“I feel the same,” she confesses. “You know, the Nicolas Banks they talk about on the internet and the one eating breakfast in my bed aren’t the same.”
This makes me laugh. “I’m aware.”
“I’m glad,” she says. “Not sure I’d like that asshole very much.”
“Oh, I’m stillthatasshole, but you make me soft.”
“Aw,” she says. “That’s kind of adorable though.”
We finish eating and talk about anything and everything. It feels nice to be with her. I imagine this is what she meant when she said she wanted lazy days with someone.
“Don’t forget, tonight I have to do inventory at the coffee shop,” she says, stacking the plates on the tray, then moving it to the bedside table.
“You don’thaveto,” I tell her.
She grins. “I want to. I miss being at work. Not being able to help makes me feel guilty because it’s the busiest time of the year. It’s similar to being one of Santa’s elves and not working during December.”
I turn to her. “I understand, but your safety is more important. Speaking of, today I’d like it if you filed a temporary restraining order on Craig,” I say, catching her hand and kissing her palm.
“Okay,” she tells me. I can hear the disappointment in her voice. “I was hoping he would calm down.”
“But he hasn’t, and after speaking with Sarah, I don’t think hewill. Once Craig’s served papers, he will know to leave you alone. No more games, Julie. I worry about you, and I can’t follow you around everywhere.”
“Are you sure you can’t? I enjoy having you around all the time.” She playfully bumps my shoulder.
I take a sip of coffee. “I love it and wish I could, but I also want you to be protected. If something happened to you …”
She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Nothing will happen, Nick. We’ll go today, even if it’s just for peace of mind.”
“Thank you,” I whisper as she leans over and kisses me.
I meet her eyes, knowing I’ve never made it past thirty days with anyone. And maybe it’s because with Julie, it’s different. It’s comfortable without the normal pressures. I’m not counting down the seconds, waiting for when it’s over. I watch the clock because I never want it to end.
With anyone else, I’d be halfway to Europe, giving excuses about needing space or time to figure things out. Instead, I’m pulling her down for a kiss, wondering how I ever lived without her.
“Are you ready for the real celebration?” she asks against my lips.
“Breakfast wasn’t it?”
“Oh, no.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “This was just the appetizer.”
Before I can move, she’s straddling me again, pulling her T-shirt over her head.
“Thirty-one days deserves a proper celebration, don’t you think?” she whispers.
“Hell yes.”
The courthouse smellslike old paper and disappointment.
“Reason for requesting order?”she reads aloud, then pauses, pen hovering over the small box. She takes a deep breath and begins writing.
Julie fills out form after form, and I watch her hand cramp as she writes, detailing every incident—from the constant texts to the festival confrontation to Sarah admitting he drove by her condo at night.
I can see some of the words from where I sit.Harassment,unwanted contact, andstalkingher are just a few things she’s scribbled down. Her handwriting gets shakier with each sentence.
Once she’s signed her name at the bottom, she returns to the clerk with her head held high. The woman—probably in her late fifties and with kind eyes behind thick glasses—reviews everything.
“What are the odds of this going through?” Julie asks, fingers tapping on the counter.
