"I won't." She settles into the cushions, completely at ease despite his obvious irritation. "Looks complicated, but stocks are fun when you have money to play with."
Julian's fingers freeze on the tablet screen. He doesn't say anything, but I can see the shift in his posture—the sudden interest he's trying very hard to hide. She knew what he was doing just from a glance. And she called itfun.
Most people look at Julian's screens and see intimidating numbers. Complicated charts. Things they can't understand. But she looked at it and saw something familiar. Something playful.
Interesting. Very interesting.
I lean against the doorway between the kitchen and living room, content to watch for now. Elias walks past me to settle on the other sofa, still shooting Rosemarie occasional glances that are equal parts impressed and wary.
"Okay," Elias says, clapping his hands together. "Let's do proper introductions, since we never actually got around to that.What we all do, that kind of thing." He grins, always the one to break tension and smooth things over. "I'll start."
He launches into an explanation of his role at the fire department—how he started as a rookie six years ago and worked his way up through the ranks. How he just got promoted to Chief, the youngest one in the department's history. How the job gives him purpose in a way nothing else ever has.
"The thrill of it," he says, and there's a light in his eyes that only appears when he talks about work. "Running into danger when everyone else is running away. Knowing that your actions can save someone's life. It's not about the adrenaline—well, okay, it's a little about the adrenaline—but mostly it's aboutmeaning. Doing something that matters."
Rosemarie is watching him with genuine interest, her head tilted slightly. "That's incredible," she says, and she means it. "Chief at twenty-nine. That's impressive."
Elias grins, basking in the compliment. "Thanks. I worked my ass off for it."
"What about you, Tank?" she asks, turning those hazel eyes my direction.
I shrug, pushing off from the doorframe. "I take side gigs here and there. Bodyguard work, mostly. Private security." I settle into the armchair across from her, stretching my legs out. "I'm taking a break from deployment. The military isn't giving me the same sense of purpose it used to."
That's the sanitized version. The version that doesn't include classified operations in countries I can't name. The version that doesn't include the things I've done—the things I've seen—that wake me up in cold sweats some nights. She doesn't need to know all of that. Not yet.
"I get that," she says softly, and something in her expression tells me she understands more than I've said. "Purpose isimportant. When you lose it..." She trails off, shaking her head. "It changes you."
Julian remains silent, his attention seemingly fixed on his tablet. The screen has gone dark from inactivity, but he's making no move to unlock it.
Elias, ever the social butterfly, steps in. "And this ray of sunshine," he says, gesturing at Julian, "is Julian North. Investor extraordinaire. Mostly not in Oakridge Hollows—he's a city boy at heart. But he's here on a business trip. Or the reality that he's about to be jobless if he doesn't?—"
"Fuck off," Julian says without looking up.
"He's also a model?" Rosemarie says, framing it as a question even though we all know it's a statement.
Elias opens his mouth to elaborate, but Julian cuts him off.
"Yes, I do modeling from time to time." His voice is flat, bored. "It would be a nice full-time gig, but that requires social backing. Influencing. Brand deals. All that nonsense." He finally looks up, meeting Rosemarie's eyes with an expression that's carefully blank. "And I'm not exactly the easiest person to work with. So." He shrugs. "It's also unreliable."
Rosemarie studies him for a long moment. Long enough that I can see Julian start to shift uncomfortably under her gaze, though he'd never admit it.
"You don't actually care about whether it's reliable or not," she says finally.
Julian goes still. His fingers tighten on the tablet. "Excuse me?"
"The reliability." She waves a hand dismissively. "That's not what bothers you about it. What bothers you is the difference between your passion and what pays for your goals and dreams."
She read him. In thirty seconds of conversation, she read him better than most people manage in thirty years.
She shrugs, seemingly unaware of the impact of what she's just said. "You think if I truly had money, I'd be running away from my family? If I was financially well off, I would have continued my life in the city." A wistful expression crosses her face. "I was doing my dream job. Barista work and head creative influencer at the Starbucks Reserve in Chicago. They offered me a creative director position. Even shares in the company."
"Starbucks Reserve?" Elias looks impressed. "That's huge."
"It was," she agrees. "But it wasn't going to give me the freedom I need. Not when my family could still reach me. Not when..." She trails off, shaking her head. "The best job in the world means nothing if you're still trapped."
"What do you seek?" Elias asks, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. "If money and career aren't enough, what is it you're actually looking for?"
She's quiet for a moment, considering the question with the gravity it deserves.
