Page 4 of The Time It Takes
“Oh yeah?” I tease.
Julian pulls in his bottom lip with his teeth, nodding, fighting off a smile.
I take a step closer and pick at the invisible fuzz on his sleeve. “What if I told you…” I trail off dramatically, my voice lowering as I smooth my hand over the lapel of his jacket. “I was your biggest fan.”
His eyes light up with amusement. “Are you?”
“Yep.”
“How big of a fan are we talking?”
I hum as I observe the neatly folded handkerchief in the pocket of his jacket. “I’m talking darkroom full of pictures.”
He snorts. “That sounds more like a stalker.”
I look up at him through my lashes, batting them. “Same thing,” I say innocently.
Julian studies me silently for a moment before fingering one of the buttons on my coat. “Take this off.”
I take in our surroundings and lean closer to him. “If you’re trying to get me naked, you’ll just have to wait.”
He grins. No dimples, I notice, and ignore what that thought says about me. I ignore how every time I engage with this man, I harbor something that feels a lot like guilt.
“I’m known to be a very patient man,” he says, dipping his chin in greeting at someone across the room before turning his attention back to me. “But you know very well I won’t have my arm candy walking around looking like a paper bag.”
I smack his arm and choke on a laugh. “Hey!” I whisper-yell.
He only chuckles under his breath as he glances back down at me. He dips his head and presses a soft kiss on my hairline. When he pulls away his eyes seem distant as he takes in the room around us. His shoulders lift slightly in tension when he catches me watching him closely.
He clears his throat with a gentle shake of his head. “Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Don’t apologize,” I tell him. “Not ever.”
Taking a step away from him, I look at everything that surrounds us once more. My throat goes dry with how wonderful it all is. The emotion feels static and distant as if it’s trying to find its way back.
When my eyes find Julian’s again, I say, “You should be so proud. It really is perfect, Julian.” His features soften at my words.
“Nothing is ever perfect,” he mumbles in such a boyish way that my heart lightens a fraction.
“But?” I ask, needing him to say the rest, knowing he needs to.
“But that doesn’t mean it can’t still be incredible.”
Those words make me feel nostalgic. I give him a small nod before I turn away and walk over to the painting next to us to focus my attention there. After a couple of minutes, I feel him come up beside me, his shoulder grazing mine.
Without looking at me he says in a low voice, “Thank you.”
I’m baffled for a moment, my mouth opening and closing. It’s ridiculous to thank me for anything at all.
“For what?” I ask him quietly, my tone a bit uncertain.
“Being here.” His voice sounds hoarse with emotion I rarely hear from him. “You always are.”
I feel like I should be the one saying those words. Since the day I met him, he’s been there for me in more ways than one. I mean, I guess I’ve been there for him too, but I’m not exactly an open book. I’m a hoarder of memories and ghosts. So much so that sometimes I think I might be one too.
The thought terrifies me.
“Well, youarepaying me to be here,” I joke to lighten the mood.
