The whispers started before I even turned my head.

They weren’t about me anymore.

No one cared that Evelyn Morgan was sitting alone at the corner table, eating her lunch in silence.

Now, all they cared about was him.

“Is that Julian Vale?” someone breathed.

“The director of Parsons?”

“Oh my God, he’s even better in person.”

“He’s so handsome.”

“Any woman with him must be happy.”

The air shifted before I saw him.

It always did.

There was a certain tension ...