She hadn't expected him.
Not today. Not ever, really. Not Julian Carter, standing in her front yard like he owned the ground beneath his feet and the sky above her head. The air still buzzed from his presence long after he had stepped inside.
Now, the sun had nearly dipped beneath the horizon, and Rose stood by the window, heart racing as she watched him move around her kitchen like he'd done it a thousand times before. As if this wasn't strange. As if this wasn't the same cold, distant man who rarely spoke unless necessary. The same man who had stormed into her life like thunder and left her reeling in the aftermath.
He was making tea.
Julian Carter. Making tea.
She blinked, half-expecting the moment to disappear, like a dream fading at dawn. But no, it was real. She could hear the kettle whistle, the sound too loud in her small, quiet home.
He had barely said a word since the moment outside. Just walked in, took off his coat, and decided—apparently—that he was staying a while.
Rose stepped away from the window and moved slowly to the kitchen, trying not to focus on the way her heart leapt at the sight of him. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled up, hands steady as he poured the water. Calm. Confident. Dangerous in the way only a man like him could be.
"You didn't have to stay," she said softly, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "I can take care of myself."
His eyes flicked to her—sharp, unreadable. "Clearly."
That single word carried weight. Sarcasm. Frustration. But beneath it all… something else. Concern. She could feel it even if he refused to say it aloud.
"You came all the way here to lecture me about watering plants?"
He didn't answer right away. Just handed her a cup of tea and leaned against the counter, facing her fully now.
"No," he finally said. "I came because I couldn't stop thinking about you."
Her breath hitched. He didn't say it like it was a confession. He said it like it was a fact. Unchangeable. Inevitable.
She looked down at her cup, gripping it tighter than necessary. "Why?"
"Does it matter?"
She met his eyes, suddenly bolder. "It matters to me."
A pause. A long one. Then he sighed, his voice lower than before, almost a whisper.
"Because when I saw you hurt… something in me broke. And I don't like breaking, Rose."
There it was. Cracked open. Vulnerability, raw and unpolished. Not the kind that begged for pity. The kind that made you want to reach out and hold on. The kind that made her chest ache.
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until there was barely a breath between them.
"You're not just anyone," he said. "And I don't know what that means yet… but I'm not going to pretend otherwise."
The air grew thick between them. His hand moved up, slow, giving her time to pull away—but she didn't. His fingers brushed her cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was soft. Reverent. Like she was something delicate, rare.
"I don't need you to save me, Julian," she said, voice trembling.
"I know," he replied. "But maybe I need to save something… to remember that I still can."
For a moment, the world fell away. It was just him. Just her. The heat of his hand on her skin. The unspoken promise hanging in the air.
And for the first time in a long time, Rose let herself lean into the warmth. Not because she needed saving—but because, for once, she didn't want to be alone.
Not tonight. Not with him.
Not ever.