The boutique had been quiet all afternoon. The kind of quiet where you could hear the faint ticking of the clock on the back wall and the soft hum of the refrigerator in the stockroom. I had spent most of the day folding scarves, rearranging a stack of handwoven shawls, and brushing a faint trail of lint from the shoulders of two display dresses. It was work I could have done in half the time, but I was in no rush.

Julian was at the counter, reading something on his tablet. Every so often, he ...