My mother had every reason to despise Richard Carter.
Yet somehow, she had separated the father from the son.
She had known Julian was different.
Then memories from my relationship began rearranging themselves.
Our first meeting in the bookstore.
I had been helping coordinate an author event.
Julian walked in, saw my name badge, and simply stared.
“You okay?” I had asked.
“Yeah.”
Then he smiled.
“You just look familiar.”
I had laughed.
“We’ve never met.”
He had smiled again.
“Maybe not.”
Except we had.
He knew it.
