Chapter 6 Ghosting
Ghosting
Julia stared at the small screen. Another message from Dylan:
Dylan : Are you okay? Not like you to go silent. Did I say something to upset you?
It was his third message since she’d stopped responding. Each one increased the unease sensation in her stomach.
The morning light filtering through the window was bright. Julia’s laptop was still open on the table, alongside scattered notes of addresses and business listings she’d searched. She’d spent hours combing through every possible record of The Black Tulip’s existence. Nothing had turned up.
Her phone chimed again:
Dylan : Julia, I’m starting to worry. Please just let me know you’re okay.
She picked up her phone and began typing:
I’ve been trying to find information about The Black Tulip online and can’t find any evidence it exists. No website, no business listings, nothing. I need to understand why.
She stared at the message, then deleted it without sending. Too accusatory.
She tried again:
Before we meet in Boston, I should probably know more about your shop. When I searched, I couldn’t find any online presence for The Black Tulip. Can you explain?
Better, but still off. She set the phone down and walked to the kitchen to make coffee. She rubbed her temples while the coffee brewed. She felt a headache coming on.
Even after all this time, it was hard to forget the humiliation Julia had felt after discovering Aaron’s lies.
The sympathetic looks from friends who’d warned her, the embarrassing conversations with family, the colleagues to whom she had introduced him as a fellow architect.
The shame had been almost worse than the heartbreak.
She’d promised herself to be smarter, more cautious. Yet here she was again, emotionally invested in someone whose most basic claims she couldn’t verify.
Julia’s phone rang, startling her from her thoughts. Eliza’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hey,” she answered, trying to sound normal.
“Morning, Miss Raven. Just checking if we’re still on for lunch?”
“I—” Julia hesitated. “Actually, could you come over instead? I need to talk to you about something.”
Thirty minutes later, Eliza sat on Julia’s sofa. “I understand I’ve been asked over to play a game of What’s Wrong With Him.”
“We don’t know him that well.”
“Good point. What Could Be Wrong With Him, then. You go first.”
“What if he’s married?”
“Too predictable. What else do you have?”
“What if he’s a sex offender, just out of prison?”
Eliza raised both eyebrows meaningfully. “Now you’re talking! Then be sure to check for ankle bracelet marks when you do meet.”
“I’m serious, Eliza.” Her friend then listened as Julia explained her fruitless search for The Black Tulip and her growing doubts about Dylan.
“Let me get this straight,” Eliza said when Julia finished. “You’ve been talking to this guy for weeks, you have plans to meet in Boston, and you’re just now doing basic research?”
“I know how it sounds,” Julia admitted. “After Aaron, I should have been more careful.”
“Don’t disagree with you there,” Eliza said. “So what are you going to do?”
Julia gestured to her phone. “He keeps texting, asking if everything’s okay. I don’t know what to say.”
“The truth would be a start,” Eliza suggested. “His answer might tell you what you need to know. He might confess that he shops at Target, for instance.”
“That’s not funny. What if he just creates more elaborate lies? Aaron had an answer for everything.”
“Then your radar will go up, and you cancel that part of the Boston meeting,” Eliza said pragmatically. “But there could be a simple explanation. Not every business has an online presence.”
“In 2025? An antique shop in a college town catering to affluent clients?” Julia shook her head.
“Well…I thought the whole point of Dylan was that he’s stuck in the 1800s,” Eliza said.
“So was Jack the Ripper,” said Julia.
“That’s more like it,” said Eliza, “Though I’d prefer my serial killers to at least send flowers.”
After Eliza left, Julia sat with her phone in hand, reading Dylan’s latest message:
Dylan : Julia, it’s been nearly 24 hours since you responded. I’m genuinely concerned. If I’ve done something to upset you, please tell me. If you need space, I understand—just let me know you’re alright.
His sincerity made this harder. Either he was genuinely concerned, or he was an exceptional manipulator. She had thought the same about Aaron, once.
Taking a deep breath, Julia began typing:
Julia : I’m sorry for going silent. I’ve been doing some thinking.
When I tried to look up The Black Tulip, I couldn’t find a single thing—no website, business listings, or reviews.
This made me realize how little I can verify about your life.
I had a rough experience with someone who wasn’t honest about who he was, and now I’m having second thoughts.
Her finger hovered over the send button. Was she overreacting? Making accusations based on her past rather than her present? She pressed send before she could reconsider.
The response indicators appeared immediately, showing Dylan was typing. Then they disappeared. Then appeared again. Nearly five minutes passed before his message came through:
Dylan : I understand why you’re concerned. The shop’s lack of online presence was my uncle’s approach. Clients found us through word of mouth.
Julia read the message, frowning. It felt evasive.
Julia : Your uncle’s approach? Is he still involved in the business?
Another long pause.
Dylan : He passed away recently. I’m still figuring things out.
Julia : I’m sorry for your loss. How recently?
Dylan : Few months ago.
Julia waited for more details, but none came.
Julia : That must be difficult. Was it sudden?
Dylan : Unexpected.
Julia : Dylan, I can tell this is hard. But your answers feel . . . evasive. I’m just trying to understand why I can’t find any trace of your shop anywhere.
Dylan : As I said, Uncle Tobias had an exclusive clientele.
Julia : But surely there would be some record? Business registration? Tax records? Something?
Dylan : There are records, Julia. Just not online ones.
Julia stared at her phone, her frustration growing. Every answer raised more questions.
Julia : I’m not trying to pry. I just need to feel comfortable about meeting someone I’ve only known through text messages.
Dylan : I wish I could explain everything better. It’s complicated right now.
Julia : Complicated how?
No response came for several minutes. When it did, it was brief:
Dylan : I’m still trying to sort out some things about his death. It’s been a labyrinth of complications.
Julia felt a pang of sympathy. She was also wary. His pain seemed genuine, but so had Aaron’s fabricated family emergencies.
Julia : I understand grief is private. But try to understand my position too. I’m about to meet someone whose business doesn’t seem to exist, whose family situation is vague, at best . . .
Dylan : I don’t blame you for being cautious.
Julia : Then help me understand. Give me something I can verify.
Another long pause.
Dylan : I can’t right now. There are pending legal issues . . . I know how that sounds.
It sounded exactly like the kind of excuse someone would use to avoid providing proof, Julia thought. Yet something in his tone—the reluctance rather than defensiveness—gave her pause.
Julia : Legal issues related to your uncle’s death?
Dylan: Among other things.
Julia: Dylan, this conversation is making me nervous.
Dylan: I know. I’m truly sorry. I want to tell you more, but can’t right now. If you decide not to meet in Boston, I’ll understand.
His response felt resigned. Either he was telling some version of the truth, or he was an exceptionally skilled liar.
Julia : I need to think about this.
Dylan : Take all the time you need.
As Julia set her phone down, she felt more conflicted than before.
Dylan’s evasiveness about his shop could mean he wasn’t being straight with her.
It also fit with someone dealing with a recent loss, and the messy aftermath.
If his uncle really had just died, that could explain why he was being distant and why his business might be in some kind of legal tangle.
And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there were pieces of the story he wasn’t telling her. Important pieces. Whether those omissions were protective or deceptive, she could not tell.
The night before her flight to Boston, Julia sat in bed, suitcase packed, presentation rehearsed. She hadn’t confirmed or canceled their meeting. Eventually, she turned out the light and tried to sleep, knowing tomorrow would take her to Boston—and to a decision she wasn’t yet prepared to make.