He Timed Our Dates, But Gave Her All His Time—So I Stopped Time For Us Chapter 05

He Timed Our Dates, But Gave Her All His Time—So I Stopped Time For Us Chapter 05

I rented a small apartment with a terrace in Oakhaven.

On sunny days, I painted outside. I left my brushes and paints wherever I wanted, and no one accused me of “disrupting the order.”

My job at Harbor View Gallery was low-pressure, and the owner, Lynn Cooper, was warm and kind.

She loved my paintings and gave me the freedom to work as I pleased.

Little by little, I remembered why I had loved painting.

The passion Julian had worn down over the years began to burn again.

Lily messaged me and said Julian had been searching for me like a man possessed.

[He’s asked me for your contact information several times. I didn’t give it to him.]

[Vera, don’t you dare go soft on him.]

I replied, [Don’t worry.]

I was no longer the Vera Thompson who would come running the moment Julian said, “Come back.”

That afternoon, an unexpected visitor walked into the gallery.

Julian Mitchell stood in the doorway in a black suit.

He had lost weight.

His jaw looked sharper, making his entire face seem even colder and harder.

He cut through the crowd and stopped in front of me.

“Come home.”

It was an order.

He sounded as if he were speaking to a child who had run away.

I put down my brush and looked at him calmly.

“Mr. Mitchell, can I help you?”

He frowned, clearly displeased by the formal address.

“Vera Thompson, stop this.”

“I don’t have time for your childish game.”

I smiled and handed him an exhibition brochure.

“Every piece in the gallery has a clearly marked price. Feel free to look around.”

He knocked it from my hand.

The brochure fell to the floor.

“My patience is limited.”

His voice dropped, carrying the same pressure that used to make me obey him.

“Come home. I won’t hold this act of defiance against you.”

“Hold it against me?”

I almost laughed.

“Julian Mitchell, what gives you the right?”

He froze.

I looked directly at him and said each word clearly.

“We broke up.”

Those two words finally cracked his eternally calm expression.

“I didn’t agree to that.”

He stepped forward and reached for my wrist.

I moved back before he could touch me.

Lynn came over and placed herself between us.

“Sir, unless you’re here to view the artwork, please stop disturbing my employee.”

Julian looked over her shoulder, his eyes locked on me.

Then he pulled a velvet box from his pocket and opened it.

A diamond pavé engagement ring glittered beneath the gallery lights.

“I admit I handled our anniversary badly.”

“I had this ring custom-made. I was planning to propose.”

“I only accommodated Sophia because I wanted the Bennett family to secure an international residency for you.”

I looked at the ring.

“Julian, you don’t get to plan my future or use it to compensate for what you did.”

“The painting you called worthless paper won the gold award at the National Young Artist Competition.”

“I don’t need to leave the country. I can build my career on my own.”

His expression stiffened.

“Besides, I liked that style of ring three years ago.”

“You don’t even know that my taste has changed. How can you call that love?”

I turned to Lynn.

“Please call security.”

Julian was escorted out.

The gallery became quiet again.

I stared at the half-finished canvas in front of me, but I couldn’t lift my brush.

Lynn gave me the rest of the afternoon off and told me to go home.

When I returned to my apartment, I received a document from an unknown number.

The title read [Relationship Reconciliation Plan for Vera Thompson).

It was filled with data tables and charts.

Julian had summarized our problems and listed his proposed solutions.

He had even run a data analysis on why I had left.

His conclusion read [Long-term emotional neglect had pushed Vera’s unmet emotional needs to a critical threshold.]

The final section listed [Two unscheduled dates per week, sixty minutes each.]

[One gift per month.]

[Gift budget: 5% of monthly income.]

I stared at the document and laughed out loud.

After five years, he still didn’t understand.

What I wanted had never been something that could be measured.

I turned off my phone and blocked the number.

The next morning, I saw Julian’s car parked across from Harbor View Gallery.

He didn’t get out.

He simply sat inside.

The same thing happened for several days.

He arrived when I started work and left when I finished.

He never approached me or disturbed me.

He just waited in that parking spot.

Lily called, sounding worried.

“Vera, that control freak isn’t planning to wait you out, is he?”

“Let him,” I said.

Julian hated wasting time.

I wanted to see how much time he was willing to waste now.

That afternoon, Evan Sullivan visited the gallery.

He was the organizer of the exhibition where my painting had won.

He invited me to an emerging artists’ networking reception.

“Your work has a rare spirit, Miss Thompson. Everyone on the committee admired it.”

Evan’s eyes crinkled warmly when he smiled.

We talked easily, moving from different schools of art to the latest exhibitions.

Before leaving, he asked, “A new sushi restaurant opened near the gallery. Would I have the honor of taking

you to dinner?”

I was about to answer when I noticed the familiar black car across the street.

I changed my mind.

“Sure.”

Evan and I walked out of the gallery together.

He opened the car door for me.

As we drove away, I saw Julian step out of his car and stand on the sidewalk, his expression dark.

Evan drove me back to my apartment that night.

“I had a great time. I hope we can do it again.”

He handed me a box of desserts.

“Their matcha mochi is excellent. You should try it.”

I thanked him and went upstairs.

When I reached my door, Julian was waiting there, carrying the chill of the night with him.

He held an insulated takeout bag in one hand.

“Who was he?”

His voice was stretched tight.

“A friend.”

“Do friends have dinner together and drive each other home?”

He thrust the bag into my arms.

Heat radiated through the bag, and I nearly dropped it.

A familiar spicy aroma drifted from inside.

A Cajun crawfish boil from the famous place in Westbrook.

“Didn’t you want these? I waited in line for three hours.”

His tone was stiff, as if he had completed an assignment.

I looked at him and felt exhausted.

“Julian, did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t even like crawfish anymore?”

I set the bag beside the door.

“Just like I don’t love you anymore.”

His entire body went rigid.

“Vera Thompson, I canceled two meetings for you.”

I met his gaze calmly.

“That’s your problem, isn’t it?”

“Just like it was your problem when you left me alone at the hospital with an IV in my arm.”

“Just like it was your problem when you left me alone in that car for seven hours while it rained because

Sophia needed you.”

“What does any of that have to do with me now?”

He couldn’t answer.

His face went livid.

His phone rang.

Sophia.

Julian glanced at the screen and rejected the call.

It rang again.

He answered impatiently.

“I’m busy. Handle your own problems!”

Then he switched off his phone.

He looked at me with expectation in his eyes, as though he were waiting to be praised.

How ridiculous.

He had finally learned to say no to Sophia.

But we were already over.

Julian, it’s too late.”

“Nothing you do now means anything.”

I opened my door.

Then I slowly closed it in his face.

Through the door, I heard him curse under his breath.

A second later, his fist struck the wall.