Page 81 of Julian

“I really don’t.”

Abby leans toward me. “Harper. You went to the Bahamas with a man who buys you five-carat diamonds and looks at you like you hung the moon. I think it’s safe to say this has moved beyond casual and into the serious zone. And I’m so happy for you.”

I stare out the lounge windows through to the SoHo streetlights.

And every thought in my head keeps circling back to the exact same thing: Julian. To the way it felt falling asleep in his arms with the ocean outside the windows. To how comfortable I was there.

“I’ve never felt this way, Abby. I mean, it’s exciting, but what if things go wrong? I’m out of my depth… I think I’m in trouble,” I admit.

Abby smiles knowingly and lifts her martini glass. “Oh, honey. You are absolutely screwed.”

Chapter 21

Julian

Iwake before Harper does, although the truth is I don’t think I slept deeply enough last night to qualify as sleeping at all.

For several seconds, I remain exactly where I am, flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling of her apartment. Then I turn slightly and my attention is squarely on the woman asleep beside me.

Harper is curled beneath the duvet, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, her hair spread across the pillow in soft, tangled waves. There’s a disarming feeling about seeing her here like this, at ease and folded so naturally into the early hours of the morning.

It should be scary to be this close to a woman again.

Instead, I’m serene… downright peaceful.

Her breathing hitches as she begins to wake, eyelashes fluttering before those blue eyes slowly find me. For one sleepy second, there’s confusion, the kind that comes from forgetting where you are.

Then recognition overtakes her smiling face.

“Well,” she murmurs, her voice still sleepy. “That’s a nice sight to wake up to.”

I smile before I can stop myself. “Good morning to you too.”

She stretches slowly beneath the blankets, and I immediately regret every item of clothing currently separating us because the movement arches her body enough to remind me exactly how she felt against mine last night.

Harper catches the direction of my thoughts instantly.

“I know what that look means,” she says.

I smile. A laugh escapes her, soft and sleepy and unguarded. It’s a sound I’ve really started to get used to… and yearn for.

I reach for her, pulling her gently until she’s nestled against my chest.

“You know,” she says after a beat, tracing circles on my body with her fingertips, “for someone who allegedly works all the time, you’re surprisingly good at this.”

“At what?”

“This.” She gestures between us. “Existing like a normal person.”

I laugh quietly against the top of her head. “I’ll add it to my résumé.”

“You should.”

We linger there a bit longer, tangled together while the city slowly wakes outside the windows. For the first time in years, I don’t get the usual urgency pressing at me first thing in the morning. No immediate need to move. I don’t have that constant instinct to reach for my phone or start organizing the day into measurable blocks of productivity.

I just want another few hours with her, but eventually reality wins, as it always does.

“We should probably get this day started,” I say.