right now, I don’t know if I’m ready for more, either.
As she gathers her things, there's a sense of something left unsaid, of questions and possibilities dangling precariously in the space between us. I watch her, the urge to reach out, to bridge the gap with another kiss, is almost overwhelming. I hold back, chiding myself again.
Space. We need space. Space to breathe, to exist in the quiet contemplation that follows revelations such as ours.
Just as she's about to leave, Natalie pauses, turning back to face me with an expression I can't quite read, her eyes deep with an emotion intense and indefinable. "Bye Julian," she says, the words sparking a new desperation in me.
Just like that, my resolve crumbles. I close the distance between us in a few quick strides, pulled by an invisible thread that seems to connect my very being to hers. My hands find her face, and I lean in, capturing her lips with mine in a kiss that's both a farewell and a promise to return.
She responds instantly, her arms winding around my neck, her body pressing into mine with a desperation that matches my own. The kiss is deep, filled with all the unsaid things, the shared history, and the tangled emotions that we've only just begun to unravel.
As quickly as it starts, Natalie pulls away, her retreat a symbol of her strength—something that I'm apparently lacking today. She offers me a look that's both apologetic and resolute, then she's gone, the soft click of the door marking the end of our encounter.
I stand there for a long minute, trying to gather my scattered thoughts, the taste of her still lingering on my lips. It's the same taste that I remember from before, that I've been unable to wipe from my memory for all these years. The room feels emptier now in her absence, the silence louder.
Shaking my head in an attempt to clear it, I remember the original reason for my visit—the aftermath of the vandalism, the need to ensure that the building is secure. Moving on autopilot, I double-check the scaffolding, the locks on the doors, and the newly installed security cameras. I move mechanically, my attention frequently wandering from the task at hand.
As I make my rounds, the evidence of our hard work is reassuring. Everything is as it should be, no sign of further tampering or damage. It's a small comfort, and it’s encouraging to see the progress we're making despite the setbacks, both professional and personal.
With one last look around, I lock up for the night, the building standing silent and strong against the backdrop of the setting sun. My thoughts, however, remain stubbornly fixed on Natalie, my hands still burning from the warmth of her skin, my lips raw and tender. The complexities of our rekindled connection and the uncertainty of what lies ahead cast a melancholy shadow over the whole encounter.
The day has left me with more questions than answers, but the building is secure, and that will have to be enough for now.
When I arrive home fifteen minutes later, I push open the door to a world that feels miles away from the Langford. My house, while sizable and undoubtedly nice, carries a simplicity that speaks more to comfort than to extravagance. It's a home, first and foremost, crafted with Aria in mind, each space designed to be lived in and loved.
Aria's laughter greets me before I even see her, the sound a balm to the ragged edges that shape my person. As I step into the living room, her bright eyes catch mine, and in that moment, the weight of the world seems to lift. I scoop her up in a hug, planting a kiss atop her curly hair, her small arms clasping tightly around my neck.
The babysitter, a local college student that came highly recommended, hovers near the doorway, her presence a reminder of the life I've structured around Aria's needs. I thank her with a warm smile, pressing the agreed-upon cash into her hands. She offers Aria a playful wave goodbye, promising to return soon, and then she's gone, the door closing softly behind her.
As Aria launches into a detailed account of her day, from the forts she built out of cushions to the adventures of her favorite cartoon characters, my thoughts can't help but drift back to Natalie. The intensity of our encounter, the possibility of something more, hangs heavily in my mind.
I find myself wondering, not for the first time, what it might be like to introduce Natalie to this part of my life. The thought of the two most important worlds I inhabit coming together is daunting, yet undeniably hopeful. Could there be a place for Natalie in the simple, yet profound life I've built with Aria?
It's a tentative hope, one that flickers like a candle in the wind, vulnerable but persistent. As I listen to Aria's chattering, her energy and innocence filling the room, I allow myself to entertain the possibility, however distant it might seem.
Aria's observant gaze catches me mid-thought, her head tilting slightly as she scrutinizes my expression. "Helloooooo... Daddy, where did you go?" she asks, her voice tinged with the innocent curiosity only a child can possess.
Caught off guard by her perceptiveness, I muster a reassuring smile, ruffling her hair gently. "Just work things, kiddo," I reply, hoping my tone conveys more certainty than I feel. “This is one of those big projects that makes Daddy work extra hard sometimes.”
She pouts, her lower lip jutting out in a way that tugs at my heartstrings. "I wish you didn't have to work," she says, her words simple but laced longing for more time together.
I pull her closer, her small frame fitting perfectly against mine. "I know, sweetheart, I know," I concede, the weight of her wish not lost on me. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to work, too. “I know it's not fun right now. But as soon as Daddy's project is finished, I promise we'll take some time off together. Just the two of us. We can do anything you want. How does that sound?"
Her face lights up at the prospect, a thousand possibilities dancing in her bright eyes. "Can we go to the beach? And build the biggest sandcastle ever?" she asks, her enthusiasm infectious.
"Absolutely," I affirm, my heart swelling with love for this little person who's become the center of my universe. She's been begging to go to the beach for months, and she deserves this trip. "The biggest sandcastle ever. It's a deal."
Her laughter fills the room, a melody that soothes the remnants of the day's complications and reaffirms the priorities that guide my life. No matter what happens—with the Langford Building, with Natalie—Aria and I will be okay. And that's all I need.