Julia was silent, absorbing Eliza’s perspective.
“Look,” Eliza continued, more gently, “Quinn is great. If you’re genuinely interested in him, fantastic. But if you’re choosing him because he’s the safer option after Aaron hurt you, that’s not fair to either of you. Or to Dylan, for that matter.”
“I don’t know what I want,” Julia admitted.
“That’s the first honest thing you’ve said all day,” Eliza said. “Get dressed for dinner. You don’t have to make any decisions tonight.”
========
Pendant lights cast a warm glow throughout the elegant Harvest restaurant. Julia was seated between Quinn and Martin, with Eliza across the table beside two other colleagues from the firm.
Quinn was the perfect dinner companion—attentive without hovering, knowledgeable about many things, funny without trying too hard. When the server went on a pretentious monologue about the fish of the day, Quinn whispered to Julia, “Translation: it’s fish on a plate with stuff on it.”
By the time dessert arrived, Julia was really enjoying his company. The simplicity of their connection was appealing—no need to explain industry terms or translate professional challenges. He understood her world because he lived in it too.
As they walked out of the restaurant, Quinn said, “Some of us are heading to the hotel bar for a nightcap. Care to join?”
“I should probably turn in early,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”
“You were amazing today! Get some rest.”
“Thank you for everything—checking the projector, the jokes,” she said.
“That’s what friends are for.”
As soon as she got to her room, Julia sat on the bed and checked her phone. No new messages from Dylan.
She decided to answer him:
Julia:Sorry for not responding sooner. My presentation went well. Thanks for letting me know you’re in Boston early. I’ll text you some breakfast options in a bit.
She headed to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. Under the running water, Julia couldn’t find a name for what was shaking her as if she would break. It was too late, she thought. She could never get her old self back, could not reclaim herself from the emptiness of betrayal. Was she condemned to live with this open wound forever? A knot of tears started traveling up her throat. Technically, her life had continued after Aaron. But could she ever trust anyone again?
Chapter 8
Duck Tours and Revelations
Wisteria Café occupied the ground floor of a restored brownstone on Commonwealth Avenue, its bay windows streaming late morning sunlight onto marble-topped tables. Julia had chosen it deliberately—public enough to feel safe, charming enough to be memorable if things went well. She arrived fifteen minutes early, selecting a corner table with a view of both the entrance and the street, where blooming magnolias softened the elegant architecture of Back Bay.
She smoothed her emerald silk blouse, second-guessing her outfit choice for perhaps the tenth time that morning. The blouse, dark jeans, and ankle boots had seemed the right balance of casual and polished in her hotel room, but now she wondered if she should have worn something more distinctive.
The server, a young woman with intricate braids and wire-rimmed glasses, approached with a friendly smile. “Welcome to Wisteria. Can I get you started with something?”
“Sparkling water for now,” Julia replied. “I’m waiting for someone.”
“I’ll bring that right out.”
Julia checked her watch. Five minutes to their agreed time—11 a.m.
The bell above the door chimed, and Julia looked up. Dylan walked in. He was taller than she expected, his dark hair freshly tousled from the spring breeze. He wore a blue shirt that hugged broad shoulders, jeans, and boots that had been broken in through actual wear, rather than artificial distressing.
For a moment he stood framed in the doorway, scanning the café until his eyes found hers. The growing smile that transformed his serious expression made Julia feel a little less self-conscious. Still, her throat felt dry. Despite weeks of intimate conversation, Julia was suddenly shy.
Dylan moved toward her table with purpose, navigating between chairs with the fluidity of someone comfortable in his physical space.
“Julia,” he said, in a rich, deep voice. Those blue eyes she’d seen in photos were sharper in real life, crinkled slightly at the corners when he smiled.
“Dylan,” she said, standing to greet him, not sure of the appropriate gesture. A handshake seemed too formal, a hug might be too much. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun, a few tendrils escaping to frame her face, highlighting the smattering of freckles across her nose.
