[Julian's POV]
I'm nervous in a way I haven't been since my first board presentation.
Which is absurd because that presentation involved three million dollars. This involves a five-year-old who probably can't even spell "trajectory."
Yet here I stand outside Rory's apartment clutching a bag from the children's bookstore like it's classified documents, my palms sweating through my "casual Saturday" outfit.
A clerk with purple hair helped me select books for "bright five-year-olds who like dinosaurs." I bought seven. Narrowed it down to two. Panicked and bought three more. Settled on two plus a dinosaur encyclopedia because excessive preparation is my love language.
I've negotiated contracts with hostile boards. I've fired executives twice my age. I've delivered presentations to rooms full of skeptics.
But meeting Rory's son—as myself, someone who wants to be important in her life—terrifies me in ways corporate warfare never could.
I knock before I lose my nerve entirely.
Rory opens the door and her expression flashes with surprise. Like she didn't expect me to show up.
That stings more than it should.
"Julian." Her voice is soft. "You came."
"I said I would." I keep my tone light despite the weird tightness in my chest. "Did you think I wouldn't?"
"I don't know what I thought."
Fair enough. I've given her plenty of reasons to doubt me over the past few weeks.
A small face peeks around her legs—curious dark eyes, messy brown curls, juice stain on his shirt. Milo.
No pressure whatsoever.
I crouch down because every parenting article I googled said that's what you do. Eye contact. Respect. Don't loom.
"Hi, Milo. I'm Julian." I hold up the bag. "Your mom told me you like dinosaurs, so I brought you some books."
His eyes go wide. "What kind of dinosaurs?"
"Well, there's an encyclopedia with pretty much every dinosaur that ever existed." I pull out the heavy volume. "And a story about a T-Rex who loves to read."
Milo's face lights up like I've just handed him the holy grail of five-year-old literature.
"Can we read them now?"
I glance at Rory. She's watching us with this expression I can't quite parse—hope mixed with fear mixed with something that looks suspiciously like affection.
"If that's okay with your mom."
"It's more than okay." Her smile is genuine now. "Come in."
The apartment is small but warm—lived-in, loved-in, actually feels like a home instead of my sterile showpiece. Toys scattered strategically, crayon drawings taped to the fridge.
Milo drags me to the couch with surprising strength for someone who barely reaches my waist.
"This one first." He points to the T-Rex story.
I settle onto the couch and Milo climbs up beside me without hesitation, pressing against my side. The trust is humbling and terrifying.
I open the book and start reading.
Except I'm terrible at this. The story calls for different voices—the T-Rex sounds wise, the Triceratops grumpy, the Pteranodon excitable. My attempts are awful. Milo giggles anyway.
"You sound funny," he announces.
"I'm aware." I try again, making the T-Rex voice even more ridiculous. "Is this better or worse?"
"Worse." He's laughing now. "But it's good worse."
Rory makes a sound from the kitchen that might be a suppressed laugh. I catch her eye and she's grinning, relaxed in a way I've rarely seen.
We finish the story. Milo immediately demands the encyclopedia.
"Show me the biggest one."
I flip to Argentinosaurus. "About 100 feet long and weighed as much as seventeen elephants."
"Whoa." Milo's eyes are huge. "That's bigger than our building."
"Probably." I find myself smiling. "They found the first fossils in Argentina, which is where the name comes from."
"What's fossils?"
And somehow I'm explaining fossilization in terms he can understand, watching his face light up. He asks approximately nine thousand questions. I answer every one.
Rory brings us juice boxes—actual juice boxes with cartoon characters. Milo takes his without looking away from the encyclopedia.
"Julian talks fancy," Milo announces to his mother.
Rory smothers another laugh. "He does, doesn't he?"
"I like words and books," I tell Milo seriously. "Always have. Some people think it's fancy, but really I just read a lot."
Milo considers this with the gravity of a Supreme Court justice.
"That's cool." He turns the page. "Can you read more?"
We spend the next hour with dinosaurs. Then Milo decides we need to build a pillow fort. I'm terrible at this too—my engineering is sound but my imagination is lacking.
"It has to be an impenetrable fortress," Milo explains seriously.
"Right. Impenetrable." I adjust a pillow. "So no weaknesses in the structural integrity."
Milo giggles. "You sound like a teacher."
We construct something vaguely fort-like. Milo declares it perfect despite obvious design flaws. We crawl inside with flashlights and he shows me his dinosaur collection—plastic figures with names and backstories.
I listen to every story because this matters. Because he matters. Because Rory built her life around making this kid feel loved and safe, and I won't be the one who messes that up.
During a quiet moment while Milo's coloring—space battle, apparently—he looks up at me.
"Are you going to be my new daddy?"
My heart stops.
I look at Rory, who's frozen across the room holding a water glass like it might shatter. Her face has gone pale. This is the moment—the one where I could ruin everything with the wrong words.
I turn back to Milo and choose honesty.
"I care about you and your mom very much." My voice is steady despite my pulse doing acrobatics. "I'd like to be someone important in your life, if that's okay with you."
Milo studies me with the intensity of someone conducting a very serious interview.
"Okay," he finally says. Then returns to his coloring like he hasn't just asked the most loaded question in human history.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of block towers, more dinosaur facts, and Milo's running commentary on everything from his favorite foods to why blue is scientifically superior to all other colors.
I'm exhausted. I'm also happier than I've been in months.
When evening hits and Milo starts rubbing his eyes, Rory announces bedtime. Milo hugs me—just walks right up and wraps his arms around my waist like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Thanks for the books, Julian."
"You're welcome." I ruffle his hair, surprising myself. "We can read more next time, if you want."
"Okay. Bye."
He disappears down the hallway and Rory walks me to the door. We stand in the threshold, suddenly awkward after hours of easy comfort.
"I was terrified," I admit quietly. "Still am, honestly."
"You were perfect." Her smile is soft. "He liked you."
"He's wonderful, Rory. Truly." I cup her face. "You've done an incredible job with him."
She leans into my palm and something shifts. Deepens. I kiss her—slow and thorough and full of things I don't have words for yet.
When we break apart, she's breathless.
"Same time next week?" I ask.
"Julian—"
"I'm not going anywhere." The words come out fierce. "You, him, this whole complicated beautiful mess—I'm in. Completely."
Her eyes shine with unshed tears. "You mean that."
"I mean that."
I kiss her once more and leave before I can do something stupid like propose after one afternoon with her kid.
Walking to my car, I realize something that should terrify me:
I'm falling for both of them.
Not just Rory. But the reality of her and Milo—the whole package, the actual family.
And for the first time in my carefully controlled life, I'm not afraid of falling.