Page 22 of Holy Hearts
“Thanks,” he says, blue eyes boring into mine.
“Welcome.”
Once my coffee and Julian’s tea is ready, we walk to one of the only free tables in the back.
As we sit down, I sip my coffee and look up at my old friend. “So, how’d you and Sophie meet?”
His face completely relaxes, but he doesn’t smile. She’s special to him, that much I can tell. I can see the love in his soft expression.
“In university. We were both in an art program at Oxford, though she was a first year and I was a graduate student. It was love at first sight.”
“I’m really happy for you,” I tell him.
“Thanks. And you?” he asks, looking at me warily. “Married? Kids?”
Not quite.
“I’m the headmaster at Saint Helena Academy. Before that, I was a pastor.” I hold my hand up. “Hence the tattoo,” I say, showcasing the cross on my left middle finger.
Julian’s brow lifts, but the corners of his mouth tug down. It’s subtle, but it’s there—that flash of something tense.
“Huh,” he says, tapping his fingers once against his mug. “Didn’t see you in that role.”
Neither did I, but the way he says it makes me wonder if he expected me to stay the same.
My eyes trace the lines of his face, the way his fingers rest on the table. Then he looks away, fiddling with his wedding band.
“What’s Sophie like?”
“She’s… kind. Strong. She has a big heart.”
Julian says it without hesitation, but there’s something guarded in the way the words land—like he’s holding back the rest, keeping the best parts of her for himself.
I nod. “She sounds wonderful. Good for you, Julian.”
He shifts in his seat, not really meeting my gaze. “Yeah. I got lucky.”
The silence stretches, but I press on, trying to reconnect. “So, do you two travel much? I remember you always talked about going places. Spain, wasn’t it?”
His hand stops moving. “We went to Spain for our honeymoon.”
“Nice. How was it?” I ask, smiling, though I notice the way his jaw tightens.
“It was fine,” he replies, too curtly for something that should’ve been a happy memory.
I can feel something shifting, like I’ve touched a nerve, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“It’s nice to catch up,” I tell him honestly.
His eyes flash with something—frustration, maybe. “Nice.” The word falls from his lips like it’s sharp.
There’s a chill in the air now, but I keep going, my smile faltering. “So what does Sophie do for work?”
The muscle in his jaw flexes the longer we sit there. His fingers drum once, twice, then stop abruptly, as if catching himself. I can feel the weight pressing down on the table between us, the unsaid things stretching wider by the second.
I know that look. It’s the same one he had the night he kissed me. Right before he pretended like it hadn’t happened.
“I know what you’re doing,” he says abruptly, cutting me off as he stands up.
