The End of Beginning

Julia had been counting down the hours. Joe had texted her early that morning, letting her know his flight details and estimating he'd get to her apartment by six. From the moment she saw that message, her body had been on high alert. Every tick of the clock felt agonizingly slow, anticipation winding tight in her stomach.

She tried distracting herself. She picked up a sketchbook, but her lines were messy, unfocused. She read the same paragraph of a novel over and over without processing a single word. She wiped down her kitchen counters twice, then paced the length of her apartment as if that would somehow make time move faster.

Knowing she wouldn't be able to focus on anything else, she had taken the next two days off work. It had been a reckless, impulsive decision to make right before Christmas, but as the minutes crawled toward six, she knew it had been the right one.

When the knock came, she barely had time to breathe before she was unlocking the door, pulse hammering as she swung it open.

Joe stood there, duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a guitar case in his hand, exhaustion evident in the curve of his shoulders. But his eyes were locked on her with a heat that sent something sharp and needy coursing through her veins.

"Hey," he murmured, voice rough.

Julia didn't respond. She grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him inside, slamming the door shut before crashing her lips against his.

Joe groaned and dropped his bags. His hands immediately found her waist, fingers pressing into the curve of her hips. He pushed her back against the door, his mouth hot and claiming as he kissed her like he was making up for lost time.

"Jesus," he muttered against her lips, breath ragged. "I missed you."

She bit his bottom lip in response, dragging her hands through his hair, feeling the slight dampness from the misty night air. "Prove it."

Joe exhaled sharply, like he was seconds away from losing control, but then—he pulled back. Julia blinked, confused, lips swollen and tingling.

He smirked. "I have something planned for us."

Still dazed, she frowned. "Planned? Why am I having deja vu that this has happened before?"

His thumb brushed across her cheek. "I know. As much as I want to throw you on that couch right now, I figured we should actually go on a proper date first."

She stared at him. "A date?"

"Mhmm." His hands skimmed down her waist, teasing but restrained. "Something simple. Just us, no distractions. I wanna take you out before we inevitably spend the next twenty-four hours in bed."

Julia swallowed, her body still buzzing from his touch. "You sure you can wait that long?"

Joe exhaled a laugh, fingers tightening on her hips. "Not even a little, but I'm gonna try."

An hour later, Julia found herself walking through a quiet Brooklyn neighborhood, her fingers laced with Joe's as he led her toward a small, intimate restaurant nestled between a record shop and an old hair salon.

The air was crisp, the city alive with a distant hum, but here, on this quiet street, it felt like they had carved out a space just for themselves. She glanced at Joe—dark jeans, a fitted navy button-down with a winter jacket over it, his hair slightly messy from the wind. He looked effortlessly good. Annoyingly good.

She had opted for a black satin camisole tucked into high-waisted jeans, her leather jacket slung over her shoulders, casual but just dressy enough for their dinner.