Julian poured the wine slowly, the way he always did now—tilting the bottle just enough that the liquid slid down the glass without splashing. The sound was soft, controlled. He watched it rise, watched the color catch the candlelight and darken into something almost warm.
Claire smiled at him from the other side of the blanket.
"You're overthinking it," she said.
He glanced up, caught. "I'm not."
"You are," she said, leaning back on her hands. "You do that little pause thing. Right before you pour."
He shrugged, careful not to spill. "I like doing it right."
She laughed, quiet and pleased, the sound filling the empty apartment more than furniture ever could. The place still smelled new—fresh paint and something faintly chemical from the floors. They hadn't bothered with a table yet. Just a blanket spread across the hardwood, a couple of mismatched pillows, and takeout containers balanced between them like they belonged there.
Julian handed her the glass.
Their fingers brushed. Brief. Familiar. Enough to make his chest tighten.
She took a sip and closed her eyes. "Okay," she said. "That was worth the move alone."
"You say that now," he replied, settling beside her. "Wait until the neighbors start arguing in three different languages."
She nudged his knee with hers. "That's part of the charm."
The city outside the windows hummed low and constant. Traffic somewhere below, voices drifting up from the street, a siren far enough away to sound like it belonged to someone else's life. They'd turned off the overhead lights as soon as the sun went down. The candles were scattered around the room in uneven clusters, their flames reflected faintly in the glass and metal of unopened boxes stacked against the wall.
Rose petals trailed from the doorway to the center of the room—not extravagant, not staged. Just enough to make the effort visible.
Claire followed his gaze. "I didn't go overboard, right?"
"No," Julian said. "It's perfect."
She looked at him then, really looked, the way she did when she wanted to make sure she was being seen. He held her gaze without flinching. He always did. It was something they'd learned early—don't look away from the good moments. They don't last long enough to waste.
She reached for a container and opened it, the smell of food blooming into the room. "I still can't believe we're doing this," she said. "A year ago we were eating anniversary takeout on a couch that smelled like someone else's dog."
"That couch was holding us hostage," Julian said. "We had no choice."
She laughed again, shaking her head. "Still. This feels… real."
"It is real."
She smiled softly at that. "You know what I mean."
Julian leaned back on his hands and let his eyes wander the apartment again—the bare walls, the tall windows, the half-unpacked boxes that promised something permanent even if they didn't know how to get there yet. He checked his watch without thinking, the small movement almost involuntary.
Claire noticed.
"Hey," she said. "Stop that."
He dropped his wrist. "Stop what?"
"Checking the time," she said. "We're allowed to enjoy this."
"I am enjoying it."
She raised an eyebrow. "Then stay."
He smiled, a little apologetic. "I'm here."
She accepted that, shifting closer until their shoulders touched. "So," she said. "I heard back today."
"From the firm?"
"Mhm." She took another sip of wine, savoring it. "They want me to start next month."
"That's great," Julian said. And it was—he felt the truth of it spread through him, solid and reassuring. "That's really great."
"I know." Her excitement was contained but unmistakable, like she was afraid to move too fast and break it. "It feels like a fresh start. For both of us."
"It is."
She turned toward him fully now, folding one leg beneath her. "I mean it. New city. New jobs. New apartment. We finally did it."
Julian nodded. "We did."
"And you," she added, pointing her glass at him. "You're going to finish that book."
He laughed, short and self-conscious. "You always say that."
"Because you always try not to believe it," she said. "But I've read it. It's good. You're good."
He felt heat rise in his face and looked down at his hands. "I just need more time."
She reached out and took his chin gently, lifting his gaze back to hers. "You have time," she said. "We're building something here. This is where it starts."
He searched her face, the familiar angles and expressions he knew better than his own reflection. The conviction in her voice wasn't naive. It was steady. Certain.
He checked his watch again.
Claire followed his eyes this time. "Julian."
"I know," he said quickly. "I'm sorry."
She softened. "You okay?"
"Yeah," he said. "Just… thinking."
She studied him for a moment, then leaned back and stretched out on the blanket, one arm draped over her eyes. "Well stop thinking," she said. "It's our anniversary. You're not allowed to be productive or responsible."
He smiled despite himself. "You made rules?"
"Absolutely."
She peeked at him from beneath her arm. "Come here."
He did, lying back beside her. The ceiling above them was bare, unmarked, waiting. Candlelight danced along the edges of the room, shadows stretching and collapsing with every small movement.
Claire turned onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. "Do you remember our first date?" she asked.
"Of course."
"You were late."
"You spilled coffee on me."
"That was an accident."
"You didn't apologize."
"I bought you dinner."
"You ordered for me."
"You said you liked it."
"I did," she said. "That's why I married you."
Julian laughed, the sound low and warm in his chest. He reached out and brushed a petal from her shoulder, letting his fingers linger there a second longer than necessary.
He checked his watch again.
Claire sighed. "You're doing it again."
"I know," he said. "I'm trying not to."
She watched him quietly, something thoughtful passing behind her eyes. "You don't have to worry so much," she said. "We're good."
"I know we are."
"Then trust it."
He nodded. "I do."
They sat like that for a while, talking about nothing and everything—about the grocery store downstairs that stayed open too late, about how strange it felt not knowing anyone yet, about what they might put on the walls once they figured out who they were in this place.
Julian listened more than he spoke. He always did when he was happiest. He watched the way Claire gestured when she talked, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking, the way her smile softened when she mentioned the future like it was something already promised.
He checked his watch again.
The second hand ticked forward.
Claire set her glass aside and leaned closer, her voice dropping. "Hey."
"Yeah?"
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For doing this. For believing we could."
He swallowed. "I'd do it again."
"I know." She smiled. "That's why I love you."
The word settled between them, heavy and complete.
Julian felt it then—the ache beneath his ribs, the awareness he kept pushing down. He let himself sit with it, just for a moment. Let himself look at her without guarding the feeling.
He checked his watch.
Claire noticed. She didn't say anything this time. She just reached out and rested her hand over his wrist, stilling it.
"Stay," she said quietly.
He nodded. "I'm staying."
She leaned in, close enough that he could smell the wine on her breath, the faint citrus of her shampoo. Her eyes flicked to his mouth, then back to his.
Julian held his breath.
The watch on his wrist began to beep.
Sharp. Insistent. Wrong.
Claire froze, her face inches from his. The sound cut through the room, through the candles and the city and the warmth of the moment like something breaking glass.
The apartment vanished.
Julian jerked upright, breath ripping into his lungs as the beeping grew louder, closer, unmistakable. His eyes flew open to darkness—not candlelight, not city glow, but the dim outline of his bedroom in Millbrook.
The alarm on his watch vibrated against his wrist.
1:42 a.m.
He slapped it silent and sat there, heart pounding, the echo of her voice still ringing in his ears.
For a long moment, he didn't move.
Then the room settled around him, quiet and empty, and the weight of waking pressed down hard.
Julian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor.