Julian was still asleep when I came into the kitchen that morning. The card Marco had given me was exactly where I left it on the table, like it had been waiting for me to admit that I was already thinking about it. I made coffee and stood with my hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into my fingers before I even took a sip.

The name on the card was printed in gold, the kind that looks confident without trying too hard. I turned it over slowly, as if the back might tell me more than the ...