If This Was a Movie (Evergreen Park #2)

Chapter 12 – Jules

TWELVE

JULES

I wake in an unfamiliar bed, and for a split second, I panic.

Where am I?

How did I get here?

And most importantly, as my hand slides across the sheets carefully, am I alone?

When I realize that the answer is, thankfully, yes, it all comes back to me.

The pipe in my place breaking.

The little girl telling me I was her Christmas wish.

Seeing Nate again.

Learning I completely misunderstood everything a year ago.

His sisters meddling, telling me to live with him. .

Nate and me making a bargain.

I’m staying in a cottage behind Nate’s house, and we’re…what? Pretending to be together for her sake? For my sake?

I have no idea what I’m doing.

What made me think this was a good idea? What made me accept his offer?

Clearly, insanity.

Clearly, I’ve lost my damn mind.

Staring at the ceiling, I decide I need coffee, an emergency FaceTime with my friends, and a lobotomy.

Not necessarily in that order, either.

I stand up, use the bathroom, then move across the tiny cottage to get my phone before I see a piece of pink construction paper that seems to have been slid under the door. The words “coffee in the house” were scribbled on it in messy boy writing with a red marker.

While a lobotomy isn’t something I’ll find in Nate’s kitchen (probably, the jury is still out on whether or not he’s an insane mass murderer), it seems I can probably count on coffee, and once it’s a reasonable hour, I can call up Ava and Harper to beg them to knock some sense into me.

With a sigh, I roll off the bed, slide a bra on under my sleep shirt (I refuse to walk around his house free boobing it), and shuffle to the bathroom, where I brush my hair and teeth before slicking on a bit of tinted lip balm on my lips. It’s a bit too early for lipstick, but I refuse to be caught completely off guard yet again with this man.

Slipping an oversized sweatshirt on and a pair of sneakers, I close the cottage door behind me and shuffle to the back door of their house, finding it unlocked. Quietly, I make my way down the completely silent hall, jumping when I see Nate sitting at the island in the kitchen, with a cup of coffee in front of him and an iPad in hand. Instantly, his head lifts, and he smiles wide at me when he sees me walk in, completely ignoring my panic.

“Hey,” he says low. It’s not a whisper, but it’s quiet in a way that makes it obvious he’s trying not to wake Sophie. My eyes flit to the over and catch the time, blinking at 6:41.

“Why are you up?” I ask in lieu of a greeting. “How long have you been up?” If you ask Ava, who would enjoy sleeping until ten every single morning, I am a morning person. But after the night I had, it feels much too early to be awake.

“About an hour. I always wake up before Soph, get some coffee, and have some alone time.” I cringe at his words before biting my lip. He wakes up early for alone time. Should I leave or?—

Before I can even find an excuse to back away, he sets his iPad down and shakes his head, standing from the kitchen island barstool and moving toward the counter behind him.

“No, stay,” he says, his eyes locked on me. “Please.” Something about him saying please—both the word and the way he says it—has me nodding before moving to the stool furthest from him and sitting quietly. “Coffee?”

“What?” I ask, distracted.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“Oh, yeah, I can—” I start before trying to move again, and he glares at me, making me shut my mouth.

“I got it,” he says with a smile.

“I feel bad having you do things for me. You were relaxing before I came in.”

“I was getting the courage to go wake up Sophie in a bit,” he says, moving to the coffee machine, putting in a capsule, then pressing the button to brew me a cup. It brings back memories I’ve long tried to forget, only carefully letting myself pull them out when I’m at my loneliest, to remember the precious, tainted moments before putting them back away.

“The courage?” I ask.

“Oh yeah,” he says with a smile. “She can be a bit of a terror first thing in the morning.”

“Not a morning person?”

He shakes his head, and I smile. We’re silent as he moves around the kitchen, and I make every effort not to watch. He’s dressed for the day, it seems, in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with Donovan Contracting on the back. It’s clear he owns the business, but I wonder how much of the work he actually does or if he hires it all out, doing clerical work most of the time.

I’m still lost in my head when he slides a cup in front of me, a light brown, the exact shade I prefer, a familiar vanilla-scented steam wafting up before I look at him, a bit confused. Then, on the counter, I see it.

Two bottles: one with vanilla syrup, the other with almond.

“One pump vanilla, one almond,” he says, and I shift my eyes to look at him. “That still how you take it?” I’d told him the morning I spent here that was how I liked my coffee and that I’d been taking it that way for as long as I could remember.

“I bought the syrup the day you left my place. Never had a reason to use it, though.” I continue to stare, unsure of how to respond before he fumbles on his words, shaking his head as if my scrutiny means something it doesn’t. “A few months ago, I replaced them. They’re not expired or anything.” Somehow, this shocks me even more.

“You replaced them?”

“I uh…” He puts a hand on the back of his neck, holding it there and looking at the mug with a small pink handprint on it in front of me. “I figured I’d make sure they were fresh. Just in case.”

He doesn’t finish his statement, but he doesn’t have to.

Just in case.

Just in case I came back one day. Just in case we met again.

He’s kept the syrups I like for my coffee in his house for a year just in case I made my way back into his home.

A year of remembering how I like my coffee after barely two nights together.

What the fuck does that mean?

Instead of thinking about it, I lift the mug to my lips, taking a small sip before closing my eyes and sighing. It’s perfect, exactly how I like it. A small smile plays on my lips when I slowly open my eyes again, only to see Nate’s gaze locked on me.

So hot and intense that it sends a bolt of heat through me that has nothing to do with the warm mug in my hands or the sip I took.

Thankfully, before I can say or do anything truly idiotic, a noise in the hall, a singsong little voice, trickles toward us and breaks the moment. “That’s Soph,” he says with a smile.

“Yeah,” is all I can reply.

“I’m gonna go get her, feed her breakfast, and whatnot. If you want some peace and quiet while you wake up, I suggest taking your mug to the cottage. She’s a bit of a tornado in the morning.” A moment passes where I think that’s his dismissal. “Though, you’re more than welcome to stay in the kitchen. Just wanted you to know you have the freedom to do…whatever. If you need time alone, you can have it.”

From the hall, I hear her singing again.

“I’ll drop Soph off at my mom’s on my way to work, and when I get to the office, I’ll call Mark. See if I can get a time when he’ll let us in so I can assess the damage, and you can grab more of your stuff to bring here. I’ll call you later and let you know what he says.”

I nod, and he stands, moving around the island toward the hall. Sophie is now singing to herself, clearly keeping herself occupied but very wide awake.

“I appreciate it. Do you, uh, think it would be okay if I stay here and say good morning to her?”

He smiles wider than I think I’ve ever seen.

“I know she’d love that,” he says before disappearing down the hall to Sophie’s room. There are murmured good mornings and a low laugh before I hear Sophie’s little voice yell, “Jules!” Before feet pad down the hall.

“You’re here!” Sophie shouts. She’s in the light purple nightgown she put on last night, her hair a complete mess, her eyes a bit sleepy, but her gap-filled grin is contagious all the same.

“I told you I would be,” I say with a smile. “Princesses never tell a lie.” I probably shouldn’t lean into the whole I’m a magical Ashlyn doll come to life , but when I see the look of joy and excitement cross her face, there’s no room for regret, not even as she runs full speed into my legs, hugging them tight.

“Are you staying for breakfast?” she asks, leaning back.

“If your dad says it’s okay,” I say, looking at Nate, who shrugs.

“Oh, he doesn’t mind. He’s in love with you. He told me! Do you like cereal?” she says like she didn’t just drop a bomb on me.

When I look back at Nate, he’s moving around in the fridge, completely ignoring me.

“I… yeah. I love cereal,” I say, deciding it’s best to just go with the flow at this point.

We spend the early morning together, Sophie somehow convincing me to help pick out her clothes and braid her hair. “ Daddy can only do little braids, not French braids! ” she explained. She then started packing her backpack, Nate handing her the lunchbox I watched him pack and add in a little note to while we ate.

“When are you guys going to go on a date? Christmas is in less than a month, and you still need to fall in love,” Sophie asks incredibly bluntly as her dad helps to put on her jacket.

I roll my lips into my mouth, biting on them to fight the laugh when his face goes to one of complete and total exasperation.

“Why don’t we give Jules some time to settle, Sophie? We don’t want to overwhelm her.”

Sophie looks at her dad, and some kind of silent conversation transpires before she smiles wide. “You’re right,” she agrees happily.

“All right, time to get your behind out the door,” he says, clearly trying to get her to leave before she drops some other bomb that sends me into a tailspin. “I’ll call you once I know more. Does around noon work?” he asks me.

I nod, thinking that gives me plenty of time to have a mental breakdown and make a dozen calls, both to vent and to figure out the next steps for the studio. I’m hopeful I can move my lessons this month to the community center where our actual recital is held, but I need to double check.

They’re almost gone, closing the door to lock me in when Nate turns to look at me, a smile on his lips. Somehow, I know he’s been holding in whatever he’s about to say for a while.

“Oh, and Jules?” He looks at me, and I don’t respond, but he still knows I’m listening somehow. “Unblock me, okay?”