The soft hum of the city filtered in through the open window, gentle and far away. Morning light painted golden stripes across Ava's hardwood floors, catching in the corners of her living room like it was trying to tiptoe in unnoticed.
Julian stirred beside her on the couch, one arm draped over the back, the other loosely holding her hand. Ava was still in the dress from last night, bare feet tucked beneath her, a throw blanket covering both of them.
They hadn't crossed any lines. Not really. They'd talked. Laughed. Fallen asleep to a movie neither of them finished. And still—something had changed.
The shift wasn't dramatic. It was in the quiet. In the trust. In the way she hadn't rushed to close off after letting him in.
Julian opened one eye. "Are you always up this early, or is it just the guilt of finishing my pretzel?"
She smiled. "I'm always up this early. The pretzel was worth it."
He sat up, stretching, the blanket slipping to the floor. "Coffee?"
"In the kitchen. Top shelf. Mugs on the left."
Julian wandered off, and for a moment, Ava just sat there, watching the morning unfold around her. She felt… exposed. But not in the way she'd feared.
She felt seen.
Minutes later, Julian returned with two mugs, one labeled 'Boss Babe', the other plain. He handed her the first without comment.
"I feel like you picked this one on purpose," she said, raising an eyebrow.
"I feel like you bought it on purpose."
She smirked. "Touché."
They sipped in silence, the kind of quiet that comes when people are comfortable enough not to fill every second with noise.
Julian looked around. "Your place suits you."
She glanced around her apartment. Clean lines. Earth tones. Subtle art. A few shelves overflowing with books. "Minimalist with mild chaos?"
He nodded. "Structured with a hint of rebellion."
"You get all that from a bookshelf?"
"I get all that from you."
Ava stared at him, unsure whether to be flattered or afraid. Vulnerability was never her strong suit, but something about Julian made it harder to pretend. Harder to run.
"You always read people this well?" she asked.
"I try to. Doesn't always mean I get it right."
"You've been pretty close so far."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Can I ask you something?"
She nodded, wrapping both hands around her mug like it might steady her.
"What happens now?"
She hesitated. "Now… we go back to work?"
He gave a small laugh, not unkind. "Right. Work."
She sighed. "I don't want to mess this up, Julian."
"Then don't," he said simply. "We don't have to name it. We don't have to race it. We just have to want it."
Ava looked at him, heart doing cartwheels against her ribs. "What if that's the scary part?"
"Then it means it's real."
She set her coffee down, standing to pace. "It's not just about me. Or you. It's complicated."
"Everything worthwhile is."
He said it so quietly, so calmly, that she almost cried.
Instead, she ran a hand through her hair. "You're making it really hard to keep the walls up, you know."
"Good," he said, rising. "They're exhausting. And frankly, they're blocking a pretty great view."
She laughed in spite of herself, covering her face for a second.
Then the intercom buzzed.
She froze. "That's… early."
Julian raised a brow. "Expecting someone?"
"No."
She pressed the button. "Yes?"
"Delivery for Ava Carter," a voice replied.
Julian looked confused. "You order something?"
She frowned. "Not that I remember."
Ava buzzed the delivery guy in and cracked the front door.
Two minutes later, she returned, carrying a sleek white envelope with no return address and a bouquet of white tulips wrapped in parchment.
Julian stiffened. "You have a secret admirer?"
Ava said nothing. She set the flowers down, opened the envelope, and pulled out a small card.
Her fingers went still. Her face lost all color.
Julian stood. "Ava?"
She handed him the note without a word.
In clean, deliberate script, it read:
"I see you haven't changed. Still building walls. Still pretending."—D.
Julian's expression darkened. "Daniel?"
She nodded. Her mouth opened, but no sound came.
"Is this some kind of intimidation?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said hoarsely. "He's never done anything like this before."
Julian paced. "Do you want me to handle it?"
"No," she said quickly. "I don't need protection. I need space to think."
He stopped. "I didn't mean to overstep."
"I know," she whispered.
The warmth of the morning had vanished, replaced by tension and a shadow neither of them had invited.
Julian grabbed his coat. "Maybe I should give you that space."
She didn't stop him. But she didn't ask him to leave either.
At the door, he turned. "I meant what I said, Ava. About wanting this."
She met his eyes. "So did I."
Then he was gone.
And for the first time in a long time, Ava felt like the walls she'd built weren't enough to protect her anymore.