It did make sense. I had spent my adult life moving fast, making quick decisions, taking what I wanted when I wanted it. But with Vivienne, the anticipation was part of the pleasure. The waiting, the building excitement, the careful consideration of what we were creating together, it all felt right.
Julian:It makes perfect sense. Sweet dreams, Vivienne.
Vivienne:Sweet dreams, Julian. See you at six.
I set my phone aside and realized I was smiling again, that same ridiculous grin that had been appearing at random moments all weekend. Tomorrow evening couldn't come fast enough. I wanted to share the road with her, wanted to feel her arms around me as we rode through the city, wanted to introduce her to something I loved and see it through her eyes.
But more than that, I wanted to continue building whatever this was between us, this thing that felt more real, more substantial, more important than anything I'd experienced before.
For the first time in years, I was genuinely excited about the future. And it was all because of a high school history teacher who graded papers on weekends and saw the world with fresh eyes.
Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
16
Vivienne
Monday morning arrived with crisp autumn air and golden sunlight streaming through my bedroom windows, and for the first time in recent memory, I woke up genuinely excited about the day ahead. Not just because it was Monday—though even my Mondays felt more manageable lately—but because at six o'clock this evening, Julian would be picking me up for my first motorcycle ride.
I'd barely slept, my mind alternating between nervous excitement about the bike and warm anticipation about seeing Julian again. Our weekend texting had been sweet and constant, but brief exchanges about grading papers and photo shoots couldn't compare to being in the same room, feeling that electric connection that seemed to spark whenever we were together.
I chose my outfit more carefully than usual—dark jeans, a soft blue sweater that brought out my eyes, and comfortable boots. Nothing too fancy for school, but I wanted to look nice for Julian when he arrived.
The drive to Roosevelt High was accompanied by an internal soundtrack of nervous energy and anticipation. Every red light felt eternal, every slow-moving car an obstacle between me and the evening ahead. I caught myself humming while I prepared my classroom, actually humming, like I was the heroine in some romantic comedy.
Get it together, Ellis,I told myself, but I couldn't stop smiling.
"Someone's in a good mood," Lydia observed, appearing in my doorway with her usual morning coffee and sharp-eyed assessment. "Let me guess—your mysterious fashion man?"
"Julian," I corrected, unable to suppress my grin. "And yes, definitely Julian."
"Details," Lydia demanded, settling into the student desk closest to mine. "We barely talked over the weekend—you were too busy drowning in those essays to give me proper gossip. Spill everything."
So I did. Over the course of the morning, between classes and during brief hallway encounters, I told Lydia about the gallery opening—about Scarlett's cruelty and Margaret's defense, about seeing Sadie again and feeling genuinely proud of my former student, about how Julian had made me feel like I belonged in his world not as his guest, but as myself.
But it was at lunch, settling into our usual corner table in the faculty room, that I really opened up about the weekend.
"He asked me to the photo shoot," I said, still marveling at the memory. "Just to watch, to see his process. Lydia, it was incredible. All these people creating art together, and Julian conducting it all like some kind of creative orchestra."
"And how did the models treat you?" Lydia asked with the protective instincts of a true friend. "After what happened with that Scarlett woman at the gallery?"
"One of them was awful to one of the staff. But I handled it." I smiled, remembering my successful intervention with Delaney. "I made friends with one of the makeup artists instead. Sometimes the best way to deal with mean girls is just to ignore them and be kind to everyone else."
"Wise woman. What else happened?"
I felt heat rise in my cheeks. "We may have had a rather intense makeout session in the break room."
Lydia's eyebrows shot up. "May have?"
"Definitely had. And he asked me to be his girlfriend. Officially."
"Holy shit, Vivienne!" Lydia's voice carried across the faculty room, earning us a few curious glances. She lowered her tone but her excitement was palpable. "Official girlfriend status with Julian Thorne? I looked him up earlier. Do you realize how huge this is?"
"I'm beginning to," I admitted. "He's picking me up tonight for my first motorcycle ride."
"Your first what now?" Lydia's expression shifted from excitement to concern. "Vivienne, have you ever been on a motorcycle before?"
"Never. But I trust him completely. He promised to be careful, and I've been researching motorcycle safety all weekend." I pulled out my phone to show Lydia some of the articles I'd bookmarked. "Did you know that most accidents happen because of rider error or other drivers not seeing motorcycles? But Julian's been riding for over a decade without incident."
