This was the pivot point. In every romantic storyline Julian had ever read, this was where the protagonist either gave a grand speech or let the love interest walk away to a bittersweet soundtrack.
"It is," Julian agreed, stopping just a foot away from her. "But I think we’ve spent enough time being quiet. Maybe we should try being honest for a while, even if it’s over a phone call."
"It’s not just in your head," Julian said, stepping around the counter. He wasn't a man of grand gestures, but he was a man of consistency. "I know your favorite stanza in that book is on page 42. I know you hate bookmarks and fold the corners even though it kills me. And I know that the shop feels empty on the days you don't show up."
"Chicago. For the fellowship." She finally looked up, her eyes searching his. "I realized I couldn't leave without knowing if this—whatever this quiet thing we have is—was just in my head."