Chapter 12
893 Words
Lia woke slowly. The way one does when sleep has been deeper than expected.
For a few seconds, she lay still, suspended in that soft nowhere between dreaming and recall.
Then memory threaded back.
The knock.
The light.
Julian kneeling beside the chair.
Her gaze slid immediately to her hand.
The bandage was intact. Neat, professional in a way her own effort had not been.
She flexed experimentally.
No sharp sting.
Just tenderness.
Strange… how being cared for sometimes hurt less than the wound itself.
She sat up.
And only then did she notice something else.
Hunger.
Proper hunger.
The kind that makes the body feel hollow.
“Alright,” she murmured to the ceiling, “we respect food today.”
Snowlight filtered through the curtains. Turning the entire room the color of quiet.
She parted them slightly.
The city had softened overnight.
Cars half-buried.
Footprints rewritten.
The world looking newly forgiven.
For no reason she examined closely…
her eyes flicked toward the wall.
As if awareness could travel through it.
Ridiculous.
She stepped back.
Showered.
Dressed with one-handed patience.
Chose a sweater softer than her usual armor.
Told herself it was purely because winter required strategy.
Nothing more.
Across the hall, Julian had been awake for over an hour.
Sleep had come in fragments. Shallow.
He stood near his window with a cup of untouched coffee cooling slowly beside him.
He had already read three emails.
Answered none.
Efficiency deserted him this morning.
Annoying.
His gaze moved once toward the door.
Held there a fraction too long.
He corrected it immediately, reaching for his coat.
Breakfast would restore order.
Routine always did.
The elevator arrived empty.
Lia stepped inside first.
Pressed the lobby button.
Just as the doors began to close,
A hand appeared between them.
They slid open again.
Julian entered.
Of course.
For half a second, surprise moved across her face before composure reclaimed its territory.
“Good morning,” he said.
His voice carried that same low steadiness… but something in it had warmed by a degree.
Barely measurable.
“Morning.”
A pause.
Then his eyes dropped briefly to her hand.
“How is it?”
“Behaving,” she said. “Your work holds.”
He inclined his head once, accepting the report like a physician on rounds.
Silence gathered. Not uncomfortable, just aware.
The elevator hummed downward.
Mirrored walls reflected two people standing slightly nearer than strangers typically do.
Neither adjusted.
Interesting.
Lia spoke first.
“I was going to find food before I start hallucinating croissants.”
“There’s a restaurant just off the lobby.”
“I had you pegged as someone who researches hotel dining within minutes of arrival.”
“I respect preparedness.”
She glanced sideways.
“Did you sleep at all?”
Enough to function, he nearly said.
Instead: “Adequately.”
Which was not an answer, and both of them knew it.
The doors opened.
Warmth spilled in.
Morning conversation drifted from the dining room.
They stepped out together.
Again… neither commented on the togetherness.
The hostess approached.
“Table for...”
A tiny hesitation.
People do this instinctively. Grouping what appears already paired.
Julian answered before the pause could grow teeth.
“Two.”
Lia blinked once.
Not startled.
Just… registering the ease with which he had decided it.
She could have corrected it.
Could have asked for separate tables.
Instead,
“Window, if possible,” she added.
The hostess smiled knowingly. As hostesses across the world have smiled since the invention of almost-couples and led them through the softly lit room.
Snow drifted past the glass beside their table.
The city looked far away.
Contained.
Menus arrived.
Coffee followed.
Lia wrapped both hands around the mug, absorbing heat like someone reacquainting herself with comfort.
Julian watched that small gesture longer than necessary.
Then looked away before observation became staring.
“Order something substantial,” he said.
“You say that like a command.”
“A recommendation.”
“I rebel against recommendations.”
“You nearly fainted last night.”
She stilled.
Not embarrassed.
Just briefly transported back to that quiet hour.
“You heard that?”
“I was awake.”
Something unspoken hovered there.
Acknowledged.
Released.
She opened the menu.
“Fine. Eggs. Toast. Something aggressively responsible.”
“Good.”
A beat.
Then,
“Julian.”
He looked up.
“I meant what I said.”
He waited.
“I’m glad it was you.”
There it was again. That clean honesty of hers, offered without theatrics.
Most people decorate gratitude.
She simply placed it down.
He held her gaze for a second.
Two.
Then said, very evenly:
“So am I.”
No smile.
No softening.
Yet the sentence carried more warmth than either would examine.
The waiter arrived; orders were placed; ordinary choreography resumed.
Outside, a passerby slipped slightly on the pavement, recovered, laughed at themselves.
Life continuing.
Lia broke a piece of toast when it arrived.
Took a bite.
Closed her eyes briefly.
“Oh wow… I underestimated survival’s dependence on breakfast.”
A quiet breath left Julian. Dangerously close to amusement.
He lifted his coffee.
And for the first time since arriving in this snow-bound city…
morning did not feel like something to be endured.
It felt…anticipated.
He did not analyze why.
Some instincts are wiser when left uninterrogated.
- Writer
