Tomorrow would bring new possibilities, new discoveries. But tonight, with the warmth of Dylan’s kiss lingering on her lips, Julia allowed herself to dream again. On the way to her room, she played a conversation game inside her head. She wouldn’t necessarily have guessed the words that would come tumbling out of his mouth. It should not be too hard to guess.
“Is thatreallyhow you two met?”
“More or less,” he’d say, a private smile on his lips.
“More, or less?” Julia’s voice echoed.
“Well,” he’d say, a twinkle in his eye, “It certainly wasn’t over a candlelit dinner. Or going after the same lemon at the market.”
“I don’t know anymore,” her imagined self would say.
“Neither do I,” he’d agree, his gaze meeting hers across the table. “All I remember is . . . it was definitely a vintage year.”
“A very good vintage,” she’d say. And someone at the table would finally piece it together, “So, it was a wine thing then?”
“More or less.”
Chapter 9
The Breaking Point
Three weeks after leaving Boston, Julia found herself unexpectedly busy. Her warehouse renovation project had caught the attention of many people, including Westover & Crane, one of Boston’s premier architectural preservation firms. Suddenly, her inbox was filled with questions, consulting offers and more attention than she wanted. What she wanted was to work during normal business hours, go out with friends, enjoy a glass of wine and go to bed at a decent time. On the rare occasion that she left work before dark, she was exhausted. Among the casualties of this overload was her relationship with Dylan, which had started to feel like a dream she had while on vacation.
Recently, their conversations had become increasingly strained, increasingly infrequent, increasingly detached.
One night, while Julia was heating up leftovers, Dylan called. She was still in her work clothes. She didn’t feel like talking. It was a mistake to pick up the phone.
“Hey!” Dylan said.
“Hey.”
“Is this a good time?”
“As good as any.”
“Are you okay?”
“Just tired.”
He let out a deep sigh. “You sound more than just tired, Julia. What’s the matter?”
“Why can’t you leave anything alone?” she asked. Julia knew when a conversation was about to turn. But she couldn’t stop herself.
“Because I can tell something’s wrong. Why are you so guarded?”
“Look who’s talking about being guarded.”
“This isn’t about me, Julia.”
She set the phone on the kitchen counter and kept stirring the rice.
“It is about you!” she snapped. “You’re the one who’s afraid to open up, who wants to live surrounded by objects, afraid of real people, and putting me in a situation I never wanted to be in.”
“Well, I’m sorry if you think I have something terminal for being private. Life isn’t one of your projects, Julia. Sometimes you can’t line up the beams and end up with a brand-new building. Sometimes, you have to walk out of the rubble and try to make sense of what you lost in the fire.”
“Do that, then,” she said, her voice rattled.
She just needed to get to the end of the week and her life would get back to normal.
