She opened the door to Julian, a man who carried his forty-five years in the slight silver at his temples and the way his tailored navy blazer fit his shoulders. He didn’t offer a nervous pick-up line; he just looked at her with an appreciative, steady gaze that made her pulse skip.
The doorbell rang at exactly 7:00 PM, and Elena checked her reflection one last time. At forty-two, she had finally traded the frantic insecurity of her twenties for a polished, effortless confidence that felt like a superpower.
Elena leaned into his touch, her eyes bright. "And what is that?"
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