Page 53 of Julian

“I’ll get you home as quickly as I can,” I say, already mapping the route in my head, calculating the fastest way back into the city with as little friction as possible. “You’ve had a long day.”

“I appreciate that,” he replies.

We fall into easy conversation as I guide the car out of the terminal and onto the access road.

Our comfortable interaction doesn’t require me to think too hard about where I stand or what this is or isn’t. I merge onto the road, the tires moving steadily against the pavement as the city looms ahead.

And then, the steering wheel jerks in my hands.

It’s subtle at first, just a slight pull, a resistance that shouldn’t be there, and yet it is. I instinctively tighten my grip as the car drifts just enough to register. Then I hear it. The unmistakable thwapping, which sounds like a helicopter overhead, but really is the sound of deflated rubber.

My stomach drops. We have a flat tire.

The vibration follows a split second later, a low, uneven thrum that travels up through the wheel and into my arms.

“Hold on,” I say, my voice steady even as my pulse spikes, easing my foot off the accelerator and guiding the car toward the shoulder.

The panic hits sharp and unrelenting, not because of the tire itself, but because of where we are. The road is narrow, barely more than a lane in each direction with no real shoulder to speak of, the darkness pressing in on all sides.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath as I push open the door and step into the night. Julian is out at the same time, rounding the front with the same composure he brings to everything, as though this is simply another problem to be solved rather than an inconvenience at midnight on an empty road.

I walk around to the other side of the car from the back, and yeah… the right rear is flat.

“We’ve got a spare,” I say quickly, already moving to open the tailgate with more force than necessary, my mind racing ahead to logistics, timing, everything that could go wrong.

“I assumed as much,” he replies evenly.

The trunk opens and I pull his luggage out before opening the panel to reveal the spare tire tucked neatly beneath. Julian steps in beside me without hesitation, lifting it out with ease and setting it down on the pavement. I’m caught off guard by the seamless way he moves, by the certainty in his actions.

I grab my phone. “Hold on,” I say, already unlocking it, thinking I can find a quick tutorial or anything useful to guide me through the steps of how to change a flat tire. “I’m sure there’s a YouTube video on how to do this somewhere.”

But I glance over and find Julian is already on his knees beside the tire.

The sight of it stops me for a beat—Julian Langley, billionaire, immaculate in every other setting I’ve seen him in, now kneeling on the side of a dark road with his sleeves pushed up slightly, his focus entirely on the task in front of him. “Lug wrench, please,” he says, holding out his hand.

I reach for it, still trying to reconcile what I’m seeing. “You… know how to do this?” I ask, unable to keep the disbelief out of my voice as I give him the wrench.

He doesn’t look up as he loosens the first lug nut. “Percy taught me,” he says, like it’s the most natural explanation in the world. “When I was a teenager.”

I press my lips together, but the laugh slips out anyway, soft at first and then impossible to contain as he hands me the first lug nut, dropping it into my palm. I stare at him agog as he hands me three more for safekeeping.

Julian pauses to glance up at me, one brow lifting in quiet curiosity. “Is this amusing?”

I shake my head quickly, still smiling despite myself. “No, it’s just—this feels like that scene from A Christmas Story.”

He considers that for a second, then resumes working, handing me a fifth lug nut. “Oh… Fuuuuuuuuuudge,” he says, then smiles at me.

I laugh, hard this time. He gets it and he gets me. The laugh is a full body one, and as my head rocks back, my foot slips on a patch of ice below me.

It’s sudden and sharp, catching me completely off guard, my hand jerking instinctively as the force of it knocks everything loose.

The lug nuts scatter.

I see them midair briefly in the dark—one, two, three, four, five—metallic clicks echoing briefly before they roll out of sight, disappearing into the dark.

For a split second, I freeze.

Then the panic surges back, stronger this time, flooding through me as I whip out my phone and turn on the flashlight. I scan it over the pavement, looking for the lug nuts.