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The Brotherhood, Jordan, Beaumont…they all melted beneath the sunshine and maple-scented breeze.

Vuk let me set the itinerary. Since he’d visited the city before, I skipped the touristy spots and took him to my favorite hidden gems.

Our first stop was Apollo Hill Books, a charming bookstore stuffed to the brim with new and vintage titles alike. We didn’t buy anything, but I loved browsing the aisles and breathing in the crisp scent of books. Afterward, I took him to Crumble and Bake (not a hidden gem, but they had the best cupcakes) and a cool interactive spy museum.

“You would make a good spy,” I said after we left the museum. “You have that whole dark, brooding thing going on.”

Vuk’s mouth twitched. “You think spies are dark and brooding?”

“Aren’t they?”

“Usually no. The point is to blend in. They’re usually unassuming, like him…” He nodded at a plain-faced man wearing a blue sweater and glasses. “Or her.” The “her” in question was an elderly woman with curly gray hair and a pink crocheted cardigan.

“I guess,” I said doubtfully. “But I like the dark and brooding thing better.”

We meandered through the cobblestone streets of Georgetown. The late-afternoon sun slanted against the quaint storefronts, and my usual brisk Manhattan pace had slowed to an easy saunter. Vuk walked quietly beside me, his expression pensive.

I’d avoided mentioning his birthday since we left the restaurant. It hadn’t occurred to me that it might be a sensitive topic until he flinched at my celebration suggestion. Lazar was his twin, which meant they’d shared the same birthday. The reminder of his brother’s absence must be incredibly painful, which was why I was determined to fill today with happy memories instead.

“Oh, Ilovethis place,” I said when we passed a familiar white storefront. Dozens of beautiful glass bottles gleamed in the window display. “It’s one of my favorite shops.”

“Let’s go in.”

“But it’s a perfumery.” I could shop for perfumes and shoes all day, but this was Vuk’s day, not mine.

“I’m aware.” He placed a hand on the small of my back and guided me firmly into the shop.

His palm burned through my wool coat. When he removed his hand, the imprint of his touch lingered, and little sparks of electricity buzzed through my veins.

I was so flustered I almost didn’t hear the sales associate greet us.

“Welcome. Can I help you find anything?” Her tone was polite, but I caught her side-eyeing Vuk’s scars. Her lip curled into a small grimace.

Blood rushed to my face. I glared at her, and she quickly averted her gaze.

“No, thank you,” I said curtly. “We’re just looking.”

Vuk raised his brows when I grabbed his arm and dragged him to the back, far away from the rude associate.

Didn’t she know it was impolite to stare? If shehadto stare, then she should’ve at least had the decency not to make a disgusted face.

I’m used to it.Vuk examined a shelf of essential oils, his face impassive.

“What?” I tried to breathe through my silent fuming. In the grand scheme of things, a stranger’s judgment fell way down on the priority list of problems, but for some reason, her reaction to Vuk rankled me.

The staring. I’m used to it.He picked up a sandalwood oil, read the label, and put it back.

The fact that he’d noticed the associate’s behavior infuriated me all over again. “That doesn’t mean it’s right. It’s—” I stopped myself. Did I really want to spend this time complaining about someone who didn’t matter? It would only make Vuk feel bad.

I forced another breath and changed the topic. “Anyway, I used to come here all the time,” I said. That associate had definitelynotbeen an employee back then. “Everyone knew me by name, and they were nice enough to let me sample a ton of fragrances even though I didn’t have the money to buy most of them.” I smiled at the memory. “I told you I majored in chemistry too, right? Well, I was fascinated by the science of scents. How humans process smell, the interplay of different notes, the way the same perfume can smell different on different people depending on their individual body chemistry. If I hadn’t become a model, I might’ve gone into perfumery, but now, I settle for collecting fragrances instead.”

Vuk had stopped browsing the shelves and was listening intently.I think I saw the collection when I was at your apartment. It was in the living room.

“Those were the empty bottles. I keep the pretty ones on display,” I admitted. “The real collection is in my closet. My sister makes fun of me for it. She says there’s no way I can use them all in my lifetime, and that’s probably true. But I don’t collect them to wear. I collect them to…remember, I guess. Some people buy postcards or T-shirts as souvenirs; I buy perfumes. Lemon verbena for the Amalfi Coast, green tea and rose for Japan, lavender for Provence. A different scent for a different memory. That’s why I only buy them for places I love.”

I ran my fingers along the smooth wood shelves. The older I got, the more susceptible I became to nostalgia. One whiff of a familiar scent, and I was instantly transported back to a certain place and time.

I’d tried to explain it to Liya once, but she didn’t really get it. She was a visual person, so photos and videos meant more to her than the rich aroma of our mother’s coffee or the spices and herbs peppering our father’s kitchen.