How the hell did he know that?
I was so starstruck by how ridiculously hot he was, like a hormonal teenager, and was having so much fun on my first date in forever that I’d completely forgotten the bizarre way we’d met. Everything was going so smoothly up until now. Now, the questions I’d been ignoring came rushing back, demanding to be answered.
“How long do I have to wait to ask what I really want to know?”
He laughed lightly.
“Were you seriously holding back? I thought it was my turn to ask the questions, but sure… go ahead.”
He was trying so hard to play it cool, but I wasn’t buying it. Not when I noticed the tension on his jaw and how his eyes focused on anything but mine. I could read his tells like a book I’d reread hundreds of times. He was holding something back, like he had earlier when I’d asked about his family.
I took a small step closer and locked my eyes on his, trying to piece it all together. There was no point pretending this was a regular date anymore. We both knew it. I didn’t even hesitate.
“How did you know my name when we first met?”
The question hung there, and his smile wavered. He took a breath, his eyes searching for something like he was trying to come up with a convincing answer. If he knew how bad he was at lying to me, he’d probably give up.
“I heard your sister call you.” He finally said.
I debated whether to laugh or shake him and say, “I know you’re lying.”But I played along.
“And my daughter’s name?”
“Well…” He stammered. “I… It’s embarrassing, but I Googled you before our date.”
I didn’t even flinch.
“There’s absolutely nothing about my kids on the internet,” I said as steadily as I could. “I’ve made sure of it.” And I had. I was very serious about keeping their names, faces, and lives offline. No photos, no posts, nothing. So, his excuse? Completely implausible. “So, let’s try this again,” I said, staring him down. “How did you know our names?”
He took a step back and rubbed the back of his neck. His usual Hollywood swagger glitched for a moment, like a mask slipping. But it didn’t take him long to catch it and slide it back on. His shoulders squared, his movements reset into that staged confidence. He gave me a smile, ready to put his resume to work and prove just as good of an actor he actually was, presenting me with some lame follow-up story.
That’s when it hit me. I wasn’t dealing with daydream Chris Jones, the perfect, honest husband. This was someone else, someone messy, someone with secrets. And I didn’t have any room in my life for it.
“You know what? This was a bad idea.” I said, cutting him off before he could start his scene, and turned on my heel, heading for the door. I could hear his deep breaths, like he finally realized he’d backed himself into a corner. I was almost out when his voice cut through the silence.
“Wait!”
I turned slowly, arms crossed, waiting for whatever excuse he had lined up next. But when I looked at him, his posture had shifted. It wasn’t the charming movie star looking back. It was someone different. More vulnerable. Torn. Like he was on the edge of some truth, he wasn't sure he was ready to share.
“Okay, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just… say it.” His voice was hoarse, like his body was physically trying to fight the words from getting out. “But you have to promise you won’t freak out and leave. Deal?”
My heart was practically doing backflips in my chest, and my brain couldn’t string together a single coherent thought. The fact that I was standing in this ridiculously fancy building with Chris Jones was already too much for any human brain to handle, so maybe I deserved a little grace.
I tried to block out the parts that made this surreal—the part where he was famous, where he’d been my celebrity crush, where he’d been the main character of my maladaptive daydreams for the past twelve freaking years. I tried to imagine this was just a regular guy. A regular guy who called me by my name, who looked at me like…that, even though we’d never officially met.
Be rational, Jules.
Maybe he had found something online. Maybe I was blowing this up in my head (as always!). I was trying to make it make sense. Trying to talk my heart down from whatever cliff it was dangling off. But even with all my desperate attempts to stay grounded, something deep inside of me said otherwise. From the second I saw him—the real him—at Comic Con, my gut had been buzzing with this quiet certainty that there was something else here. Something big. Something too complicated to explain or understand.
Well, I’d asked for the truth. No more spinning myselfinto confusion. I needed to hear it. So I nodded, swallowing the nerves scratching at my throat.
“I won’t go anywhere.” Whatever it was, I could handle it.
He stepped closer, his eyes locked on mine, and I could feel his breath against my skin. It was way too close, but I stayed put because I’d promised. Then he whispered.
“I’ve been…” He took a deep breath, lips thinning like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of whatever he was about to put out into the world. I could see it in his eyes—clear, raw… fear. Fear of what, I was about to find out. But seeing him like this, almost made me turn around and start running. “Dreaming about you. About us… About a life that’s not this one.”
My brain short-circuited. My knees were like jelly.
