Page 85 of Julian

I laugh under my breath and take a sip of wine.

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again.

“You seem…” He considers the word carefully. “Lighter lately.”

“Do I?”

“You do.”

There’s no judgment in it. Just Percy being Percy. It’s why I love him.

He folds the dish towel once more before adding casually, “I assume Ms. Hawthorne is not joining you this evening?”

Straight to it, then. I had a feeling he wanted to broach the Harper situation.

I shake my head. “Subtle as ever. And no, she’s out with her friend tonight.”

“I’ve known you since you were thirteen, sir. It’s a rare night you don’t stay at home when you’re in the city, and last night you were in absentia. But I trust you were keeping her company, yes?”

I glance down briefly at the plate before finally saying it aloud.

“Yes,” I admit. “I’m seeing her, Percy. I certainly didn’t mean to worry you.”

“No worry at all, sir. I just… well, it’s nice to know you find her company so intriguing and engaging that you want to spend an evening with her outside of home.”

“Well, it wasn’t our first evening outside of this home,” I continue. “I brought her with me to the Bahamas for Christmas.”

That earns a longer pause. Not disapproval—actually, quite the opposite. It seems he’s hovering dangerously close to satisfaction.

“Well,” he says at last, warmth threading through his impossibly proper British cadence, “it’s about bloody time.”

I bark out a surprised laugh. “Percy.”

“What?” he says innocently. “I’m old, not dead. I’m allowed occasional enthusiasm.”

I shake my head, still smiling despite myself.

Percy studies me briefly before speaking again, gentler this time. “You’ve always enjoyed female companionship,” he says carefully. “But I suspect this situation differs somewhat from the others.”

The understatement nearly makes me laugh again.

“Yes,” I say quietly. “It does.”

Percy nods. “I’m very pleased to hear it, sir.”

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. “You are?”

“Immensely.”

I look down into my wineglass, turning it once, slowly between my fingers. “She’s extraordinary,” I admit. “And she doesn’t seem to realize it yet.”

Percy smiles faintly. “Those are often the most extraordinary sort.”

Then Percy pushes away from the counter and folds his hands behind his back, slipping so naturally into that familiar fatherly posture he’s carried my entire life.

“You know,” he says, “there comes a point when honoring grief and living inside it become two different things.”

I look up slowly. Percy holds my gaze. “You have loved deeply before. I remember that time well.”