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"If we're going to be careful with the building," he murmurs, his voice pure seduction, "we might have to find more... creative ways to keep ourselves occupied.”
CHAPTER 8
JULIAN
Holding 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."
