Updated Dec 2, 2025 • ~10 min read
Sterling’s on Fifth was the kind of coffee shop that tried very hard to look like it wasn’t trying at all: exposed brick, mismatched furniture, local art on the walls that rotated monthly. Knox had been coming here for years, long before it became trendy.
Now, standing outside at 9:58 AM, he felt like he’d never seen the place before.
You can still leave, he told himself. Text her. Apologize. Say something came up.
But his feet carried him through the door anyway.
Julia was already there.
She sat at a corner table by the window, sunlight catching in her dark hair. She’d dressed casually—or what passed for casual when you were a billionaire CEO: dark jeans, a soft cream sweater that draped elegantly over her baby bump, delicate gold jewelry that probably cost more than Knox’s rent. She was reading something on her phone, one hand absently resting on her stomach.
Knox’s heart did something complicated.
That’s my baby.
The thought hit him with physical force. Somewhere under Julia’s hand, under skin and muscle and all the miraculous biology he didn’t understand, there was a tiny human growing. A human that shared his DNA.
A human he had absolutely no right to claim.
Julia looked up and saw him. Her face lit up with a smile that made Knox forget how to breathe.
“Knox! Hi!” She started to stand.
“No, don’t—” Knox hurried over, gesturing for her to stay seated. “I’ll get us coffee. What can I get you?”
“Decaf vanilla latte? Extra foam?” She made an apologetic face. “I know, I’m that person.”
“Extra foam, coming right up. Any of those three pastries you mentioned?”
Julia laughed. “The almond croissant is calling my name. And maybe—is it too much to also get the blueberry scone?”
“It’s never too much. I’ll be right back.”
Knox ordered their drinks and pastries, grateful for the few minutes to compose himself. His hands were shaking as he paid. This was insane. He was insane. Aaron was right—this whole thing was a disaster waiting to happen.
But when he returned to the table and saw Julia smiling up at him, disaster was the last thing on his mind.
“Thank you,” she said as he set down her latte and pastries. “Fair warning: I might actually eat both of these. The baby has opinions about breakfast.”
“Boy or girl?” The question slipped out before Knox could stop it.
“I don’t know yet. I wanted to be surprised.” Julia took a sip of her latte, humming contentedly. “My assistant thinks I’m crazy. She’s already planned three different nursery designs depending on the gender reveal.”
“You have an assistant who does interior design?”
“I have an assistant who does everything. Cailyn’s been with me for three years and I honestly don’t know how I functioned before her.” Julia broke off a piece of croissant. “She’s also extremely protective. When I told her I was meeting you this morning, she ran a full background check.”
Knox’s coffee suddenly tasted like ash. “Oh?”
“Don’t worry—you passed. No criminal record, stable employment, active in the local arts community. She’s satisfied you’re not a serial killer.” Julia said it lightly, teasingly, but Knox felt the weight of those words.
Background check. Of course someone like Julia would have people looking out for her. Making sure she was safe. Making sure the random artist she’d met at a gala wasn’t someone dangerous.
If Cailyn had dug deeper—if she’d found the fertility clinic records—
But no. The agreement was airtight. Anonymous meant anonymous. There was no paper trail connecting Knox to that donation. No way for Julia or anyone else to stumble onto the truth.
Unless he told them.
“Knox? You okay?”
He realized he’d been staring into his coffee for too long. “Yeah, sorry. Just—didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Me neither,” Julia admitted. “Pregnancy insomnia is real. I end up online shopping at 3 AM, which is dangerous when you have a credit card and anxiety about whether you’ve bought enough tiny socks.”
“How many socks does a baby need?”
“According to my current cart? Approximately ninety-seven pairs.” She laughed at her own ridiculousness. “I know it’s excessive. But I keep thinking, what if I’m not prepared? What if the baby comes and I’ve forgotten something critical?”
There was vulnerability in her voice that made Knox’s chest ache.
“You’re going to be a great mom,” he said quietly. “I can tell.”
Julia’s smile was softer now, more genuine. “That’s kind of you to say. The truth is, I’m terrified. Everyone assumes that because I run a company, I can handle anything. But this?” She touched her stomach. “This is completely different. There’s no board meeting to prepare for, no strategic plan. Just me and this tiny person who’s going to depend on me for everything.”
“You won’t be alone though, right? Family, friends?”
Something flickered across Julia’s face—too quick for Knox to identify. “My father helps when he can. But he’s… let’s just say he has opinions about my choices.”
“The baby?”
“Among other things.” Julia took another sip of her latte, clearly changing the subject. “But I didn’t ask you here to talk about my complicated family dynamics. I want to hear about your work. You said you’re working on a new collection?”
Knox let her redirect, sensing the minefield. “Yeah. It’s called Urban Solitude—playing with the idea of being alone in a city full of people.”
“The piece in the Whitmore lobby is part of that?”
“The first one I finished, actually. The rest are still in progress.” Knox pulled out his phone, finding photos of his recent work. “Here—this one’s about morning commutes. All these people packed into subway cars, physically touching but completely isolated in their own worlds.”
Julia leaned closer to look at the image, and Knox caught the scent of her perfume—something light and floral. His brain short-circuited for a second.
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly. “The way you’ve used light here—it almost feels lonely and comforting at the same time.”
“That’s exactly what I was going for.” Knox heard the surprise in his own voice. “Most people see it as just dark.”
“Most people aren’t really looking.” Julia scrolled to the next image. “Can I ask you something? Why art? What made you decide this was what you wanted to do?”
No one had asked Knox that question in years. They asked about his technique, his inspiration, his sales figures. But not the why.
“I think—” Knox paused, trying to find words for something he rarely examined. “I think it’s the only time I feel like I’m telling the truth. Everything else is performance or expectation or what I think people want to hear. But when I’m painting, it’s just me and the canvas. Honest.”
Julia was quiet for a moment, her eyes on his face. “I envy that.”
“You run a billion-dollar company.”
“I run my father’s company,” she corrected quietly. “There’s a difference. I’m good at it. I might even be great at it. But it’s not—it’s not mine the way your art is yours.”
The honesty in her voice made Knox brave. “What would you do? If you could do anything?”
Julia laughed, but there was sadness in it. “Promise you won’t think I’m ridiculous?”
“Promise.”
“I’d open a bookstore. One of those cozy ones with reading nooks and coffee and author events. Completely impractical, probably wouldn’t make any money, but—” She shrugged. “I love books. I love the idea of creating a space where people can just… exist. Discover stories. Connect with something bigger than themselves.”
Knox stared at her. “That’s not ridiculous. That’s beautiful.”
“It’s a fantasy,” Julia said. “I have responsibilities. The company, shareholders, employees who depend on their jobs. And now the baby. I can’t just abandon everything to chase a dream.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s not how real life works.”
“Says who?”
Julia looked at him then, really looked at him, and Knox felt something shift between them. Something that went beyond attraction or chemistry or whatever label people put on this kind of connection.
“You’re dangerous,” she said softly.
“What?”
“You make me want impossible things.” She said it like a confession.
Knox’s heart was hammering. “Maybe impossible is just another word for difficult.”
“Or maybe it’s just impossible.” But Julia was smiling as she said it, and Knox noticed she hadn’t looked away.
They talked for another hour. Then two. The coffee shop filled up with the lunch crowd and still they sat there, conversation flowing from art to books to childhood memories to favorite terrible movies.
Julia told him about growing up in boarding schools, about a father who loved her but didn’t know how to show it, about building an empire she’d never asked for. Knox told her about his deadbeat dad, about choosing art school over his mother’s practical career advice, about the years of struggling before anything sold.
And through it all, Knox was achingly aware of the secret sitting between them like a ticking bomb.
Tell her, his conscience whispered. Tell her now before this goes any further.
But he couldn’t. Because telling her meant losing this—these moments of connection, the way she laughed at his terrible jokes, the soft look in her eyes when he described his paintings.
“I should probably go,” Julia said reluctantly, checking her phone. “Conference call at two.”
“On a Saturday?”
“Billion-dollar companies don’t take weekends off.” She gathered her things, then paused. “Knox? Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Why did you come today? I mean—I’m seven months pregnant. Clearly dealing with my own complicated situation. Most guys would run screaming.”
Knox’s throat went tight. “Maybe I’m not most guys.”
“No,” Julia said quietly. “I don’t think you are.”
She stood, and Knox stood with her. For a moment they just looked at each other, and Knox wondered if she could hear his heart pounding.
“I’d really like to see your studio,” Julia said. “If the invitation’s still open.”
Say no, his brain screamed. This is your chance to end this cleanly.
“Thursday afternoon?” Knox heard himself say. “I’m usually there around two.”
“Thursday’s perfect.” Julia smiled, and Knox was lost. “Thank you for this morning. I can’t remember the last time I just… talked to someone. Without it being about business or the baby or my father’s expectations.”
“Anytime,” Knox said, and meant it.
He watched her leave, tracking her progress through the coffee shop window until she disappeared into a car that was definitely worth more than everything Knox owned.
His phone buzzed.
Aaron: How bad was it?
Knox looked at the message for a long time before responding: She’s coming to my studio on Thursday.
Aaron: KNOX.
Knox: I know.
Aaron: This is going to end badly.
Knox: I know.
But as Knox gathered his things and headed home, he couldn’t bring himself to care about the inevitable disaster waiting in his future.
Because for two hours this morning, he’d sat across from Julia Adams and felt something he’d never felt before.
Like coming home.
Like maybe, just maybe, impossible things were possible after all.
Even if the truth would destroy everything.
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