Stolen Lines

"You came alone," Julian said.

"Should I have brought someone?"

He gave a tight smile. "I thought Cole might insist on coming."

"He offered." I shrugged. "I told him I could handle one conversation."

Which was true. Adrian was parked two streets away, with my phone on his lap and one word ready on his tongue. Pineapple.

Julian had chosen the Harborline site for our meeting. It was a wide stretch of empty concrete beside the water, with cranes sleeping against the grey sky and a huge white tent set up for the press. The wind smelled of salt and diesel. Inside the tent stood a scale model of a waterfront district under glass.

"I owe you an apology," Julian said, and stopped.

I waited.

He pushed a hand through his hair. It was a gesture I had loved for years. "About last night. The bisque. The way I spoke. I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Is that what you wanted to tell me? About the ring?"

"The ring." His eyes slid away. "It belonged to my grandmother. It has been in the family a long time. I didn't want you to think..." He trailed off. "I didn't want you to be hurt by it."

Seven years ago, you slid that ring onto my finger in a small church by the sea. Your hands were shaking.

I swallowed it.

"I'm not hurt," I said. "I'm just confused. About a lot of things."

"I know." His voice went low. "Lena, I know I haven't made it easy."

He stepped closer. The wind lifted a strand of my hair, and his hand rose, as if to tuck it behind my ear. As he had done a thousand times.

My body remembered before my mind could stop it. My breath caught. My skin prickled, in that stupid, traitorous way.

He froze. His hand hung in the air.

"Sorry," he said, dropping it. "Habit."

"Habit?" I kept my voice light. "You do that with all your friends?"

His face flickered. He looked away and cleared his throat.

"Come see something."

He led me across the concrete, into the tent, to the glass case.

The model was exquisite. A long curving promenade rose from the water like a wave, with terraced gardens, glass bridges, and a canopy that caught the light in ripples. Tiny paper people strolled beneath it.

My breath stopped.

I know this.

I knew every curve of it. I knew the angle of the canopy, the way the stairs seemed to pour toward the water, the quiet little courtyard tucked behind the third bridge, which I had drawn at two in the morning when I was twenty-one.

It was my thesis project. Tidewalk.

I had sketched it in a blue notebook the year I met him. I had been so proud. I had shown him every page.

I had never finished it. And I had never, ever given him permission to use it.

"Harborline Pavilion," Julian said proudly. "The biggest project Blake Group has ever bid. The city will announce the winner in two weeks." He gestured at the model. "I designed it myself."

I wanted to put my fist through the glass.

Instead, I tilted my head and let my eyes go soft and distant.

"It's beautiful," I said slowly. "It's strange. It feels like I've drawn it before."

The air changed.

Julian did not move. He did not blink. For a long, cold second, he stared at me.

"Does it?" he said.

"A feeling." I touched my temple. "Like déjà vu. Does everyone feel that when they see it?"

He let out a breath. It was almost a laugh, thin and nervous.

"Yes. It's... I'm told it has that effect."

He had stolen my blue notebook, and then he had stolen the dream inside it. And he would stand on a stage in two weeks and be applauded for it.

I folded my hands tightly and smiled.

"Is that all you wanted to show me?"

"No." He turned from the model. For the first time that day, he looked uncertain. "There's a gala on Saturday. The Blake Foundation charity night. Every major name in the city will be there."

"That sounds lovely."

"I want you to come."

I raised my eyebrows. "As what?"

"As my friend." He said the word like it hurt. "As someone I care about. You belong there, Lena. You always have."

"I belong there as a friend."

"Yes."

He hesitated. His jaw tightened, as if he were bracing for a blow.

"There's something you should know before you come. I'll be making an announcement that night. About my family." He drew a breath. "I'll be introducing Sasha as my wife."

The wind swept across the water. A seagull cried somewhere overhead.

I looked at the man who had promised to love me forever in a church by the sea.

He was ashamed. I could see that. He could not hold my eyes. But he was going to do it anyway.

I smiled.

"Of course," I said warmly. "I'd love to come."

As I walked back toward the road, my phone buzzed once in my pocket. Adrian. You okay?

Yes, I typed. Find me a dress. And a pen.

A pen?

Harborline closes in two weeks. I'm going to draw the real thing.