I handed Julian his coffee, forcing my hands to stay steady. He took it with a nod of thanks, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment. A shiver ran up my spine - not from attraction, but from something deeper. Something unsettling.

He sat across from me at one of the small wooden tables near the caf� window. The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle, tiny droplets clinging to the glass like they, too, were eavesdropping on our conversation.

I wrapped my fingers around my cup, the warmth grounding me. "So, tell me about yourself, Julian."

His gaze flicked to me, assessing.

"You want my whole life story?"

I let out a humorless laugh. "I'll settle for the basics. You know - where you're from, what you do for a living, why you happen to be wearing my husband's ring."

Julian exhaled softly, taking a sip of coffee before answering. "I grew up in Chicago. Been here my whole life, except for a few years when I worked overseas. Now I run my own business - restoring antique furniture."

I blinked. That was unexpected.

"Antique furniture?"

A small smile tugged at his lips, the first hint of something real. "Yeah. My dad was a carpenter. I guess I picked up a love for old things from him."

I studied him for a moment. His hands - calloused, strong - fit the image of someone who worked with wood.

"That's? interesting," I admitted. "Do you ever restore old jewelry?"

Julian arched a brow. "No. Just furniture."

"Then why did a ring at a flea market catch your eye?"

His jaw tightened slightly. He glanced down at the wedding band, twisting it absently.

"It didn't."

"Then why buy it?"

He hesitated, then said, "It felt? familiar."

My breath caught.

"Familiar?" I repeated.

Julian met my gaze, something unreadable in his eyes. "Yeah. Like I'd seen it before."

A heavy silence stretched between us.

I swallowed. "Are you sure you didn't know my husband?"

He leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Positive."

A lie. Again.

But why?

I licked my lips, my mind spinning. I had to be careful - if he was hiding something, pushing too hard might scare him off.

I tried a different approach. "Where exactly was this flea market?"

Julian hesitated. "I told you. West Side Market."

I forced a smile. "Yeah, but which stall? Who sold it to you?"

His grip on the coffee cup tightened. "I don't remember."

My stomach twisted.

He was lying.

I just didn't know why.

I took a slow breath, choosing my next words carefully. "Would you be willing to take me there?"

Julian blinked. "What?"

"To the flea market," I said. "I want to see the place for myself. Maybe ask around. Someone might remember where the ring came from."

He hesitated, his fingers tightening around the cup.

I held my breath, waiting.

Then, after a long moment, he nodded.

"Alright," he said. "I'll take you."

Relief and unease flooded me at the same time.

I had a feeling this trip would give me answers.

But I also had a feeling I wouldn't like them.