The weeks that followed were some of the best I'd ever known:
Rowan and I fell into a rhythm that felt like home. I'd wake up wrapped in him, brush my teeth while he tied his tie behind me in the mirror, and sometimes he'd steal kisses before heading out to meetings. He started leaving notes—small ones. On the fridge, in my sketchbook, once even on my coffee mug.
"Come to the window," one note had said.
When I looked, he was down on the street, looking up. He didn't wave, didn't smile. Just looked at me like I was the only person in the world. And somehow, that meant more than any love letter. All I wanted at that moment was to fall off the window unto him, but that would probably be as stupid as the thought I had of it.
Talia still teased me whenever we got lunch together.
"You're glowing," she'd whisper with a grin. "Must be all that... fluorescent office lighting."
But even she had stopped pushing. I think she saw how serious it had gotten. How happy I was.
Still, something in Rowan started to shift.
It was small at first. A bruise on his knuckle one morning. A long call in a language I didn't understand. He brushed it off as business—something international, something stressful. I didn't ask too many questions. Not because I didn't care, but because he always looked at me like I was the only peace he had left.
One night, I found him sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out the window, phone in his hand.
"You okay?" I asked, walking over.
He didn't look at me at first. Just nodded, slowly. "Yeah. Just... work stuff."
I wrapped my arms around him from behind, resting my chin on his shoulder. "Want to talk about it?"
He shook his head. "Not tonight."
So I didn't push. I just kissed his neck, slowly, and whispered, "Then let me help you forget."
And I did. We had sex, but it was quiet and peaceful.
We didn't speak of it again, but the silences got longer. The nights he came home later. The way his eyes sometimes looked... tired. Distant.
---
Rowan didn't want a party.
"I hate birthdays," he said one evening, curled beside me on the couch. "Too many people. Too many fake smiles."
I ran my fingers through his soft hair. "Then let's make it small, let's make it quiet with less faces. Just you and me."
He looked at me, something soft in his eyes. "That sounds perfect."
So, I planned something simple—but personal.
The morning of his birthday, I woke up early. I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and spent an hour setting up the little living space we'd carved out in his office. I hung tiny string lights near the windows, laid out his favorite breakfast, and placed a small gift on his desk—a leather notebook with his initials on it. Inside the front cover, I'd written, 'For the things you could not say out loud'.
When he finally woke and stepped into the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes, he stopped in his tracks.
"Jules…"
"Happy birthday my love," I said, smiling.
He blinked, looking around. "You did all this?"
I nodded. "You said no parties. But you didn't say no to being spoiled."
He walked over, cupped my face, and kissed me long and slow.
"Thank you....I do love you so much," he whispered against my lips.
"I love you just as much." I said back.
Later that night, I surprised him again—this time with something I'd never done before. I sang for him.
Just one song, soft and low, standing by the window while the lights of the city glittered behind me. He sat on the sofa, watching me like I was the only thing that existed.
When I finished, he didn't clap. He just stood, walked to me, and pulled me into him.
"I think I'm falling in love with you," he said quietly.
My heart stopped. Or perhaps I couldn't feel it anymore.
I looked up at him, breath caught in my chest. "You think?"
He smiled, brushing his thumb along my jaw. "I know."
I didn't answer right away. I just kissed him. Long, slow, deep. Because I knew too.
That night, we didn't rush. We undressed each other like unwrapping gifts. Every touch was slower, with so much intentions. The kind of intimacy that wasn't just about bodies—it was about trust. About feeling seen.
After, we lay tangled together in the soft light.
He whispered, "You've made this the best birthday I've ever had."
I kissed his shoulder and smiled. "It's only just beginning."
And in that moment, it felt like nothing could ever break us.
---
Monday mornings weren't supposed to feel this easy.
But with Rowan, they did.
I woke up to the smell of coffee and the soft hum of the city below. The blinds were half-open, sunlight slipping through in pale ribbons across the bed. I stretched, half-buried in the covers, and saw Rowan by the kitchenette, already dressed in slacks and a fitted black shirt, sleeves rolled up.
He looked like he belonged on the cover of some serious business magazine—intense, focused, a little untouchable.
Until he saw me.
His face softened immediately. "Morning," he said, voice low and warm.
"Morning," I murmured, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
He walked over and placed a mug on the bedside table. "You have exactly ten minutes to drink this before I drag you out of bed."
I grinned, taking a slow sip. "You love bossing me around, don't you?"
He smirked. "Only when you enjoy it."
We got ready together like we always did. A quiet, shared routine. I ironed my shirt while he answered emails. He tied his tie while I buttoned my sleeves. We left the top floor together but used the elevator at different times. Habit. Caution.
Later that afternoon, I found Talia at the break room counter, elbow-deep in a bag of gummy bears and scrolling through her phone like she was trying to win a prize.
"You know that's not lunch, right?" I said, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.
She popped a red one into her mouth. "It is when you've already survived three meetings and a passive-aggressive email chain before noon."
I laughed. "Rough day?"
"Deadlines are trying to kill me," she muttered. "But enough about that—spill. What's new in your mysterious little love life?"
I leaned against the counter and shrugged, feigning casual. "Nothing special."
She gave me that look. "You've been glowing like a freshly waxed car for weeks. Don't tell me nothing's going on."
I smiled, trying to hide how much I wanted to talk about him. "Fine. Things are good. Really good."
"Mmm." She narrowed her eyes. "Good like romantic-dinners-and-making-out good, or good like you-finally-slept-a-full-eight-hours good?"
"Somewhere in between," I said, grinning.
She snorted. "You're the worst at being mysterious. I'm happy for you, though. Seriously. You look... peaceful and happy."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "I think I am."
She studied me for a second, then reached into her bag and handed me a green gummy bear. "Here. For emotional balance."
I took it. "Thanks, doc."
"Anytime," she said. "Now go. Before someone catches us acting like humans."