He nods, face serious, and I sigh, remembering all the hard work.
“I had to complete my undergrad and then a three-year grad program. Thankfully, the kids were in school and Rob made enough to support the family so I didn’t have to work.”
Julian scowls at the mention of my ex. I find it sweet.
“Hey, my ex isn’t the total spawn of Satan. During the early years, he was actually a pretty good husband. During the later years?” I tilt my hand from side to side. “Well, he made some bad decisions.”
Julian just sits there with a sour expression. Protectiveness is so adorable on him.
“So, anyway, now I’ve been practicing for four years, and I absolutely love it. Helping people through hard times, seeing how far they come physically. And mentally.” I pause. “I didn’tfully appreciate how so many PT patients have been through something awful. Something traumatic like a car crash, where they may have also lost loved ones. To be there for them when they need support is just… Well, it’s my passion, I guess.” I feel my eyes prick with tears, and I swallow, embarrassed.
Julian gazes at me tenderly, like he’s fighting the urge to put his arms around me. I look down and clear my throat.
“Sorry. It’s just really amazing work. Gratifying and fulfilling. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
He just keeps staring at me then shakes his head and makes a small sound of incredulity.
“What?” I ask.
“You,” he says, as his eyes grow intense.
My cheeks heat.
“More than once, you’ve acted surprised that I’m into you, like it’s so hard for you to believe. You have no idea how amazing you are. You’re the complete package, Chelsea.”
My heart flutters in my chest, and I shift in my seat, uncomfortable at the flattery.
Julian sits up, putting his elbows on his knees and leaning so close that only inches separate us.
“You’re strong, confident, comfortable in your own skin, and you know what you want and where you’re going. It’s insanely hot.”
His dark eyes are smoldering, and it’s hard to keep my breathing in check.
“Not to mention,” he says, “I could never have a conversation like this with someone my age.”
Fair point. “Yeah,” I say breathlessly. “I suppose that’s true…”
I don’t turn to sit up and face him because I know it would bring us too close together. I just stay where I am, lying on myside on the lounge chair, dying to just reach over to him. My heart is full to bursting, and staying still is torture.
Sighing, he eventually mimics my posture, and our eyes linger on each other for a while. The realization creeps in that this is only going to get harder the longer we stay.
“It’s getting late,” I whisper. “Maybe?—”
“No,” he says. “Not yet.”
Now I sigh, closing my eyes for a moment. I don’t take much convincing. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”
He comes up with some questions for me about my college experience, and I ask him about the school he’s going to, how he chose it, and what his plans are. We kill another hour or so, just chatting easily under the sparkling night sky.
My eyes are getting scratchy, and I finally give in and check my watch. It’s past three in the morning. My gaze rises to his as a wave of sadness washes over me.
Is this really the end?
“I think it’s probably time to wrap this up,” I say softly.
“I don’t want to,” he says frankly, in a bratty-but-charming, youthful way.
“I hear you,” I say, in a practiced, how-to-say-no-without-saying-no kind of way. It’s a handy mom skill.
