Updated Dec 2, 2025 • ~9 min read
“I need your help with something,” Julia said over breakfast at Knox’s apartment three weeks later. “And you can totally say no, but I’m hoping you won’t.”
Knox looked up from his coffee. They’d fallen into an easy routine: alternating nights at each other’s places, morning coffee, comfortable silence. It felt terrifyingly domestic. “What do you need?”
“The nursery. It’s a disaster and I’m completely paralyzed by indecision. Cailyn offered to help, but she wants to hire a professional designer and I—I want it to feel personal. Like I actually made choices instead of just throwing money at the problem.”
“Okay?”
“So I was thinking—you’re an artist. You understand color and space and composition. Would you help me paint it? Actually paint, not just supervise. I want to do this myself. Or, well, ourselves. If you’re willing.”
Knox’s heart did something complicated. “You want me to help you paint the baby’s nursery?”
“I know it’s a lot to ask. We’ve only been together a month and this is probably moving too fast and you’re probably freaking out—”
“I’d love to,” Knox interrupted.
Julia’s face lit up. “Really?”
“Really.”
Which was how Knox found himself in Julia’s spare bedroom the following Saturday, surrounded by paint cans and drop cloths, while Julia sat in the middle of the floor with her laptop, pulling up Pinterest boards.
“Okay,” she said, scrolling through images. “I know I said I was indecisive, but I’ve actually been thinking about this a lot. I want something calm but not boring. Warm but not overwhelming. Gender-neutral because we’re not finding out, but still—”
“Julia. Breathe.” Knox sat down beside her. “Show me what you’re drawn to.”
Julia pulled up her saved images: soft sage greens, warm cream tones, natural wood furniture. There was a theme emerging—earthy, calming, understated.
“This,” Knox said, pointing to a room painted in a muted sage with cream accents. “This feels like you.”
“You think?”
“I know.” He stood, surveying the room. “We paint the walls this sage green—it’s peaceful, gender-neutral, not too bold. Then we use cream for the trim, maybe add some subtle gold accents to tie it together.”
“Gold?”
“Trust me.”
Julia did.
They spent the morning taping off the trim, laying down drop cloths, preparing the space. Cailyn stopped by around noon with sandwiches and lemonade, took one look at Knox on a ladder with a paint roller, and gave Julia a knowing smile.
“What?” Julia asked.
“Nothing. Just noting that you found a man who will literally help you paint your baby’s nursery. Don’t let this one go.”
After Cailyn left, Julia turned to Knox. “She’s not subtle.”
“She cares about you.”
“She’s doing background checks on you monthly. I know she is.”
Knox’s stomach dropped. “Monthly?”
“Probably. She denies it, but I know her.” Julia dipped her roller in paint. “Don’t worry. You keep passing.”
For now, Knox thought but didn’t say.
They painted in comfortable silence for a while, Knox handling the high areas while Julia worked on the lower portions. The physical activity felt good—productive, uncomplicated. Just two people transforming a space.
“Can I ask you something?” Julia said eventually.
“Sure.”
“Do you ever think about having kids? Like, in the future. In the abstract.”
Knox’s hand faltered on the roller. “Sometimes.”
“And?”
“And I think I’d like to be a father someday. The kind who actually shows up. Who’s present.” He kept his eyes on the wall. “The opposite of my dad.”
“You’d be a great father,” Julia said softly.
Knox’s throat went tight. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re here. Helping me paint a nursery for a baby that isn’t yours. Most guys would have run by now.”
It is mine, Knox wanted to scream. That’s my baby you’re carrying. I have more claim to this than anyone.
But he couldn’t. So instead he said, “Maybe I’m not most guys.”
“No,” Julia agreed. “You’re really not.”
They worked through the afternoon, the sage green slowly covering the blank white walls. Julia had to take frequent breaks—her back was hurting, the baby was kicking, she needed to pee for the fifth time in an hour.
“I’m sorry I’m useless,” she said, lowering herself carefully onto the drop cloth.
“You’re growing a human. I think you’re allowed to be tired.”
“Still. You’re doing all the work.”
“I like it. Gives me something to do with my hands besides paint abstracts.” Knox climbed down from the ladder to refresh his roller. “Besides, this is important. This is where your baby will sleep. Grow up. Take their first steps eventually. It should be perfect.”
Julia’s eyes went suspiciously bright. “Hormones. Ignore me.”
“Not ignoring you. Just acknowledging that this is a big deal.”
“It really is.” Julia looked around the half-painted room. “A month ago, this was just a spare bedroom. Now it’s becoming someone’s whole world. My baby’s whole world. It’s terrifying and amazing and I still can’t quite believe it’s real.”
Knox sat down beside her, paint-splattered and exhausted in the best way. “It’s real.”
“I’m going to be a mom in three months.”
“You’re going to be an amazing mom.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Because you care this much. Because you’re willing to do the hard work. Because you’re thinking about the kind of space you want to create for this kid—not just physically, but emotionally. That’s what matters.”
Julia leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thank you. For this. For being here. For not running away when I admitted I’m terrified.”
“Everyone’s terrified of big changes.”
“Are you? Terrified of this? Of me?”
Knox thought about all the ways he should answer that question truthfully. About the terror that kept him awake at night—not of Julia or the baby, but of the moment when she’d inevitably discover his deception.
“I’m terrified of losing you,” he said instead. Not a lie, but not the whole truth either.
Julia turned to look at him, and Knox saw his own feelings reflected in her eyes: longing, fear, hope, uncertainty all tangled together.
“I’m falling in love with you,” Julia whispered. “I know it’s too soon and completely insane, but I can’t help it. And I needed you to know, because I don’t want to hide it anymore.”
Knox’s heart stopped. Restarted. Shattered into a million pieces.
She loved him.
Julia Adams—brilliant, beautiful, carrying his child without knowing it—loved him.
“I love you too,” Knox said, because it was the truest thing he’d ever spoken. “I have for weeks.”
When Julia kissed him, Knox tasted paint and lemonade and the salt of her tears. She pulled him closer, careful of her stomach, and Knox wrapped his arms around her like he could keep her safe from everything—including his own lies.
They stayed like that for a long moment, paint-covered and exhausted and completely, impossibly in love.
Eventually, they pulled apart and got back to work. The nursery wasn’t going to paint itself.
By early evening, the first coat was done. The sage green looked exactly right—calm and welcoming and perfect.
“It’s beautiful,” Julia said, standing in the doorway with Knox’s arm around her shoulders. “Exactly what I imagined.”
“Second coat tomorrow,” Knox said. “Then trim, furniture assembly, all the finishing touches.”
“You’ll help with those too?”
“Of course.”
Julia turned in his arms. “I mean it, Knox. I love you. And I know this situation is complicated with the baby and my work and my father’s eventual disapproval when he finds out about you. But I don’t care. I want this. I want you.”
Knox kissed her forehead, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with paint fumes. “I want this too.”
And he did. God, he did. Wanted this life they were building, these quiet domestic moments, the intimacy of shared projects and whispered confessions.
He wanted to be the father Julia thought he could be.
He wanted to deserve her love.
He wanted the truth not to matter.
But as they left the nursery and went to wash paint from their hands, Knox caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror and barely recognized himself.
When had he become someone who could look the woman he loved in the eye and lie? Who could help paint a nursery for his own child while pretending to be the supportive boyfriend with no biological claim?
When had he crossed the line from keeping a secret to actively deceiving?
His phone buzzed. Aaron: Still coming over tomorrow to work on the commission piece?
Knox had forgotten. Between Julia and the nursery and this new admission of love, he’d completely forgotten about his actual work.
Knox: Yeah. Need to finish it this week.
Aaron: How’s the nursery going?
Knox looked through the bathroom door at Julia, laughing on the phone with Cailyn, paint streaked across her cheek, one hand resting protectively on her stomach.
Knox: I’m in love with her.
Aaron: I know.
Knox: We’re painting the nursery. Our baby’s nursery. And she doesn’t know. She has no idea.
Aaron: When are you going to tell her?
Knox stared at the message for a long time.
Knox: I don’t know.
But that was a lie too.
Because Knox knew exactly when he’d tell Julia the truth: when he had absolutely no other choice. When the secret became impossible to keep. When everything fell apart despite his desperate attempts to hold it together.
Not before then.
Not when he could still pretend this was real and uncomplicated and right.
Not when Julia looked at him like he was someone worth loving.
Not yet.
So Knox put his phone away and went back to Julia, wrapped his arms around her from behind, and felt the baby kick against his palm.
Tomorrow he’d finish the nursery.
Next week they’d assemble furniture.
In three months, the baby would be born.
And eventually—inevitably—the truth would destroy everything.
But tonight, in this paint-splattered moment with Julia in his arms, Knox let himself believe in the impossible.
That love might be enough.
That secrets could stay buried.
That he could have this life without paying the price for how he’d gotten it.
Tomorrow’s problems could wait.
Tonight, Knox was exactly where he wanted to be.
Even if it was all built on lies.
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