Monday hit like a train.
Ava had barely set foot in the office before she was bombarded with emails, meeting requests, and two back-to-back project deadlines that hadn't existed on Friday. Her assistant looked just as stressed, mouthing a silent "Good luck" as Ava rushed into the conference room.
She hadn't even had coffee yet.
By 2:00 p.m., she was operating on caffeine fumes and determination alone, her phone buzzing every few minutes with updates from the marketing team. She caught a glimpse of a message from Julian—"Thinking of you. Hope today isn't too brutal."—but hadn't found a second to reply.
By the time she did, it was 7:45 p.m., and she was sitting in her car, forehead pressed against the steering wheel, trying not to scream from exhaustion.
Ava:Today was insane. Just heading home now. Talk soon?
She stared at the message before hitting send. Something about it felt… impersonal. Distant. She hated that. But what else could she say when she felt like a battery with 2% left?
Julian responded almost instantly.
Julian:Totally get it. Hang in there. Dinner tomorrow? My place?
She smiled despite her fatigue.
Ava:That sounds perfect.
The next evening, she arrived at Julian's place with a bottle of wine and the kind of nerves she couldn't blame on anything but herself.
It had only been a few days since they'd agreed to try. Since she'd chosen him—not carefully, not cautiously, but fully. Yet already the doubts had started creeping in, whispering that maybe she wasn't wired for softness. That maybe she would disappoint him. Or worse—bore him.
Julian opened the door before she could knock.
He was barefoot again—her favorite version of him—wearing a hoodie and the kind of grin that made her knees a little unreliable.
"You made it," he said, taking the wine.
"I considered throwing my phone out the window and disappearing into the woods instead."
He laughed. "Tempting, right?"
"I'd last an hour. Tops."
He led her into the kitchen, where the scent of roasted garlic and herbs greeted her like a warm hug.
"You cooked?"
He feigned offense. "Yes. Don't act so surprised. I'm a man of many talents."
"Multitalented and humble."
"Exactly."
Dinner was delicious—homemade pasta, crusty bread, and a salad she suspected came from a prepackaged kit but appreciated anyway. They talked about work, made fun of a failed marketing campaign that had gone viral for all the wrong reasons, and for a little while, it felt like nothing could touch them.
But as the night stretched on, Ava grew quieter.
Julian noticed.
"You're a million miles away."
She twisted the stem of her wine glass. "I don't mean to be."
"You don't have to be perfect here, Ava. You know that, right?"
She nodded. "It's not about being perfect. It's about not wanting to screw this up."
His brow furrowed. "You're not."
"I know. But part of me feels like… the moment something feels real, I start preparing for the fallout."
Julian leaned forward. "Do you think I'm waiting for you to mess up?"
"No," she said quickly. "It's not you. It's me. It's years of conditioning myself to be fine alone. To protect the version of me that didn't need anyone."
He nodded slowly. "And now?"
"Now I want something I'm not sure I know how to sustain."
Julian reached across the table and took her hand.
"You don't have to have all the answers. You don't have to overperform. This isn't a job, Ava. It's a partnership."
She swallowed the lump rising in her throat.
"I don't know how to be in a partnership. Not really."
"Then we'll learn together."
They sat in that stillness, her fingers laced with his, the air between them full of possibility and fear.
"Do you ever worry you're too much?" she asked quietly.
Julian tilted his head. "All the time. But I've decided that the right people won't see me as too much—they'll see me as just right."
She laughed. "That's annoyingly healthy."
"Therapy, baby."
"Ah."
He leaned back, studying her.
"I don't need you to always be okay, Ava. I need you to be real."
She met his eyes. "That's the scariest part."
He smiled. "And also the best part."
After dinner, they curled up on the couch, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy lines along her arm. No pressure. No expectations. Just warmth.
Ava closed her eyes and let herself exhale—deeply, fully—for the first time all day.
Maybe love didn't have to be dramatic or perfect or intense every second. Maybe it could be quiet. Steady. Kind.
And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.