Chapter 18 - The Almost KissJanuary brought ice, school routines, and the awkward problem of everyone pretending not to notice Julian and Avery noticing each other.
The boys were not subtle.
Mason began asking whether Avery would sit next to Daddy at dinner “for balance.”
Reid drew a chart titled Reasons Daddy Smiles More When Avery Is in the Room.
Oliver, more thoughtful but equally dangerous, asked Avery if grown-ups could love two people, one in heaven and one at breakfast.
Avery nearly dropped a plate.
Julian sent the boys to brush their teeth and then stood in the kitchen, mortified.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Avery wiped the counter very carefully. “Children ask honest questions.”
“That doesn’t make them less terrifying.”
She laughed softly.
But the question stayed between them.
Can grown-ups love two people?
Julian had avoided naming what was happening because naming it felt like stepping onto sacred ground with muddy shoes. Natalie was not a chapter he had closed. She was woven into the house, the boys, his own breathing.
And Avery was not a replacement.
That was what made the feeling both beautiful and frightening.
One evening, after the boys were asleep, a winter storm knocked out the power.
The mansion went dark.
Avery found candles. Julian found flashlights. Together they checked the boys, who were thrilled by the emergency and demanded a “survival camp” in the living room.
By ten o’clock, all three were asleep in sleeping bags near the fireplace.
Julian and Avery sat on the floor nearby, keeping watch over the fire.
The room glowed amber.
For once, there were no emails, no headlines, no family interruptions.
Just quiet.
Avery hugged her knees. “Leah loved storms.”
Julian looked at her. “Your sister?”
“She said thunder was just the sky moving furniture.”
Julian smiled. “Natalie said glitter was aggressive happiness.”
“They would have liked each other.”
“I think so.”
Avery looked toward the boys. “Do you feel guilty when you laugh?”
Julian answered honestly. “Sometimes.”
“When you look at me?”
The question was barely audible.
Julian turned.
Avery stared at the fire, but her face was tense.
“Yes,” he said.
She flinched.
“But not because of you,” he continued. “Because part of me still thinks grief is proof. That if I suffer enough, it means I loved Natalie enough.”
Avery’s eyes filled.
“And another part of me,” Julian said, voice low, “knows Natalie would hate that.”
A log cracked in the fireplace.
Avery whispered, “I’m afraid people will say I waited for a sad man to need me.”
Julian’s jaw tightened. “People can be cruel.”
“What if they’re right?”
“They’re not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know what need feels like,” Julian said. “This is not only need.”
Avery looked at him then.
The air shifted.
Julian leaned closer, slowly enough that she could move away.
She didn’t.
Their faces were inches apart when Mason suddenly sat upright and shouted, “I need water and maybe a sandwich!”
Avery jerked back.
Julian closed his eyes.
Mason blinked at them. “Why are you on the floor weird?”
Avery covered her face.
Julian stood too quickly and hit his knee on the coffee table.
Mason gasped. “Are you emotionally injured?”
“Yes,” Julian said through pain. “Deeply.”
By morning, the power returned.
So did the world.
But something had changed.
Not because they kissed.
May you like
Because they almost had.
And sometimes almost is enough to make denial impossible.
