Page 21 of Love Letters from a Libra
“I’m not hungry yet.”
However, it was more that I wasn’t ready to break the bubble around us—the morning after, without sex, intimacy without the performance. It was foreign territory.
He nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. “Last night was nice,” he commented.
Last night, we ended up curled up on his bed, watching some documentary about these deep-sea creatures. His arm was around me, but nothing more demanding. It was the most intimate non-intimate evening I’d had in years.
“I agree it was nice.” I studied his face for any sign that he was disappointed or that he expected something else, and I found none.
Our guards had slowly lowered throughout the evening. I told him things about my family that I usually kept private, but nothing that required fixing or solving. Neither of us needed the other to do emotional heavy lifting; we just appreciated the other’s presence and support.
That was what felt suspicious. My mom raised me that way, teaching me how to read a room. She had a way of clocking people on what wasn’t being said. I picked up on that shit without even realizing it.
So far, he was steadily present, and that made me feel like I was waiting for the mask to drop for the real him, with all of his damage to emerge.
“What’s going on in there?” he asked, tapping his finger gently on my temple.
I almost gave him my standard deflection, keeping things surface level with the light answer, but something about the quiet of his apartment and the soft jazz playing in the background made me want to be honest.
“I’m waiting for the catch for whatever this is to make sense,” I admitted.
“Does it have to make sense?” Jules tilted his head.
“In my experience, if something is too easy, I’m missing something important.”
He sipped his tea, considering my words. “I think what you’re missing is that everything doesn’t have to be hard.”
His words hit me in a tender way. I looked down at my tea, watching the steam crawl up between us. “That hasn’t been my experience.”
“I know.” Jules gave me those two simple words, which were heavy with understanding and nothing but acknowledgment.
Jules reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was casual and light, and my skin warmed under his fingers.
“Drink your tea, take a nap, and I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready to rejoin the world,” he said, standing up.
I watched him leave, confidence in his movements, and they scared me too. I didn’t know how to be with someone who didn’t need me to be anything other than what I was. It was the most destabilizing kind of freedom.
I sank back into the comfort of his space, sipping my tea and listening to jazz, which felt like its own kind of bravery.
After slipping back into yesterday’s clothes, I entered the restroom to wash my face and use some mouthwash until I could get home to brush my teeth and shower. I found Jules in the living room with my empty mug. The space was open, with high ceilings, concrete floors, and a single plush rug softening it. Everything had a place. It wasn’t a staged, nobody really lives here, look. Things were placed with an intention that spoke to someone who knew exactly who they were.
Jules was on the couch, legs stretched out, tablet in his hands. He looked up when I entered, those eyes tracking me with the same quiet attention that unnerved and attracted me at the same time.
“Better?” he asked, setting his tablet aside.
“Yes, I’m dressed, though I’m rocking that slept-in chick look,” I responded, gesturing to my outfit from yesterday.
He smiled, his expression reaching his eyes in a way that made my stomach do a little flip. “I think it works for you. Come have a seat, unless you need to rush off.” He patted the couch next to him.
I shouldn’t have said yes. I knew I had a thousand things to do, a blog post, and calls to return. Instead, I found myself settling onto the couch next to him.
“I’ve read your latest post. It was insightful,” he commented, nodding toward his tablet.
“Thanks, though it’s mostly just translating cosmic noise for the masses. It’s not exactly groundbreaking work,” I replied, keeping my tone light.
“I wouldn’t diminish it like that. You have a way of making complex astrology and astrological concepts accessible without watering them down. That’s actually a gift,” he countered.
I shrugged. “It’s just my job.”
