Julia: Victorian bones with modern comfort. Original heart pine floors and crown molding, but contemporary furniture and way too many architectural books and material samples. My dining table is currently hosting three different types of sustainable insulation options. Not exactly House Beautiful material. And you? Is your space perfectly curated, like a museum, or do you cherish the chaos of uncatalogued treasures?
Dylan: Hardly. My apartment looks like a library that was barely missed by ameteor. The shop is meticulously organized because it’s my professional space.
Their conversations gradually deepened. Dylan shared stories about unusual items that came through his shop—a Civil War surgeon’s kit complete with bone saw and a tea service that had supposedly belonged to Abigail Adams. Julia described the excitement of uncovering original architectural elements, and the frustration of working with historical commissions more concerned with regulation than preservation.
They discovered shared interests in jazz and travel photography. Dylan mentioned his goal of visiting every lighthouse in New England.
The more they shared, the more Dylan’s initial wariness began to soften, but up to a point. Julia respected his measured pace. It often took him a day or two to respond. Still, he remained guarded. This made Julia wonder if he was hiding anything. When she asked about what had drawn him to antiques, he spoke about appreciating objects with stories and avoided discussing anything more specific.
Their exchanges had become important to him —a bright spot in days that had turned gray since Uncle Tobias’ disappearance. For the first time in months, he looked forward to something beyond work obligations and his futile search for an explanation that made sense.
One evening, as Dylan was closing the shop, his phone chimed with a message he was not ready to receive:
Julia: This might be premature, but I’ve been invited to present at a sustainable preservation conference in Boston next month. Providence isn’t far from there, is it? Would be interesting to meet in person. No pressure at all—just thought I’d mention it.
Dylan read the message, his heart suddenly racing. Meeting in person would turn their digital connection into something real—with all the possibilities and complications that entailed; the careful boundaries he’d established would become meaningless.
Yet, the idea of meeting Julia in person excited him. After weeks of wondering about the person behind the messages, the opportunity to meet her felt like the right thing.
He read her message again, aware of how carefully she’d framed the invitation—mentioning her professional reason for being in Boston, emphasizing the geographical convenience, offering him the freedom to decline.
Dylan looked around The Black Tulip’s interior, filled with objects that had survived centuries. Everything was still and settled. And this filled him with peace. Was he ready to take a chance, to move his life in a different direction? He wasn’t sure. HaintBlueJulia at the wine forum had taken him completely by surprise.
He began typing a response, then stopped, then started again. The decision felt monumental—not just about meeting Julia, but about whether he was ready to leave the safety of the life he had built around objects and step into a future that suddenly felt very much alive.
He slid the phone in his pocket. He would have to think about this. It was a harmless invitation, potentially joyful. What was he afraid of?
Chapter 4
Searching for Truth
Julia and Eliza were reviewing material samples for the cotton warehouse project, but Julia had been checking her phone for the past five minutes.
“You’re chatting with him again?” Eliza said.
“Sorry,” Julia said, setting her phone down and refocusing on the pine flooring samples spread across her desk. She took in Eliza’s emerald green fingernails and the asymmetrical shirt with a cinched bow at the waist and smiled. If Eliza stood for anything, it was for the freedom to be comfortable in your own skin. Julia loved this quality in her friend.
“I’m starting to worry,” Eliza said. “I haven’t seen you this deep into a guy since . . . well, ever.”
Julia felt her cheeks warm. “Dylan and I just have these great conversations about preservation and stuff.”
“Dylan? Not CabernetCrusader? Have you been holding out on me, Julia Raven?” Eliza’s eyebrows rose. “I feel I’ve been led into a dark cave!”
“The drama,” Julia said.
Eliza was not wrong. Julia had told her about the online conversations, after they’d moved to direct messages. But in the days since they’d exchanged first names, their conversations had deepened considerably.
“We’ve been texting,” Julia admitted. “Regular texting. It’s just easier.”
Eliza picked up one of the wood samples. “And my name is Marilyn Monroe.”
“Stop!” Julia protested, though not as harshly as she’d intended. “We’re just . . . kindred spirits in that regard.”
“What regard? The last time I texted anyone as frequently as you’ve been doing was when I started dating Theo,” Eliza said. “Just be careful. Promise?”
Julia nodded, knowing her friend meant well.
Her phone vibrated with a new message, and Julia fought the urge to check it right away.
