He pours himself a cup of coffee, leans against the counter across from me. "It's what I do. I hold things together."
"For work, yeah. But this is different."
His gaze sharpens. "Is it?"
I set down my fork, meeting his eyes. "You know it is."
The air shifts between us, that same charge from last night, but stronger now. Daylight doesn't diminish it. If anything, it makes it more real. The chemistry and the tension are palpable. He’s the same age as my dad’s youngest brother. The thought should terrify me. It doesn’t. I’ve never been attracted to men my own age. Even now, after graduating college, several still seem so very immature. Last weekend, a group of my college friends got together for dinner. The men ended up in the garage playing beer pong and getting wasted. I don’t know why, but I thought once we graduated college, we’d mature. I guess maturity doesn’t occur overnight.
"We should talk," he says quietly. "About the conversation we had last night."
My pulse kicks up. "Okay."
"I meant what I said. About honesty."
"So did I."
He nods slowly, takes a sip of coffee. "Then let's start with this: I don't do casual."
"Neither do I."
"And I don't play games. If we're going to explore this—" he gestures vaguely between us, "—I need to know you're serious about wanting to see what could happen between us. It’s not agame. Not a weekend thing. Not a temporary fling. I don’t do one-night stands, Holly. I don’t play mind games or get involved in drama. I don’t normally date women who are two decades younger than me, but my gut… it’s telling me to take the chance. I need to know you are serious.”
"I am." My voice is steadier than I feel. "ButIneed to know you're not going to run when it gets complicated. At the first sign of trouble. If it’s not always easy…"
Something flashes in his eyes, recognition, maybe. Or respect? I can’t identify the emotion I see there. "Fair."
We finish breakfast in comfortable silence. Each bite is delicious, better than any diner I’ve ever eaten at. It’s as if I can taste the care he put into it. After we finish, I help him wash dishes, our shoulders brushing as we move around the small kitchen. Every touch feels deliberate, weighted with meaning.
"There's something I want to show you," he says finally, drying his hands. "In the park."
"What is it?"
"You'll see."
The park is transformed. Yesterday's storm left everything draped in white. It’s fairytale perfect, like a snow globe come to life. The path has been partially cleared by wind, revealing patches of cobblestone beneath. Without the people, and the noise they bring, it truly feels like I’m in the North Pole on my way to visit Santa.
Justin leads me past the carousel, the gingerbread house, the shuttered gift shops. When we reach the old chapel, a small building used for Christmas themed weddings, he stops. I’ve never been inside of it. People pay a lot to have a fairytalewedding here. They rent out the entire park for the event and the special event teams make sure every detail is perfect. They get married in the chapel but then have the entire park as a reception venue. I’m not on the team that does special events, and I’ve never had a reason to go inside.
"I haven't been in here for years," he says.
"Why are we here?"
"Because the chapel is honest." He pulls open the door. "There’s no glitter. No performances. What you see is what you get."
Inside, the chapel is simple. Wooden pews, stained glass windows throwing colored light across the floor, a small altar decorated with pine boughs. It smells like old wood and fresh, cold air.
I walk down the aisle slowly, trailing my fingers along the pew backs. "It's beautiful." Each pew has Christmas designs carved tastefully into the wood. I trace my finger along a beautiful snowflake.
"My grandfather built this." Justin's voice echoes slightly, I can hear the pride. "Before the park became what it is now. He wanted one place that wasn't about spectacle. Each and every detail he designed, planned and built by hand. He even designed the pattern for the stained-glass windows."
I turn to face him. "Why are you showing me this?" I don’t buy his earlier excuse. He’s chosen this location for a reason, and it has nothing to do with the lack of glitter. There’s something deeper.
He moves closer, stops less than an arm's length away. "Because you asked what I'm like when I stop controlling everything. This is it. This place reminds me that not everything needs to be managed or fixed. Some things just... are. And they are beautiful in simply existing. They don’t need to be changed, handled or topped with glitter. They can exist in peace. I like tocontrol everything but sometimes, I need a reminder that I can’t control every detail of every second of every day. Sometimes, I have to let go and let things exist."
"That must be hard for you." My chest tightens. “To let go.”
"It is." He looks around, then back at me. "But with you, it's easier."
