Isabella's pov

Julian's phone started ringing, he frowned at the screen, muttered something under his breath, and turned to me.

“Go on in first. I’ll be right behind you,” he said, already lifting the phone to his ear.

I nodded and pushed the glass door open, stepping into the familiar scent of roasted garlic and lemon zest, a scent that used to cling to my hair and clothes for hours after every shift.

The moment I walked in, I could feel them.

The stares, the whispers, the same ...