Updated Dec 2, 2025 • ~11 min read
Their “same time next week” turned into three more studio visits, two coffee dates, and one impromptu lunch when Julia texted him at noon saying she was craving Thai food and couldn’t eat alone.
Knox was in trouble. Deep, catastrophic trouble.
Because somewhere between showing Julia his latest paintings and learning that she secretly loved terrible reality TV, somewhere between watching her laugh at his dumb jokes and listening to her talk about baby names she was considering, Knox had stopped pretending this was casual.
He was falling for her.
No—he’d already fallen.
And tonight, standing outside a gallery opening where one of his pieces was being featured, waiting for Julia to arrive, Knox knew he’d reached a point of no return.
His phone buzzed: Running 5 min late. Baby decided my bladder is a trampoline. Be there soon! xx
Knox smiled despite his nerves. Julia’s pregnancy updates had become a constant in his life over the past two weeks. The baby was kicking more. She’d failed her first glucose test and had to take another one. Her feet were swelling. She’d cried at a diaper commercial.
Each update felt like a gift and a curse.
“Knox Barrow?” A woman in her forties approached, hand extended. “I’m Lindsay Marsden with the Arts Council. Your piece is absolutely stunning. We’ve already had three serious inquiries about purchase.”
Knox shook her hand, trying to focus on what should be one of the biggest moments of his career. “Thank you. I’m honored to be included in the show.”
They chatted about his technique, his inspiration, his future plans. Knox gave the right answers, smiled at the right times, but his attention kept drifting to the gallery entrance.
Then Julia walked in, and everything else ceased to exist.
She wore midnight blue—a maternity dress that somehow managed to be both elegant and comfortable, her hair down in soft waves. But it was the smile on her face when she spotted him that made Knox’s heart stop.
She crossed the gallery with the confident stride of someone used to commanding rooms, never mind that she had to pause twice when the baby apparently kicked.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, slightly breathless. “Traffic was—Knox, your painting.”
She’d spotted it: his largest piece, mounted on the main wall. Connection —the subway painting she’d loved in his studio, now professionally lit and displayed.
“You sold it?” There was something in her voice Knox couldn’t quite identify.
“I sold it to the gallery for the show. But if someone buys it from the exhibition—”
“I’ll buy it,” Julia said immediately.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” She turned to face him, and Knox was struck by the intensity in her eyes. “I want this in my home. I want to see it every day. I want—” She stopped, then laughed. “Sorry. Hormone-induced art acquisition urges.”
“Or you just have good taste.”
“That too.”
Lindsay appeared at Knox’s elbow. “Julia Adams! What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Julia said smoothly, slipping into her professional persona so seamlessly Knox almost got whiplash. “Knox is an incredible talent. You’re lucky to have him.”
“We certainly think so. Are you two—?” Lindsay looked between them curiously.
“Friends,” Knox said at the same time Julia said, “Dating.”
They looked at each other.
“Dating friends,” Julia amended with a small smile. “Is that a thing?”
“It can be,” Knox said, heart hammering.
Lindsay excused herself tactfully, and Knox and Julia were left standing in front of his painting, the weight of that one word—dating—hanging between them.
“Was that okay?” Julia asked quietly. “Saying we’re dating? I know we haven’t really defined this, and if I’m moving too fast—”
“You’re not,” Knox interrupted. “I want—I mean, if you want to call this dating, I’m very okay with that.”
Julia’s smile was brilliant. “Good. Because I’ve been telling my assistant about you and she keeps asking what we are, and ‘the hot artist I’m definitely not dating but also can’t stop thinking about’ was getting too long for conversation.”
Knox laughed, some of his nervous tension easing. “Hot artist?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
They spent the next hour navigating the gallery opening together. Julia introduced him to people with the kind of effortless networking Knox had never mastered. An art collector who wanted to commission a piece for his office. A gallery owner from upstate who was interested in featuring Knox’s work. A journalist who asked about his inspiration.
Through it all, Julia stayed by his side, her hand occasionally brushing his arm, her pride in his work evident in every introduction.
Knox felt like he was living in someone else’s life. Like he’d stumbled into a reality where he was the kind of artist who got gallery shows and commissions. Where beautiful, brilliant women looked at him like he was someone worth knowing.
When the crowd finally started thinning around nine, Julia touched his elbow. “Want to get out of here? I’m starving and there’s a great pizza place two blocks away that makes this white sauce that the baby apparently needs immediately.”
“Baby has good taste.”
“Baby has expensive taste. Do you know what I spent on imported cheese last week?”
They walked through the cooling September evening, Julia’s hand finding its way into his somewhere around the second block. Knox tried not to read too much into it. Tried not to catalog the way her fingers fit between his, warm and certain.
The pizza place was tiny and perfect, with red-checkered tablecloths and Frank Sinatra playing on scratchy speakers. They ordered a large white pizza with prosciutto and arugula, and Julia immediately stole the first slice.
“This is amazing,” she said around a mouthful of cheese. “How did I not know about this place?”
“Because you normally eat at restaurants where they don’t put the menu prices.”
Julia laughed. “Fair point. But this is better than any fancy place my father makes me go to for business dinners.”
“How is your father? You don’t talk about him much.”
Something shuttered in Julia’s expression. “He’s… complicated. He loves me in his way, but he’s never really known what to do with me. When my mom died, I was eight. He threw himself into work and I got shipped off to boarding school. We’ve been orbiting each other at a distance ever since.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’m used to it.” Julia took another bite of pizza. “What about you? You mentioned your dad wasn’t around.”
“He left when I was seven. Went to buy cigarettes, as the cliché goes, and never came back. My mom did her best, but she was working two jobs. I basically raised myself.”
“Is that why you became an artist? Escape?”
Knox considered. “Maybe. Or maybe it was the one thing that was completely mine. No one could take it from me or leave it behind. It was just me and the canvas.”
Julia’s hand covered his on the table. “I’m glad you kept painting. The world would be poorer without your work.”
The sincerity in her voice made Knox’s throat tight. “Julia—”
“And I’m glad I met you,” she continued. “Even if the timing is completely insane and I’m about to become a single mother and you’re probably having second thoughts about getting involved with a pregnant woman—”
“I’m not,” Knox said firmly. “Having second thoughts. At all.”
Their eyes met, and Knox felt that same electric connection from the gala. Like the rest of the world had gone quiet and it was just the two of them, suspended in this moment.
“Knox,” Julia said softly. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
Knox’s heart stopped. Started. Stopped again.
Tell her, his conscience screamed. Tell her the truth right now before this goes any further.
But Julia was looking at him with those warm brown eyes, her hand in his, and Knox’s resolve crumbled into dust.
“Then kiss me,” he whispered.
Julia leaned across the table—awkward with her baby bump but determined—and pressed her lips to his.
The kiss was soft, tentative, tasting of white sauce and possibility. Julia’s hand came up to cup his cheek, and Knox felt something in his chest crack wide open.
When they pulled apart, Julia was smiling. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the studio.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She settled back in her seat, looking pleased with herself. “Was it weird? Kissing a pregnant woman?”
“It was perfect,” Knox said, and meant it.
They finished their pizza in comfortable silence, stealing glances at each other like teenagers. When they left the restaurant, Knox called Julia a car, but she lingered on the sidewalk, clearly not ready for the evening to end.
“Come with me?” Julia said suddenly. “Back to my place? I promise I’m not propositioning you. I just—I don’t want tonight to be over yet.”
Knox knew he should say no. Knew that going to her apartment, spending more time in her space, was only going to make this harder when everything inevitably fell apart.
But he’d stopped being able to say no to Julia Adams somewhere around the second coffee date.
“Lead the way,” he said.
Julia’s apartment was—of course—stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, modern furniture that probably cost more than Knox made in a year, art on the walls that he recognized from galleries he couldn’t afford to shop in.
“It’s a lot,” Julia said, watching him take it in. “I know. My father insisted on buying the place when I took over as CEO. Said it fit the image.”
“It’s beautiful,” Knox said. “But it doesn’t really feel like you.”
Julia looked at him with surprise. “How do you mean?”
“It’s too… curated. Like a magazine spread. Where’s the mess? The personality?”
Julia laughed. “The nursery. Come on, I’ll show you.”
She led him down a hallway to a room that was in a completely different state than the rest of the apartment. Paint swatches covered one wall, furniture boxes were stacked in the corner, tiny clothes and blankets were scattered across every surface.
“It’s a disaster,” Julia admitted. “I keep buying things and then second-guessing all my choices. What if the baby hates yellow? What if I should have gone with the other crib? What if—”
“What if you’re overthinking it?” Knox said gently. “The baby isn’t going to care about paint colors. They’re going to care that you’re here. That you love them.”
Julia’s eyes went suspiciously bright. “Damn hormones. You can’t say nice things to me, I’ll cry.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She moved to the window, wrapping her arms around herself. “Thank you. For tonight. For being—” She paused. “For being you. For not running away when you found out I was pregnant. For understanding about my work and my father and all my neuroses.”
Knox crossed the room to stand beside her. Outside, the city glittered with a million lights, each one a life being lived. Somewhere out there, Knox’s old life was waiting—the one where he wasn’t lying to the woman he was falling for.
But in here, in this moment, he let himself believe in a different ending.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
Julia turned to face him, and this time when she kissed him, it wasn’t tentative. It was certain. Sure. A promise of something neither of them could quite name but both wanted desperately to believe in.
When they finally pulled apart, Julia rested her forehead against his. “Stay?” she whispered. “Just to sleep. I’m not—we don’t have to—I just want you here.”
Knox should leave. Should put distance between them. Should not spend the night in Julia Adams’s bed while she remained blissfully unaware that the baby kicking between them was half his.
But he was so tired of should.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll stay.”
They fell asleep on top of the covers, fully clothed, Julia’s back curved against Knox’s chest and his hand resting on her stomach.
At some point in the early morning, the baby kicked against his palm.
And Knox, drifting in the space between sleep and waking, let himself imagine—just for a moment—that this was real. That he got to keep this. That the truth wouldn’t eventually destroy everything.
Just for a moment, he let himself believe in impossible things.
Even though morning would come.
And with it, one day closer to the inevitable reckoning.
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