"He's not what you think." Carley insisted, pacing the small living room with the phone pressed to her ear. "He's respectful."
"Respectful doesn't pay the bills," Bridgette shot back, her voice crackling with skepticism. "And neither do good looks, which I'm assuming he has, or you wouldn't have jumped into this mess."
Carley's cheeks grew warm. "He's... handsome."
"Handsome how? On a scale of one to Chris Hemsworth, where are we landing?" Bridgette demanded. "And more importantly, how's the... you know. The performance?"
"Bridgette!" Carley hissed, mortified. She glanced at the closed apartment door as if Julian could hear them. "I'm not talking about that."
Just as she spoke, the lock clicked and the door swung open. Julian stood there, holding a brown paper bag that smelled deliciously of grilled onions and beef. He had come back.
Carley froze, her heart leaping into her throat. A wave of guilt washed over her, as if he'd caught her gossiping about him. Which, she realized, she was.
He raised an eyebrow at her panicked expression but didn't say anything. He set the bag on the counter and shrugged off his jacket. His grey t-shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to the hard planes of his chest and abdomen. The fabric outlined every muscle—a testament to a morning of physical labor. Carley's eyes snagged on the sight for a second too long, and her breath hitched.
"I have to go," she blurted into the phone, hanging up without waiting for a reply. She practically fled to the kitchen, pretending to search for plates, her back turned to him.
As she fumbled in the cupboard, a tinny, old-fashioned ringtone echoed in the apartment. It sounded like something from the early 2000s.
She glanced over her shoulder. Julian had pulled a battered flip phone from his pocket. He turned slightly away, his back angled toward her, and flipped it open, answering with a clipped, "Yeah."
She was reaching for plates and only caught a glimpse of his profile—his jaw tightening, his back straightening. A low, deferential voice murmured from the earpiece, too quiet for her to make out the words.
"I see," Julian said into the phone. Then, after a long pause, "Continue."
He snapped the phone shut, and whatever she'd glimpsed was gone. He was just Julian again—silent and unreadable.
She brought two plates to the counter, trying to sound casual. "Your phone... it's pretty old."
She took a breath, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "I'm going to the mall this afternoon. I could pick up a new smartphone for you, if you want."
It was more than an offer. It was a peace offering, a gesture of care. A way of saying: I see you. I want to know you.
Julian looked at her, his dark eyes searching her face. He seemed to consider her words—or maybe something else entirely. For a moment she thought he would refuse.
"Whatever," he said, his tone flat.
He turned to unpack the food, but not before she saw it. The corner of his mouth twitched again—that ghost of a smile that did strange things to her insides. It was faint, almost invisible, but it felt like a secret shared between them.
Her heart did a stupid little flip.
She sat down and began to eat, using the burger to hide her flustered expression. She was definitely getting him a new phone. The best one she could find. It wasn't just a gift. It was a key—a way to unlock the man behind the flip phone.
He really is a good man, she thought, and this time, she was sure of it.
