Ava didn't answer Julian's message right away.
She sat on the edge of her bed with the phone in her hand, Damien's voice still echoing somewhere in her chest. The way he'd said I regret the way I built it over you kept spinning in her mind like a song she couldn't turn off.
But when she looked at the message again—Dinner at your place? I miss my kitchen privileges—something in her softened.
Julian never demanded. He asked.
And maybe tonight, she didn't want war.
Maybe she just wanted something that didn't hurt to hold.
Julian arrived just before seven, carrying a paper bag in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other.
"I hope you're still into garlic butter salmon," he said, grinning as he stepped inside.
Ava raised an eyebrow. "Depends on how good your memory is."
"It's flawless," he said. "Just like my salmon."
He moved through her kitchen like he'd done it a hundred times—because he had. She watched him unpack ingredients like clockwork: fresh lemon, herbs, a bundle of asparagus tied with twine.
"No takeout tonight?" she asked.
He gave her a sideways look. "You needed comfort. This is comfort."
She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "That's very presumptuous."
He smiled without turning. "It's very accurate."
They settled into the familiar rhythm easily.
Julian cooked with quiet confidence, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, the hem of his shirt untucked like he belonged there. Ava set the table without thinking—white plates, tall wine glasses, soft cloth napkins.
The apartment smelled like warmth. Garlic. Lemon. Home.
"Smells like college," she said, watching the skillet sizzle.
Julian glanced over his shoulder. "Because you used to cook?"
"No. Because I used to burn everything and you used to pretend it was edible."
He laughed, the sound low and easy. "We were broke. I would've eaten a shoe if it had salt on it."
Ava smiled. "You were always good at making things feel normal."
His expression shifted slightly, softening. "That's because I wanted them to be."
The words lingered between them.
Longer than they used to.
They ate by the window.
The city lit up beyond the glass, casting golden reflections across the table. Ava poured the wine, and they toasted without saying what for.
Julian watched her while she ate—really watched her. Not in the way Damien did, with hunger and tension. Julian watched with memory. With care.
"You're not sleeping," he said.
Ava set her fork down. "What gave it away?"
"The shadows under your eyes. The fact that you only picked at the salmon, which is tragic, by the way, because it's perfect."
She smiled faintly. "I'll try harder next time."
He leaned back in his chair. "Want to talk about it?"
She didn't answer right away.
Then: "He said he regretted it. What he did to my father."
Julian's eyes darkened slightly. "That man regrets things when they threaten his power, not his conscience."
"You sound sure."
"I am."
She looked at him. "How can you be so certain?"
Julian held her gaze for a moment too long.
Then he said, "Because I've seen what he does to people he claims to care about."
They moved to the couch after dinner, both curled on opposite ends, the wine warming their cheeks.
Ava tucked her feet beneath her and pulled an old blanket over her lap. Julian sat sideways, his arm draped casually along the backrest behind her, his fingers tapping softly against the fabric.
"I found one of my father's notebooks," she said.
He turned toward her. "The old business ones?"
She nodded. "Your mom's name was in one of them. So was yours."
Julian went still.
"I didn't know you were that involved," she said carefully.
"I wasn't," he replied quickly. "Not like that."
She looked at him.
He cleared his throat. "I mean, I was young. I helped her here and there. I saw a lot of things, but I wasn't making decisions."
"I didn't say you were."
His expression was unreadable. "It just… wasn't what you think."
Ava looked away.
"Then what was it, Julian?"
A long pause.
Then, softly, "It was survival."
She glanced back at him, but his eyes were on the city.
And for once, she didn't ask more.
Silence filled the room again, but this one felt heavier.
More intimate.
Julian's fingers moved slightly, brushing against her shoulder, just once. Not an accident. Not bold.
Just a question.
Ava didn't pull away.
He turned toward her, closer now.
Her breath caught.
He didn't kiss her. He didn't lean all the way in.
But he looked at her like he wanted to. Like he'd wanted to for a long time.
And she looked back like maybe—for the first time—she might let him.
Eventually, she leaned into his side.
Not a kiss.
Not a promise.
Just warmth.
Just enough.
He pulled the blanket over both of them, his arm sliding around her shoulders like it had always belonged there.
"You know," he said softly, "I don't have to be your distraction."
She didn't move. "Then what are you?"
His voice dropped, low and close to her ear. "Whatever you need."
Ava closed her eyes.
And for the first time in days, the noise in her chest went quiet.
But even as she rested her head on Julian's shoulder…
She dreamed of Damien Blackwood's eyes.