Updated Dec 2, 2025 • ~10 min read
Knox spent Tuesday and Wednesday in a state of barely controlled panic.
He cleaned his studio—actually cleaned it, not just shoved things into corners and hoped for the best. He organized canvases, scrubbed paint off every surface, replaced the burnt-out light bulbs he’d been meaning to fix for months. Aaron came by Wednesday evening and found him alphabetizing his art books.
“You’ve lost your mind,” Aaron observed.
“She’s a CEO. She’s used to clean, organized spaces. I can’t have her walk into my disaster zone.”
“Knox. She’s coming to see your art, not judge your housekeeping.” Aaron grabbed the book from Knox’s hands. “Besides, artists are supposed to be messy. It’s part of the image.”
“I don’t care about the image. I care about—” Knox stopped, realizing what he was about to say.
“About impressing her,” Aaron finished. “I know. Which is why this is such a terrible idea.”
“You’ve made your opinion clear.”
“Have I?” Aaron sat on the one paint-free chair. “Because I can repeat it if you need a reminder.”
Knox turned back to his canvases, organizing them by size, by series, by anything to keep his hands busy. “I can’t cancel on her now.”
“You absolutely can.”
“It would be rude.”
“Knox—”
“I know!” Knox’s voice cracked. “I know this is stupid. I know I’m in way over my head. I know this ends badly no matter what I do. But Aaron, I can’t—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”
Aaron’s expression softened. “I know.”
“She looked at my work and understood it. Not just ‘oh that’s pretty’ but actually got what I was trying to say. And when we talked, it felt—”
“Easy,” Aaron supplied.
“Yeah.”
“That’s called chemistry, buddy. And it’s wonderful and terrible and doesn’t change the fundamental facts of this situation.”
Knox knew Aaron was right. Had spent the past three days telling himself the exact same things. But knowing something and doing something were two very different problems.
Thursday afternoon arrived with aggressive punctuality.
At 1:45 PM, Knox gave his studio one final inspection. Everything was clean, organized, presentable. His newest pieces were displayed on easels, properly lit. He’d even bought fresh flowers for the table by the window—then immediately thrown them away because that seemed like too much.
At 1:58 PM, he was pacing.
At 2:00 PM exactly, there was a knock at the door.
Knox opened it to find Julia standing in the hallway, looking slightly uncertain and absolutely beautiful. She wore a simple black dress that somehow made her pregnancy glow even more obvious, and carried a paper bag that smelled incredible.
“Hi,” she said. “I brought cupcakes. Is that weird? I felt weird showing up empty-handed, but now I’m worried this is too much, or too—”
“It’s perfect,” Knox interrupted, stepping aside. “Come in.”
Julia walked into his studio and stopped, eyes wide as she took in the space. Knox tried to see it through her perspective: the high ceilings, the massive windows letting in afternoon light, canvases in various states of completion covering every available surface.
“Knox,” she breathed. “This is incredible.”
The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. “Yeah?”
“It’s like walking into your brain.” She moved slowly through the space, studying each piece. “The Whitmore painting was beautiful, but seeing your work all together like this—it tells a story.”
Knox watched her examine his paintings, the way she tilted her head when something caught her attention, the small sounds she made when a piece resonated. She’d stop at each canvas, really looking, taking her time.
She paused in front of his latest work: a large abstract piece depicting a crowded subway car rendered in blues and grays, with a single figure in warm gold.
“This one,” Julia said softly. “Tell me about this one.”
Knox moved to stand beside her. “It’s about loneliness in public spaces. Everyone’s together but completely isolated. Except—” He pointed to the gold figure. “Sometimes you catch someone’s eye. Just for a second. And there’s this moment of connection.”
“Like at the gala,” Julia said.
Knox’s heart stopped. “What?”
She turned to look at him, and they were standing close—closer than he’d realized. “When I saw you across the room. It felt like that. Like I’d been surrounded by people all night but hadn’t actually seen anyone until you.”
Knox couldn’t breathe. “Julia—”
“Sorry, that was probably too much.” She stepped back, color rising in her cheeks. “Pregnancy hormones make me say weird things.”
“It wasn’t weird,” Knox said. “I felt it too.”
The air between them suddenly felt charged, heavy with things neither of them was quite brave enough to say out loud.
Julia broke eye contact first, moving to examine the next painting. “These are gorgeous, Knox. Really. You should be in galleries. Major ones.”
“I’ve been in a few local shows.”
“I mean New York. LA. Places that will actually pay you what you’re worth.” She turned back to him. “Can I ask—and tell me if this is too personal—but how do you survive? Are art sales enough to live on?”
Knox laughed. “Barely. I teach some classes at the community college. Do commission work when I can. It’s not glamorous.”
“But it’s yours.”
“Yeah. It’s mine.”
Julia touched her stomach absently. “I envy that more than you know.”
“You could still have it. The bookstore.”
“I’m seven months pregnant and about to be a single mother. Not exactly the time to make radical life changes.”
“Why single?” The question came out before Knox could stop it. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but—you’re amazing. I can’t believe there’s not someone—”
“There was,” Julia said quietly. “A few someones, actually. Men who loved the idea of me. The Adams name, the company, the social status. But the actual me?” She shrugged. “That was less interesting.”
“They were idiots.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I was never really available. It’s hard to build a relationship when you’re married to a company.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Which is why I chose this path. The donor route. At least this way, no one gets hurt except me.”
Knox’s heart was in his throat. “Do you ever wonder about him? The donor?”
“Sometimes,” Julia admitted. “The profile said he was artistic. Which is why I chose him, I think. I wanted my baby to have creativity in their DNA. To maybe see the world differently than the business-focused, profit-driven way I was raised.”
Knox couldn’t speak. Could barely think past the rush of emotion flooding through him.
She chose me. Specifically chose me.
“But it’s anonymous for a reason,” Julia continued. “He has his own life. Made the choice to donate and move on. I respect that.”
“What if—” Knox stopped, terror and hope warring in his chest. “What if he regretted it? Signing away his rights?”
Julia looked at him curiously. “That’s an interesting question. Why do you ask?”
Because I’m him. Because I’m standing here falling for you and the baby is mine and I don’t know how to tell you without destroying everything.
“Just curious,” Knox managed. “It seems like a big decision.”
“It is. But the clinic has protocols. Counseling. They make sure donors understand the implications.” Julia moved to the window, gazing out at the city. “I like to think he’s out there somewhere, living his life, maybe occasionally wondering if his donation worked. But not regretting it. Just… at peace with his choice.”
Knox joined her at the window, standing close enough that their arms almost touched. “And you’re at peace with yours?”
“Most days.” She turned to face him, and the vulnerability in her expression made Knox ache. “Some days I wake up terrified. Wondering what I’m doing. How I’m supposed to raise a whole human being by myself. Whether I’m being selfish, bringing a child into this world without a father.”
“You’re not selfish,” Knox said firmly. “You’re brave. Taking control of your own story instead of waiting for someone else to write it.”
“Or maybe I’m just stubborn and afraid of actually letting someone in.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Julia laughed—genuine and surprised. “No, I suppose they’re not.”
They stood there in the afternoon light, the city spread out below them, and Knox felt the moment crystallize into something he knew he’d remember forever. The way Julia’s hair caught the sun. The curve of her smile. The baby bump between them like a secret only he understood.
“Thank you,” Julia said softly. “For this. For letting me into your space.”
“Anytime.”
“I should probably go. I have a dinner thing with my father and his business partners. Corporate schmoozing disguised as family time.”
“Sounds terrible.”
“It really is.” Julia gathered her purse, then paused. “Knox? Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“This—us—whatever this is. You’re okay with it? With the baby situation? Because I need to know if that’s going to be a problem.”
Knox should say yes. Should tell her this was all too complicated, that he couldn’t handle her pregnancy, that it was better they stop now before things got messy.
Instead, he said, “The baby doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
It was the truth, just not all of it.
Julia’s smile was radiant. “Good. Because I really like you, Knox Barrow. And I’d like to keep doing this. Whatever this is.”
“Me too.”
She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek—quick and soft and over before Knox could process it. “I’ll text you.”
Then she was gone, leaving behind the scent of her perfume and the bag of cupcakes and Knox’s heart in absolute shambles.
He stood in his studio for a long time after she left, his hand pressed to where she’d kissed him, and thought about all the ways this was going to break him.
But he also thought about the look in Julia’s eyes when she’d said she liked him.
The way she’d understood his art.
The fact that she’d chosen his donor profile because she wanted her child to be creative.
She chose me, he thought again. Not knowing it was me, but still. She chose me.
His phone buzzed. A text from Julia: Thank you for today. Your work is beautiful. You’re beautiful. (Hormone-induced honesty, don’t hold it against me) 💕
Knox stared at the little heart emoji for a solid minute before typing back: Not holding anything against you. Same time next week?
Julia: It’s a date.
A date.
They were dating.
Knox was dating the woman pregnant with his baby, who had no idea he was the father, and every day he didn’t tell her was another day building a relationship on a foundation of lies.
But as he looked at that text message, at Julia’s warmth and humor and affection, Knox couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
Not yet.
Even though he knew regret was coming.
It was just a matter of time.
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