The weather had a crisp edge to it, a preview of autumn that had yet to fully arrive, but Eve could already feel the change in the air.
Wrapped in her long coat, high neck sweater, and baggy jeans, she pulled the collar tighter as the cool wind grazed her face. It wasn't just the chill that made her shiver—it was the anticipation of visiting her grandmother's grave.
Her car was pulled up to the small, secluded graveyard on the outskirts of the countryside. Eve felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Her grandmother had been everything to her—her guide, her protector, her safe haven. And now, standing at the entrance of the graveyard with flowers in hand, she felt the ache of loss deep in her chest.
The driver parked and waited, but Eve preferred to make the walk alone. Each step towards the tomb was heavy. The crunch of gravel beneath her boots echoing the quiet grief that stirred inside.
She stopped by the small stone bench her grandmother had loved, overlooking a patch of flowers that grew wild despite the graveyard's usual order.
Eve approached the tombstone, carefully kneeling to lay the bouquet of lilies, her grandmother's favorite, at the base. Her fingers traced the engraved name, a sense of peace settling in her despite the sadness that always surfaced in moments like this.
"Hi, Gran. I'm back," she whispered, her voice barely audible as the wind picked up, carrying her words away. "I've missed you."
The air around her grew colder, as if the graveyard itself was listening. For a few moments, she closed her eyes, letting the quiet settle her thoughts. But then, a shadow caught her eye—someone else was there. She straightened up and glanced to her right.
Her heart nearly skipping a beat when she recognized the tall, dark silhouette of the man from the previous night.
How was he here? What was he doing in a place so private, so personal to her? A thousand questions flooded her mind. Had he followed her all the way to Chicago? Was this some strange coincidence, or something more unsettling?
Her pulse quickened, but Eve forced herself to remain calm. She stood up, her hands instinctively folding into her coat pockets. Without giving second glance, she walked toward the exit.
"Eve! Wait!"
She froze. She knew that voice— the same voice she had conversed with, last night on the terrace. She turned slowly.
Dressed in a casual soft-boy style, he wore a cream-colored sweater under a loose denim jacket, with light brown pants and sneakers that somehow seemed out of place in a graveyard but suited his effortless demeanor. His hair was slightly disheveled from the wind, giving him a boyish charm.
"Why are you following me?" Eve asked, her voice cool and guarded. "And how do you even know my name?"
Vincent caught up to her, stopping a few feet away. He looked slightly out of breath but grinned as if the whole situation was amusing.
"Well, it's not every day you run into someone like Eve Windsor, right?" he said, a playful lilt in his voice. "I mean, you and your husband are practically royalty in New York City. Everyone knows who you are."
Eve narrowed her eyes, not satisfied with his casual answer. "That still doesn't explain why you're here in Chicago."
The cold seemed to cling to the air between them.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he said, his voice low and steady, almost as if this meeting was a natural occurrence. His gaze flickered to the tombstone, reading the name engraved in the weathered stone. "This must be someone important to you."
Eve's guard was up now, suspicion crawling into her thoughts. She hadn't told anyone about her trip to Chicago—certainly not to this stranger. And yet here he was, standing in front of her like fate had somehow placed him in the very spot she'd sought out for solace.
"This is my grandmother's grave," she said quietly, as if explaining her presence there justified his intrusion. "I haven't been back here in years."
Vincent nodded, his expression softening. "I'm sorry for your loss."
She wasn't sure what to make of his words. There was no hint of falseness in his tone, yet everything about his sudden appearance felt… too coincidental. She glanced at him again.
The wind pulling strands of hair loose from her bun, her heart still unsettled by the sight of him in this intimate place. "Why are you really here?" she asked, her voice firmer now. "You and I don't exactly have a history of running into each other by accident."
He smirked slightly, but there was no humor in it. "Maybe I'm just as surprised as you are. But… seeing you here, in a place that obviously means so much to you…" He paused, searching for the right words. "Maybe it's not entirely a coincidence. Maybe it's something we both needed."
There was something about the way he said it—something that tugged at a deeper part of her, the part that wanted to understand him, even if she wasn't sure she should.
The silence stretched between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
Eve stared at him, unsure whether to push him for more answers or let the conversation hang in the air between them.
The wind picked up again, swirling around them, carrying the scent of pine and the earthiness of the countryside.
"I don't believe in coincidences," she muttered under her breath, turning back to face her grandmother's grave.
He raised his hands in mock surrender, the smile fading into something more genuine. "I swear, I'm not following you. I'm from Chicago. Born and raised."
Her brow furrowed. "Chicago? You're from here?"
Vincent nodded, his expression softening as he glanced around the graveyard. "Yeah, this is home for me. I grew up not too far from here."
The revelation caught her off guard. She had never expected to meet anyone who shared such a close connection to her past in this quiet part of town.
"And the high school here too?" she asked, still not entirely convinced of his story.
He gave a light laugh, almost sheepish. "Yeah, actually. I went to the same high school as you. Graduated a year before you did."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "No way. I didn't even know that."
Vincent shrugged, hands still in his pockets. "It's a small world, I guess."
Eve couldn't help but smile at the coincidence. "Well, that explains why we never ran into each other back then. You're my senior." She extended her hand, half-joking. "Hi, I'm Eve Windsor, Class of 2018." Her eyes were trusting, warm even.
Vincent shook her hand, a spark of something unreadable passing through his eyes as he said, "Vincent Lancaster, Class of 2017." Lancaster. The name felt foreign on his tongue, but necessary.
She had no idea who he really was, and he knew that as much as he wanted to let down his guard, he couldn't.
From the moment their hands met during the handshake, a flicker of guilt hit him. He had introduced himself as Vincent Lancaster, deliberately omitting his real identity. The surname "Marotti" was dangerous, a surname that had dictated so much of his life. And he couldn't bear the thought of her knowing the truth because the truth was too dangerous, too ugly to reveal.
They continued walking, side by side, with the graveyard stretching out before them.