Chapter 74
Nora's POV
I jerked backward, putting three steps of distance between us at a speed that probably wasn't dignified. My hands came up to smooth my hair even though it didn't need smoothing, and I couldn't quite meet his eyes. "Thanks. That was... thanks."
Julian's expression slid back into something calmer, more neutral. But his voice stayed warm when he spoke, touched with just enough seriousness to make me listen. "Watch where you're going when you walk."
I nodded like a kid who'd just been caught running with scissors. "Yeah. I know. I will."
What is wrong with me? This wasn't me—I didn't turn into something meek and obedient just because a man told me to be careful. But the way he'd said it, the genuine concern underneath the instruction, made me want to reassure him I'd be more careful.
That's not better. That's worse.
I started walking back toward the apartment building, faster than before, trying to put physical distance between us and whatever the hell that moment had been. My heartbeat was beginning to slow, but there was this uncomfortable prickling sensation crawling across my skin, like I could feel Julian's gaze on my back.
Behind me, his footsteps stayed measured and unhurried. Not catching up. Not falling behind. Just... there. Present. Patient.
I kept my eyes fixed on the asphalt ahead, watching one pool of streetlight pass after another. The silence between us stretched out, and it no longer felt comfortable.
"You sure you're okay?" Julian asked after a minute, voice pitched low. "Not hurt?"
"I'm fine." The words came out clipped. "Just startled."
"Understandable."
I risked a sideways glance and found him watching me with a considering expression, like he was trying to work out a puzzle and coming up short. Great. Now he thinks I'm weird. Which shouldn't matter, except apparently it did, because my stomach was doing this uncomfortable twisting thing that had nothing to do with almost getting hit by a motorcycle.
We reached the car and I went straight for the back door, yanking it open before Julian could get there first. The cardboard box was still on the back seat where we'd left it, and the moment I looked inside, everything else disappeared.
Pepper had climbed to the edge of the box and was standing there on wobbly legs, small face pointed toward the door. The second she saw me she started crying—high-pitched, urgent little sounds that went straight to my chest.
"Hey, baby," I murmured, leaning in.
I carefully scooped her up, cupping her in both hands and bringing her against my chest. She immediately started nuzzling into my fingers with her tiny nose. The movement made her whole small body tremble with the effort, and I could feel the faint rumble of a purr trying to start in her little chest.
"We got you formula," I told her softly, stroking one finger over her head. "And toys. You're going to be happy."
Pepper made a soft chirping sound and butted her head against my thumb.
"Here." Julian appeared at my side, the small fleece blanket from the pet store already spread open in his hands. "Let's get her settled properly."
I lowered Pepper back into the box reluctantly, arranging the blanket around her until she was nestled in like a small black pearl in cotton wool. She circled once, twice, then settled down with a satisfied squeak and closed her eyes.
"There," I whispered. "Safe and comfortable."
I threaded the seatbelt through the box handles and pulled it tight so it wouldn't slide around. My hands were steady now, focused on the simple mechanical task. This I could handle. This made sense.
"She trusts you already," Julian said quietly.
I looked up to find him watching not the kitten but me, something warm and unreadable in his expression. "Well," I managed, "she doesn't really have a choice, does she?"
"She has a choice." His voice went soft. "She could be scared. Defensive. Instead she's sleeping like that—completely vulnerable—because she feels safe."
I didn't know what to say to that. The words felt weighted with something beyond a conversation about a kitten, and I wasn't ready to unpack what that something might be. So I shut the car door with more force than necessary and stepped back, wrapping my arms around myself.
"You should get her home," I said, not quite meeting his eyes. "She needs to eat soon."
Julian moved around to the driver's side but paused before getting in, looking at me over the roof of the car. "What about you? Have you eaten?"
"I'll grab something at home."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed, low and resigned, and walked toward the driver's door. "Alright."
I watched him fold himself into the driver's seat. The engine purred to life, and then the Lincoln pulled away from the curb. I stood in the parking lot like an idiot, watching the taillights disappear around the corner until there was nothing left but empty road and streetlights.
I turned and walked toward the building, legs feeling oddly unsteady. My pulse was still doing strange things every time I replayed that moment.
Just shock. Adrenaline. Normal human response to almost getting hit by a motorcycle.
That's what I told myself as I pulled out my keys at the building entrance, trying to focus on the simple mechanical action of unlocking the door. One thing at a time. Get inside. Eat something. Sleep.
Marianne appeared from the kitchen. "There you are. Lucas said you should've been back ages ago."
"Got delayed." I slipped past her into the warmth of the apartment, shrugging off my jacket. "Sorry."
"Delayed how?" She followed me. "And where are the things you went out to buy?"
Crap. I hung my jacket on the hook by the door, buying myself a few seconds. "Store was out of stock. I'll try somewhere else tomorrow."
Lucas looked up from the couch where he'd been scrolling through his phone. "Out of stock of what, exactly?"
"Nothing important." I avoided his eyes. "Just some things I needed."
"Uh-huh." He didn't sound convinced, but Marianne cut in before he could push further.
"I just pulled an apple pie out of the oven if you want some." She smiled, gesturing toward the kitchen. "Your favorite."
The smell hit me then—cinnamon, butter, caramelized apples—and my stomach reminded me I'd skipped dinner. "That sounds perfect. Thank you, Aunt Marianne."
I was already heading toward the kitchen.