Chapter Ten
If Hallie leaned just so to the right and stretched, she could see Julian through his office window. Working diligently, with his ticking stopwatch and rigid shoulders. The sky was clouded today, so the lamplight from the house spilled across the grass, highlighting the mist in the air. It was definitely getting ready to rain. She should absolutely get going. But she wouldn’t have this view of Julian Vos and his cleft chin from home, so she risked the inclement weather by planting extra slowly, spreading the soil with slow-motion hands.
Their eyes met through the glass, and she quickly looked away, pretending to be enthralled by the blooming stem of a snapdragon, while her belly continued to take one long skydive. Had he found the second, decidedly more coherent letter? She’d been working in the guesthouse garden for two days and they hadn’t spoken, so she couldn’t get a read. But he definitely hadn’t written back. She’d checked. And that couldn’t be a good sign, right?
Maybe he’d marched her letter directly to the police and asked them to handle it. Maybe they were forming a task force right now. Find and eliminate the rogue secret admirer before any more men were forced to read about feelings.
Thunder rolled loudly overhead.
Once again, their gazes danced toward each other through the mist-covered window, and he raised a very sharp eyebrow. As if to say, Do you not have a weather app on your phone?
Or eyeballs?
Finally, he lifted a phone to his ear. She assumed he had to take a call until her own phone started vibrating in her back pocket. “You’re calling me from inside?”
He hummed, and the low sound was like a soft shock down her spine. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a jacket? Or maybe calling it a day altogether, considering it’s about to pour?”
“I’m almost done. These lilacs just can’t decide where they want to be.” Julian’s head fell back on his shoulders, eyes imploring the ceiling for sanity. “You know I can see you, right?”
Despite Julian’s frustration, his lips tugged. “Maybe you could try something new and space out the flowers evenly—”
“This just in: they want to be directly behind the daisies.”
His laugh was like the sizzle of water on a hot stove. There was something intimate about it. About the storm and his lamplit window. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Maybe a little.” She fell forward on hands and knees, securing the lilacs in place and patting the earth around the edges. “I don’t mind working in the rain, actually. The one responsible thing I’ve done recently is buy a waterproof phone case. Did you know there is no dog slobber damage clause in the Apple contract?” The raindrops on the window didn’t quite obscure the twitch of his lips. “If you need to get back to writing, we can hang up.”
“No,” he answered, as if involuntarily. “How is Corked doing these days?”
Hallie paused and studied Julian. Was he really not going to take credit for buying three cases of his own family’s wine? Apparently not. He was frowning at the computer screen, no sign of the good deed visible in his expression.
She’d skidded into Corked for the afternoon tasting, only to find that Julian had not only stopped in and had a glass of wine with a thoroughly charmed Lorna, but he’d dropped enough cash to pay this month’s rent. As if she needed another reason to send him love letters—of which there would be only two. Two, tops.
Unless he answered.
Which he definitely didn’t seem inclined to do.
Maybe a third would nudge him?
“Corked is doing slightly better than usual, actually. Lorna has more of a spring in her step the last couple of days, which is nice to see,” she said breathily, her hands working the earth. “I’m not sure why, though. She’s been very tight-lipped. Maybe she landed an investor. Either that or she’s got a boyfriend.”
He studied her through the window, trying to either determine if she was joking or perhaps deduce whether or not she’d been made aware of his generosity. When she only kept her features schooled, he cleared his throat. “And this makes you . . . happy? Lorna having more spring in her step?”
Did he appear hopeful, or was that her imagination? “Yes. It does.”
“Hmm.” Apparently the topic was dismissed, because he leaned forward to look up at the sky and shifted in his chair. “There is going to be a downpour any second now, Hallie. Come inside,” he said, without thinking. “I don’t want you cold.”
Her hands paused slightly at his deeper tone.
She looked up, their eyes latched, and her oxygen grew scarce. Did he have any idea how his caring affected her? It was a glimpse at the man beneath. The man she’d always known was there, but who had been buried in his adulthood. Not so deep that she couldn’t see it. Couldn’t wish to dig and dig and wrap herself in his uniquely refined kindness.
“Do I need to come out there and get you?” he prompted.
Mother Nature sent thunderheads rolling across the sky above them. Or maybe that turbulence was moving straight through her, reverberating in her bent thighs and tightened tummy muscles. She was the human version of a plucked tuning fork. Bottom line, if she stood up right now, her arousal might not be visible . . . but she couldn’t guarantee it. Who could hide this potent a feeling? Better to stay crouched, maybe drown in a flash flood.
“Very well,” he clipped, hanging up before she could . . . what? Tell him not to bother coming to collect her? Was she really going to pretend that she didn’t want to go inside his house to wait out this romantic rainstorm?
A screen door opened in the distance, and her heart accelerated, beating even faster when Julian came into view. Just in time for the sky to make an ominous tearing sound and condensation to begin falling in a spiky deluge.
“Come on,” he said, reaching down to take her hand, his warm palm sliding against hers, his fingers compressing around hers, leading to what felt like an electrical charge straight to her hormones. Leaving her tools to fall where they may, she allowed herself to be pulled along the front path and into the cool, dry interior of the house.
Julian guided her into the kitchen and stopped, looking down at their joined hands, his thumb ever-so-slightly brushing over the pulse at the small of her wrist. Could he feel it pounding like McConaughey on a pair of bongos? Did she want him to? Ultimately, a muscle popped in his cheek and he let her go, retreating to the opposite side of the island like last time, with his hands propped wide, dress sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Oh Lord, the forearms. There they were. In her fifteen years of fantasizing about this man, she’d definitely neglected one of his best features. Going forward, she needed to do better.
She opened her mouth to make a joke about Californians never being prepared for rain. But she stopped short, a flash of cold running up her arms. There on the marble counter sat the envelope containing the secret admirer letter.
No.
Both of them.
They were in a neat stack, naturally, with a brass duck paperweight on top.
Oh Lord. He’d gotten them. Both letters. Read them with his eyes and brain and forearms. They sat between them like an accusation. Was she too blindsided by her crush to realize she’d just walked into a confrontation? Her pulse picked up. She needed to figure out what was going on here and fast.
“Is Natalie home?” she asked, glancing toward the back of the house.
“No. On a date, I believe.”
“Really? Good for her. In the rain and everything.”
“Yes.” He seemed to blink himself out of a trance. “She met someone at the gas station of all places. I don’t understand how that happens. I’ve never had a conversation with anyone while filling my tank, but she seems to have built-in . . . what do my students call it? Tinder?”
“Her sixth sense is locating single people. That’s an enviable skill.”
His left eye twitched. “You wish you were better at asking out men?”
“Sure.” Were they having the most ironic conversation possible considering the letters sitting beneath the mallard? Or had he intentionally led them here in preparation for a secret admirer intervention? “Don’t you?” she managed through her dry throat. “Wish you were better at coming right out and telling someone that you’re interested?”
He considered her from across the island.
Thunder boomed outside.
Though she couldn’t see the lightning that came a few moments later, she imagined it zigzagging across the sky. Much like the veins in his forearms.
My God, pull yourself together.
“I don’t usually have a problem with that,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
There you have it, folks. Julian Vos didn’t have any issues telling the opposite sex he was interested. Was this a gentle letdown? Nice letters, but I’m into scholars who like to attend astronomy lectures instead of getting drunk and eating linguine.
“My problem mostly comes later in the acquaintance,” he continued. “When it’s time to state my intentions. I worry they’ll become attached when I have no intention of doing the same. I don’t want to promise something and not deliver. That’s worse than being . . .”
“Being what?”
“I don’t know. Disconnected.” He was beginning to look troubled. “I tend to remain disconnected with people, because it’s easier to focus. On work. On keeping time. It’s never bothered me until now. I never meant to become so unattached in all my relationships. Only romantic ones. But my sister. I don’t know what’s going on with her and . . .” He caught himself with a hard headshake. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.”
“I don’t mind.” In fact, with his halting revelation still hanging in the air, she could barely stand the pressure in her chest. “You’re worried about Natalie?”
“Yes,” he answered succinctly. “She’s always been so good about taking care of herself. Coming home would be a last resort for her.”
“Have you tried talking to her about it?”
After a moment, he shook his head, those bourbon eyes finding her from across the island. “What would you say? To make her comfortable enough for that?”
It meant something that Julian was asking her this. The tentative manner in which he posed the question told her exactly how often he requested advice. Next to never. “I would tell her you’re glad she’s here with you.”
Julian’s spine straightened more than it already was. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.” Hallie nodded, folding her hands in front of her. “But before you say it, make sure you mean it. She’ll be able to tell the difference.”
His lips moved slightly, as if repeating her advice to himself.
This man. She’d been right about him. All along.
He was heroic.
Somewhere along the line, had he convinced himself of the opposite?
It took all of her self-control not to cross to the other side of the kitchen, go up on her tiptoes, and press their mouths together. But . . . would that be unethical now? He was opening up to her without knowing she’d written him those letters. Letters he’d obviously read and kept.
His gaze shifted down to the letters briefly, then away. “Someone recently asked me how I feel about my solitude. They said, ‘There’s so much space to think. To consider where I’ve been and where I’m going. I wonder if I’m who I’m meant to be or if I’m just too distracted to keep evolving.’” A wild rush of butterflies carried through Hallie, winging up into her shoulders and throat. Did he just quote her letter from memory? “That made sense to me.”
Oh dear. This wasn’t an intervention.
He’d read the letters . . . and liked them. They’d resonated with him.
Hallie’s first reaction to that was a burst of joy. And relief. This distant bond she’d always felt with Julian . . . maybe it wasn’t a figment of her imagination after all.
“That makes sense to me, too,” Hallie rasped into the kitchen, the sound of rain almost drowning her out. Wait. Now she was having a full conversation with him about the contents of her letter. That wasn’t good. She’d never intended this, and she needed to come clean right now—
“Lately I’ve been wondering if I’m so trapped inside this need for structure that it’s ceased to have any meaning at all,” Julian said, looking just beyond her shoulder. “I haven’t used minutes or hours on anything besides my job, and does that mean I’ve essentially . . . wasted some, if not all of it?” His attention fell to the note. “Maybe I haven’t evolved, as this person says. Maybe I’ve been too distracted to grow, when I thought I was being so productive.”
She related to that so hard, she almost reached across the island for a high five. “Sort of like, as you get older, you start taking on myriad responsibilities that make you an adult. But really, they’re just distracting you from the things that matter. And then you’ve misspent your time, but there’s no way to get it back.”
“Exactly.”
“When your colleague had his breakdown, you started to wonder about this?”
“Almost immediately. He should have been somewhere else. A healthier place for him. With his family. And then I thought, is this where I’m supposed to be?” He tucked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, examined her. “Do you ever lose sleep wondering if you’re in the wrong place or timeline?”
You have no idea. “Sure,” she whispered, wondering if he could read her mind. Maybe he could. After all, there was something magical charging the air in that moment, in the nearly dark kitchen with a thunderstorm rioting outside. Standing with this staid and private man while he confessed his inner turmoil. There was nothing she could do to stop herself from leaning into the intimacy. Going after it with both hands.
Not even her conscience, apparently.
“The first fourteen years of my life, I was on the road with my mother. We were never in the same place longer than a week. And my mom . . . she’s kind of this beautiful chameleon. She likes to say midnight transforms her back into a blank canvas, like Cinderella and the pumpkin. She became whatever her current love interest wanted. If she changed bands, went from soul to country, she’d go from a lounge act to a cowgirl. She evolved constantly, and she . . . took me with her. On the road and on these makeovers. She redesigned me over and over. I was punk, I was girly, an artist. She’d kind of impress these different identities on me, and now . . . sometimes I don’t know if this is the right one, if this is actually me. It felt right when my grandmother was here.”
Julian’s gaze dipped to her multitude of necklaces. None of them made sense together, but she could never decide which ones to wear. Throwing them all on got her out of the house and away from the mirror fastest. The simple act of picking a piece of jewelry or restricting flowers to certain beds of soil felt like major decisions.
So she flaunted them, committing to everything and, thus, to nothing.
“Anyway,” she said quickly. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re in the right timeline. You were there to help your colleague in a moment of need and it propelled you here at the same time as your sister, who also needs help. Not to mention the vineyard. That can’t be an accident.” A smile stretched her lips. “If you weren’t in this timeline, who would the perpetually late, unsystematic gardener be driving crazy these days?”
For some reason, that drew his brows together.
And he started around the island. Toward Hallie.
Her breath came out in a short burst, and she couldn’t seem to replace the expelled oxygen. Not with Julian looking at her like that, his jaw locked, each step purposeful, his gorgeous features arranged in a near scowl. He reached the closest corner of the island and turned. Continued. Then, oh Lord, he moved in close enough to Hallie that her head tipped back automatically to maintain their searing eye contact.
“I don’t like being driven crazy, Hallie.”
“I sort of noticed.”
He propped his hands on either side of her on the island. Stepped closer. Enough that his body heat warmed her breasts, his jagged exhale stirring her hair. “I also spend a lot of time wondering who else you’re driving crazy.”
Hallie melted back against the island. In theory, she wasn’t a woman who found jealousy attractive. At least, she didn’t think so. No one had ever displayed envy where she was concerned. That she knew about, anyway. Still, she shouldn’t like it. She also shouldn’t like the smell of gasoline. Or cold pizza crust dipped in barbeque sauce, but explain the word “shouldn’t” to her tastebuds. Explain “shouldn’t” to the hormones that went absolutely wild at the knowledge that he’d spent his precious minutes and hours thinking about where she was.
And with whom.
You can like it. Just don’t reward him for it.
“Keep wondering, I guess.”
His right eyebrow went up so fast, it nearly made a whooshing sound. “Keep wondering?” A blast of lightning briefly turned the kitchen white. “That’s what you’re . . . giving me . . .”
When he didn’t continue, she prompted him. “What’s wrong?”
Several seconds passed. His chest started to move faster, up and down, his head ticking slightly to the right. Recognition slowly registered in his eyes, and he cursed low and sharp under his breath. “Your hair wasn’t curly back then.”
What was he talking about? She had no idea, although her pulse was beginning to zigzag, as if it knew something was coming. “Back when?”
“That’s how we know each other.” He eagerly traced her features with his gaze. “We went for a walk together in the vineyard. The night my sister threw that party.”
She blinked rapidly, pulse kicking into an even faster gallop. “Wait, you . . . remember?”
Julian nodded slowly, perusing Hallie as if seeing her for the first time.
This decade, at least.
“My friend straightened my hair that night. She thought it made me look older.” A corner of her lips jumped. “It fooled you. Until I fessed up to being in your sister’s grade.”
“Right.” His mouth opened and closed. “I thought you had to be from a different school. I never saw you in the halls after that. Anywhere.”
“My mother took me back on the road.” God, she sounded like she’d been running on a hamster wheel. “It wasn’t until you’d left for college that I settled into St. Helena permanently with my grandmother.”
“I see.” A shadow crossed his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember. My sister threw that party without permission. Without planning or telling me first. I tend to . . .”
"What?”
This appeared hard for him to say out loud. “I’ve been known to check out after I lose control of a situation. It makes my memory spotty. Not to mention the alcohol I drank . . .”
Knowing what she did about him now, that made sense, though she suspected there was a much more elaborate explanation behind checking out. “You’re forgiven.”
A handful of heavy seconds ticked by.
“Am I?” Slowly, he crowded her closer to the island. Their chests pressing together, her head tipping back. Rain pounded the windows. “I’d like to be one hundred percent sure that you don’t hold my cloudy memory against me.” His breath stirred her hair. “I want to feel you forgive me. I want to taste it in your mouth.”
Mother Mary, he had a way with words. “Maybe that’s a good idea,” she managed, legs almost losing strength completely. “For the sake of closure and all.”
“Right,” he rasped. “Closure.”
And then his fingers were sliding into her hair. He rubbed her curls between the pads of his thumb and index finger, as if fascinated. His warm breath accelerated so close to her mouth, and it was a heady thing, their inhales and exhales matching, quickening, their gazes linking. Holding. His was glazed. Heavy. He looked at her mouth as though it would anchor him in a storm, and he went for it desperately.
Hallie’s lower back flattened against the island, and he quickly moved with her, rubbing his thumb against her cheek, as if apologizing for coming on so strong. But he didn’t seem capable of slowing down, either. He took rough pulls of her mouth, tilting her head sideways and taking deep tastes. Thorough and savoring. My God.
Their tongues plunged and collided, causing her to whimper and Julian to groan, and that sound raced in her blood like rocket fuel. In seconds, this had gotten completely out of control, and Hallie loved being punted straight out of reality. Craved the unpredictability of his mouth and the unexpected courses taken by his hands. His right one left her curls to scrub down her spine, just like he’d done in the vineyard fifteen years earlier, but now the man gripped fabric and pulled her body closer. Their bodies just kind of melted, like liquefied metal being poured into a mold. Curves fit into peaks, muscle flexed against softness.
“I like it when you’re standing in one place,” he growled, breaking the kiss so they could suck down heavy pulls of air. “When you hold still.”
“Don’t get used to it,” she whispered breathily.
“No?” His mouth opened on her hairline. “Would you like me to unzip these shorts so you can move better, Hallie?” She found herself nodding before he even finished posing the question. At the mere suggestion they get rid of the denim barrier between them, her shorts became unbearable. An offense. Looking her right in the eye, he lowered her zipper and shoved them down her hips, a whoosh followed by the material hitting the floor, the buttons making a metallic clink. After several breaths lost among the thunder, his hand curled around Hallie’s wrist, guiding her own hand to her upper thigh. Higher, until her fingertips almost met her panties.
Sensations bombarded her. Julian’s rain-and-spice scent. His quickening breaths near her ear. The chafe of his dress shirt on the cotton of hers. When his chest shifted to one side, then the other, it rubbed her nipples to life and electricity snapped out into her limbs.
“If you can’t hold still . . .” He brought her fingertips another inch higher—and flush with her sex, her wetness evident through the material of her panties. “Make it count.”
The ground rippled beneath her feet. “You want me to—”
“Touch yourself. Yes.” His open mouth raked over her ear. “It’s only fair, since I’ve been fucking my hand on a regular basis since you started working outside my window.”
Was this real life?
How many times had she brought herself to orgasm while thinking about this man? Having him not only watch but order her to do it made her knees shake. Sensory overload. She kind of wished she’d imagined this scenario sooner. Wished she’d known long before now what it would feel like to have Julian slide a finger into the waistband of her panties and tug them down, slowly, to the tops of her thighs, exposing her sex to the storm-lit kitchen, then re-brace his hands on the island where he had her body pressed. Waiting.
Hallie bit her lip, fingers twitching—and that alone made him groan. Yes, this buttoned-up professor groaned even before she started tracing the damp seam of her flesh with her middle finger, raking that digit up and down until her folds parted organically. In need of more. She all but bloomed for him on a rush of wetness, her fingers gathering the moisture and spreading it over her clit, her gasp mingling with the sounds of rumbling thunder.
“Fuck me,” he muttered into her ear. “You do this in your bed at home.”
Not a question. A statement. So she didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Her head fell back, neck strength depleted, fingers rubbing eagerly.
“Do you ever go to bed with those dirty knees, Hallie? Do you climb onto the mattress facedown and open those filthy knees wide in your sheets, like you do on the front lawn? God, I’d fucking pay to see it.”
Holy mother of . . .
The words this man gritted out like a modern-day barbarian into her ear were not what she’d expected. Not what she’d imagined him saying for years and years while feverishly writhing in her bed. In her fantasies, Julian usually told her she was beautiful—and that had been enough to bring her to climax? God, how boring. He was giving her dirty knees talk. He’d pulled down her underwear and asked her to masturbate in his kitchen.
In the future, her spank bank was going to be lit.
But she didn’t want to consider the future right now. There was only this man’s harsh pants in her ear, those intense eyes locked on the actions of her fingers. Two of them now that speared wetly through her flesh to stimulate her clit and, really, it was beyond stimulated. If she gave it three seconds of concentration, she could peak, no questions asked.
Something else continued to circulate in her mind, though, preventing her from giving her pleasure full concentration. What he’d said. It’s only fair, since I’ve been fucking my hand on a regular basis since you started working outside my window.
Okay, she’d fantasized about Julian going solo.
Her imaginary sex life hadn’t been that boring.
Would she ever get another chance to see it live? This storm, the happenstance of being in his front yard when it started to rain and having this forced intimacy . . . there was a high chance it would never occur again. Her desire to watch Julian touch himself was more than just a desperate need to satisfy her curiosity or gather fantasy fodder for the future. She felt a bone-deep welling of responsibility, of need, for him to find satisfaction, too. If he didn’t come with her where she was going, it wouldn’t be as fulfilling.
“You, too,” Hallie managed, moaning when his mouth stamped over hers. Not kissing. Just magnetized. Drawn instantly by the fact that she’d spoken. “Please.”
A beat passed. Then, lips still clinging, he reached down and unfastened his belt, lowering his zipper. She saw none of it, but the metal zing alone was enough to make the muscles in her tummy tighten, her bare toes curling on the floor.
“I had to put this on my schedule. Right there on my notepad. Beating off to Hallie.” His tongue traced her bottom lip. “I’ve already done it once today.”
“You wrote those words down?” she said, gasping when he nipped at her jaw.
“No, I just wrote your name. My cock knew what it meant.”
Leaning back slightly, Julian looked Hallie right in the eye and reached into the opening of his pants, grunting through his teeth, eyelids drooping over the first stroke—
And Hallie’s orgasm blew in without warning. Like a door flying open during a hurricane. She whimpered, legs turning to jelly, and very nearly dropped into a heap on the floor. But Julian moved fast, supporting her with his upper body, his mouth heating her neck while his hand never stopped moving. Hallie had never wished more fervently for better camera angles in her life, because she couldn’t see the way Julian guided his erection up into the juncture of her thighs. Not touching her. Just stroking himself faster, faster, into the opening between her legs, just above her tugged-down panties, their aroused parts never meeting. But she felt him everywhere nonetheless.
“Jesus Christ, this is out of control,” he rasped into her hair. “I’m not in control.”
“That’s okay.”
“Is it?”
She nodded, but he couldn’t see the way she bobbed her head, not with his face buried in her neck. And then his free hand slid around to palm her backside, massaging it roughly in his hand—and her fingers turned slippery again. She began stroking her too-sensitive flesh, because there was no help for it. No stopping. No easing the twist of those deep, deep knots growing more complicated beneath her belly button, twining and snaring, urging her fingers to increase their pace. Their pressure. Oh God, oh God.
“Good, Hallie,” he muttered thickly. “Is that pussy going to give it up twice?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
He pressed his mouth to her ear. “God. The way you lost it when I wrapped my hand around my cock. I’ll be thinking about it for years. Decades. How many times do you need to be on the schedule per day? Three? Four?” The swollen head of his arousal pressed flush to her mound and they both moaned, body jolting against body. Shaking. And when he ground himself there, against her fingers and, in turn, her clit, a second climax drew all of her muscles tight and let them go rapidly, leaving pulsations in its wake. The throb throb throb of release. “Jesus. You had to be so fucking sweet.”
Julian crushed her against the island, his muscles coiling, his big shoulder pressing to her open mouth—and he jerked, groaning as he left warm moisture on her inner thigh. Two, three, four stripes of liquid heat, until he slumped against her, the sounds of the storm roaring back in along with the pounding of hearts.
For long moments, she could only stare off into space. In utter wonder.
Her first sexual experience with a man, beyond kissing, and it had blown her preconceived notions out of the water. She’d been right to be picky. Even without a lot of experience, Hallie somehow knew not all men would turn her on like Julian had just done. Nor would their pleasure make her own so much fuller.
And yet, as breathless and exhilarated as she felt, there was something in the air.
Something stirring.
Julian’s hard body stiffened a little more with every passing minute, but he hadn’t quite caught his breath. Not the way she had. And when he finally pulled away from her, it was more of a ripping apart than anything. Like a Band-Aid being torn from skin, it took a piece of her along with it. She caught a flash of thickly rooted flesh as he rearranged himself back in his pants, and then he paced to the other end of the kitchen, plowing a hand through his hair.
Several seconds ticked by while he said nothing.
It didn’t take a genius to know he had immediate regrets.
For his hasty behavior. For letting his body make decisions for itself.
For engaging in something unplanned and spontaneous . . . when that was something he never did.
They’d agreed from the start that he was control and she was chaos—and he was obviously feeling the impact of that now, unable to look at her while fixing his clothes, that groove between his brows deeper than ever before.
Not only had she caused him to lose the control he needed so badly . . . she’d discussed the letters with him. Openly. As if she hadn’t written them. Sure, the fact that he was quoting from actual correspondence was never said out loud, but she’d known. She’d lied by omission, hadn’t she? She was given every opportunity to stop, too, and she didn’t take it. Even now, when she had the chance to confess, she couldn’t bring herself to do it, because he was visibly shaken by what they’d done. How would it help to tell him she was his secret admirer?
“I have to get home to walk the dogs,” she said, sidestepping to yank the shorts up her legs and buttoning them with unsteady fingers. “The next phase of planting shouldn’t be for a few days. Next week, most likely—”
“Hallie.”
His hard tone propelled her toward the front door. “I really have to go.”
Julian caught up with her at the door, curling a hand around her elbow and slowing her to a stop. They faced each other in the darkness of the entryway. “Listen to me for a second.” His eyes went right to left, as if searching for an explanation. “I go from zero to a hundred in three seconds flat with you. I’m not used to it. Somehow I go from having boundaries for everything to burning them down. Something about you brings me to the edge of my comfort zone. In the past . . . look, my experience going beyond that boundary hasn’t been positive.”
“I’m messing with your inner compass and you want to keep it pointed north. It’s fine. I totally understand.” It wasn’t fine. He was ripping her heart out. Why did she say that? “I really have to go.”
As she spoke, he’d started pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “Goddammit. Maybe that was too honest. But that’s my other problem around you, isn’t it? I talk to you in ways I don’t talk to anyone else.”
“I’m glad you’re honest with me,” she said with a catch in her throat. How did he say the exact right thing while simultaneously breaking her in two? “But sometimes the truth is just the truth and we have to accept it. We’re too different.”
Julian dropped his hand away, braced it on the doorjamb. He shook his head as if to deny it, but didn’t. How could he? Facts were facts. “It’s still raining pretty hard. You shouldn’t drive.” He started patting his pockets, coming up empty in an obvious search for his keys. “Please let me get you home safely.”
She almost laughed. Like this wasn’t awkward enough? “Look, I can talk to my friend Owen about taking over the garden out front—”
“I’ll have no one but you.”
Hallie waited a beat for him to clarify that confusing statement, which seemed to indicate the opposite of what was happening here—a good-bye of sorts?—but he added nothing to that stern denial, the confusing, complicated man. Not wanting to give Julian a chance to find his car keys, she spun on a heel and jogged out into the rain. “Good-bye, Julian. I’ll be fine.”
As much as she wanted to leave without looking back, her gaze was drawn to him while backing down the driveway. I’m sorry, he mouthed to her. And she replayed his silent apology over and over on the way home, deciding to accept it and move on. Which would be a lot more difficult now that he’d exceeded her fantasies, both physically and emotionally, by about several hundred miles.
Unfortunately, their differences had never been more obvious. I go from zero to a hundred in three seconds flat with you. I’m not used to it. Somehow I go from having boundaries for everything to burning them down.
Something about you.
Julian needed planning and predictability, and she bucked those qualities like a rodeo bull. And she couldn’t, in good conscience, continue to play Julian’s imaginary girlfriend now that she’d missed her opportunity to reveal herself as the secret admirer. It wouldn’t be right. Even she didn’t have that much anarchy inside of her.
Time to put this crush behind her once and for all. Before she caused any more trouble.