Chapter 102
Nora's POV
The next two days, I fell back into my work routine.
I spent the entire day bouncing between locations—morning street interviews in the city center, handing out sleep hygiene pamphlets to bleary-eyed commuters; afternoon session at Silverton General, talking to a sleep disorders specialist about the differences between human and Lycan sleep patterns during moon phases; evening back at the office, typing up notes and organizing audio files until my eyes burned.
I was good at compartmentalizing. Had to be, in this job. But every time I hit a red light or waited for a source to answer a question, my mind drifted back to Julian.
It was past six when I finally packed up my desk and headed for the parking garage. My phone buzzed as I slid into the driver's seat.
Call me when you're off work.
A message from half an hour ago. No greeting. No pleasantries. Just a directive, simple and direct.
I connected my phone to the car's Bluetooth and hit dial.
He picked up on the first ring. "You done for the day?"
His voice filled the car, low and familiar, and something in my chest loosened. "Yeah. Heading home now."
"Good."
A horn blared ahead of me. The car in front had sat through the entire green light, the driver clearly lost in their phone. I tapped my horn twice, sharp and impatient.
"Nora." Julian's voice sharpened. "Are you driving?"
"It's on speaker. Connected to the car."
"Pull over."
I laughed despite myself. "I'm fine, Julian. It's hands-free."
"You're distracted. Pull over and talk to me, or wait until you're home."
The protective edge in his tone made me want to roll my eyes and smile at the same time. "How about this—we stay on the line, but I don't talk until I'm parked. You can just... keep me company."
Silence stretched for a moment. Then, quietly: "Okay."
---
Thirty-two minutes.
That's how long we stayed on the line without saying a word.
I drove through evening traffic, and he worked on the other end. I could hear it all—the soft rustle of papers, the occasional click of a keyboard, the muted hum of his office air conditioning. Once, Ethan knocked and came in to deliver something, their exchange too low for me to catch.
It should have felt awkward. Sitting in silence on a phone call, listening to each other breathe and exist in separate spaces.
But it didn't.
It felt like being held. Like having someone there without needing to perform or explain or fill the quiet with meaningless chatter. The tension and exhaustion I'd been carrying all day slowly bled out of me.
By the time I pulled into my apartment complex, the sky had gone full dark. I killed the engine and sat there for a moment, phone still connected, listening to the sound of Julian flipping through a file.
"I'm home," I said softly.
"Good." A pause. "Thirty-two minutes from your office. That's too long, Nora. You should think about finding a place closer to work."
I smiled at the dashboard. "Those places are expensive."
"I can—"
"We'll talk about it later." I cut him off, knowing what he was about to say. But I didn't want to always rely on him.
"I need to get upstairs," I said, grabbing my bag.
I climbed the stairs to my apartment, phone still pressed to my ear.
"You're still working, aren't you?"
"Finishing up."
"Don't stay too late."
A low chuckle. "Look who's talking."
Fair point. I curled my legs under me, letting my head fall back against the cushions. "Julian?"
"Mm?"
"Why didn't you interview me?"
Silence. Then: "What?"
"About your daytime interview."
"How did you know about that?"
"I follow the NPR social media accounts. They post updates whenever there's new content."
I blinked. "You follow our accounts?"
"I follow your content." A beat. "I read every issue."
Heat crawled up my neck. "Julian—"
"I want to know what you're working on." His voice dropped lower. "Is that so strange?"
I laughed, the sound shaky. "Okay, well—since you're apparently a devoted listener—do you want to do a phone interview now?"
"Now?"
"Why not? You're awake. I'm awake. Might as well be productive."
A soft huff of amusement. "Alright. Ask away, Miss Grey."
"First question: what time do you usually go to bed?"
"If I don't have urgent work, before eleven."
"And recently? Are you sleeping well?"
A pause. "No."
I frowned. "Is it work stress?"
"Partly." Another pause, longer this time. Then, quietly: "Mostly, it's you."
My breath caught.
"I think about you," he continued, voice low and rough. "When I should be sleeping. When I'm supposed to be focused on briefings or case files. I think about whether you've eaten, whether you're safe."
I sat frozen, my heart doing something stupid in my chest. "Julian—"
"Too much?"
"I—you're supposed to be answering survey questions, not—not flirting with the interviewer!"
"You asked." The smile was audible in his voice. "I'm just being honest."
"Don't you miss me?" His voice dropped, sounding deflated.
The words landed soft and heavy all at once. I closed my eyes, phone pressed tight to my ear. "I miss you too," I whispered. "A little."
"Just a little?"
"Don't push your luck, Sterling."
He laughed, low and warm. "If you keep talking like that, I'm going to get in the car and come see you."
My heart kicked. "You have work."
"I know."
"Important work."
"I know." A pause. "Doesn't mean I don't want to."
I bit my lip, fighting the urge to tell him to come anyway, to hell with propriety and boundaries and taking things slow. "Get some rest, Julian. You sound exhausted."
"So do you."
Silence settled between us again, comfortable and aching all at once. I didn't want to let him go. Didn't want to break this fragile, perfect moment.
But eventually, he sighed. "Get some rest, Nora."
"You too."
I hung up and sat there in the car, phone still warm in my hand, heart full and sweet.