It made moments like this feel suspended. Private.
She closed the door to their room with a soft click and turned the key in the lock. Not because anyone would barge in uninvited, but because she knew Vic — and right now, Vic needed to know there was a boundary between her and the chaos. A line she could step behind and finally stop bracing.
Vic stood in the middle of the room, looking oddly small without her clipboard. Pumpkin stains on her discarded jumper. Hair escaping its clip. Eyes still damp from crying in the little sitting room downstairs.
Her shoulders were set like she expected the ceiling to fall in.
Julia’s heart squeezed.
“There,” Julia said quietly. “No more pumpkins. No more turkeys. No more schedules. It’s just us.”
Vic huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. “That sounds more terrifying than running the whole operation, if I’m honest.”
Julia smiled. “You’re shaking.”
“I know,” Vic muttered. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a sleigh.”
“It’s the adrenaline,” Julia said. “And the emotional hangover. Come here.”
She crossed the space between them and untangled the last bits of hair from Vic’s clip, letting it fall around her shoulders. It was slightly frizzy from the snow and the heat and stress. Julia loved it like that — imperfect, soft, real.
Vic’s gaze darted over her face, searching for something.
She looked exhausted.
She looked beautiful.
Julia reached for the buttons of Vic’s shirt, fingers nimble. “Let’s get you out of everything that smells like panic and gourds.”
Vic didn’t protest. That was how Julia knew it was serious.
Normally there would be commentary. A joke. An attempt to deflect.
Now, there was just a small, defeated sound as Julia slid the shirt off her shoulders and dropped it over the back of a chair.
“Bra next,” Julia said gently.
Vic arched an eyebrow. “Is this strictly necessary for the de-pumpkining process?”
“Yes,” Julia said. “This is a full decontamination.”
Vic’s mouth twitched. “You and your standards.”
Julia stepped close again, unfastening the clasp witheasy familiarity. She smoothed the straps down Vic’s arms and let the fabric fall, followed by her jeans. Then she wrapped the warm towel from the armchair around her, rubbing away the last of the orange streaks.
It was practical, non-threatening… and still, something shifted in the air between them.
Vic’s eyes fluttered shut on a soft exhale.
“You always do that,” she murmured.
“Do what?” Julia asked.
“Touch me like I’m… precious,” Vic said sheepishly. “Like I won’t crack.”
Julia’s chest pulled tight. “You won’t.”
“You don’t know that,” Vic said. Her voice was light, but there was nothing light in her eyes.
