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I’m about to step outside and remind him to focus on the job when the office door opens. Natalie walks in, a vision in her pink, oversized shirt. Our paths didn't cross at all yesterday, and only now do I realize how alone I've been feeling without her company. The energy inside the office changes dramatically at her appearance. The room feels bigger, the air lighter.
But as Natalie approaches, I notice that she looks pale, her gait unsteady. Concern flickers through me as I observe the slight tremor of her hands, the bag she's holding crinkling. Is she sick? Has something else happened?
Before I can ask her what's wrong, she offers me a small, tired smile, though it does little to ease my worry.
"I brought some lunch," Natalie says, setting the bag down my desk. "Figured we could both use a break."
I nod, grateful for the distraction. "Thanks, beautiful. That was thoughtful of you." An adorable flush dusts her cheeks as I help her unpack sandwiches and drinks from the bag, but she still seems unsteady, her movements slow. “Are you okay?"
She pauses, her brow creasing ever so slightly as she meets my gaze. "I'm fine, just tired. It’s been a long week already," she replies, attempting to brush it off with some light humor and a nonchalant shrug.
I'm not convinced. The usual vibrancy is missing from her voice, and her eyes lack their typical spark. "Nat, it’s only Tuesday. If you need to take a break or anything…" My voice trails off, not wanting to push her again after our previous argument about this.
Natalie smiles weakly, appreciating the concern but quick to reassure. "Really, I’m okay. Just a lot on my mind with the project and all. You know how it is." She busies herself with setting out the food, perhaps a bit too eagerly, as if to prove she's perfectly capable.
We sit down to eat, and I keep the conversation light, talking about minor updates from yesterday’s work, but my eyes often return to her, watching for any more signs that she might not be as well as she insists.
Despite her assurances, I can tell that there's something off, something she’s not saying. Maybe it's my own paranoia lingering from this morning's research, but I haven't seen Nat look this haggard since that night at the diner. She's always been strong, resilient, so the shadows under her eyes give away what must be a mountain of unspoken stress.
Things are still a bit fragile as we recover from our argument, so I don't want to overstep. But as I watch her picking at her food, only eating one small morsel of bread at a time, my concern gets the better of me, and I decide to push a little further.
"Nat, if there’s anything else that’s bothering you, you know you can tell me, right? Whatever it is, we can figure it out together."
She meets my gaze, and for a moment, it seems like she might divulge more, but then she smiles, a bit more genuinely this time, and shakes her head. "I know. It’s nothing important."
I nod, accepting her words, though the protective part of me remains alert. At least she admitted to there being something on her mind, even if she's not ready to talk about it yet. This is an opportunity to show that I respect Natalie, that she can trust me to keep her boundaries. And I will be here for her whenever she decides she's ready.
With my meal finished—and Nat's wrapped and saved for later, she assures me—the conversation lulls. It's a quiet moment, just the two of us hidden away in this office, and there's an interesting sense of security in it. I hope she feels the same reprieve from the world when she's with me that I do when we're together.
"How's Aria doing, you know, with everything going on?" Natalie's voice is soft, and my heart leaps, remembering how gentle and endearing she was with my daughter.
"She's fine, thankfully," I answer, grateful for the incredible sitters I've found that make up our tight-knit little village. We even arranged a sleep-over tonight so that she'd have another distraction from the situation. I know she's safe at her friend's, and the normalcy provides her with comfort. "She's mostly oblivious to all the complications here, which is for the best."
Natalie nods, her eyes scanning mine, perhaps looking for the strain I try so hard to shield Aria from.
Then, somewhat impulsively, she leans over the desk, bridging the gap between us with a tenderness that catches me off guard. Her hand reaches out, touching my face gently, and then she kisses me. The touch of her lips is soft but insistent, sparking a warmth that quickly spreads through me.
The kiss deepens, becoming more heated as the initial restraint gives way to a profound urgency. I wrap an arm around her, gently pulling her closer, up and over the desk, guiding her onto my lap. Suddenly I'm reminded of the last time we were here—when she straddled me, kissed me without restraint, removed her clothes and gave all of herself to me.
The feeling of her against me now—the scent of her hair, the taste of her lips—it all converges into a moment of intense connection and desire. I can feel the need building, the hunger for her skin, the urge to lift her onto the desk and bury myself inside her again.
But just as quickly as the moment escalates, Natalie pulls away, off my lap completely. The sudden absence of her warmth leaves me disoriented, my arms still poised in the air where she had just been. She looks at me from the other side of the room, her breath heavy, her eyes strained.
"I... I'm sorry, Julian," she stammers, straightening her shirt as she stands. "I shouldn't have—I mean, we’re at work..." Her voice trails off, the unfinished thought hanging between us thick with implications. At least I wasn't the only one feeling it.
The room feels suddenly colder with the distance between us. I nod slowly, understanding yet disappointed. "It's okay, Nat," I manage to say, though part of me wants to reach out, to pull her back, to not let the moment end so abruptly.
She gives me a weak smile, then turns and leaves the office without another word. The door closes softly behind her, and I'm left alone with the echoing silence and a heart racing with a cocktail of emotions—desire, concern, and a frustrating sense of dissatisfaction.
Sitting back in my chair, I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm she's left in her wake. The brief flare of intimacy has thrown my already messy feelings into further disarray. The project, the threats, our personal histories—it's all so much.
Did I do something wrong? Is she still angry with me about our previous argument? Maybe that's what she wasn't really to tell me—that she's rethought everything and decided she doesn't want to be with me.
As difficult as it is, I try to drive the doubts from my mind. Natalie has always been an enigma to me, her strength and independence clashing with moments of vulnerability that appear then vanish just as quickly. I'm never going to be able to sort out her actions no matter how hard I try, so there's no use torturing myself.
Pushing Natalie for answers now will only drive a wedge between us. Given the tension already threading through our interactions due to the project and its myriad of problems, I decide it's best not to press her. She needs space, and maybe I do, too.
With a deep, steadying breath, I stand up, the need to refocus on work pressing against my thoughts. There’s too much at stake with the Langford, and any distraction could prove costly. I head outside, hoping the fresh air and the buzz of the construction site will help clear my head.
