“Feel free to poke around while I put the finishing touches on our supper.” I liked that about him. No matter how grand the occasion or the meal he always referred to the meal at night as supper. It was very quaint.

His apartment was decidedly masculine. A big brown suede sofa weighed down the old and frayed Oriental rugs that ran throughout. Books on every subject were stacked high in a corner. It looked like an English country home or a Ralph Lauren ad. There were very few personal touches. No pictures of family and friends or travel adventures, except for the small sterling silver frame that housed a very old black-and-white picture I assumed was of his parents—with Her Majesty. Whether he knew it or not, his good breeding was on full display.

Supper would not disappoint. He had prepared plump lobster tails in a dill sauce, a citrus and Cointreau reduction compote, and roasted potatoes. For dessert, he served poached pears in Madeira with a pistachio and date ice cream. When he unveiled dessert he said, “something green for Bailey.”

After dinner, we relaxed on the massive couch and settled into our usual comfortable conversation. As midnight approached, Elliott popped the cork on a bottle of champagne.

“I have something for you,” I said.

“Oh, we’ve arrived at the gift-giving portion of the evening,” he laughed. Because of the buzz that the restaurant had already generated, we had been invited to many social events, including art gallery openings. Perhaps it was on a night when better wine was served, and I had enjoyed it a little too much that I bid on and won a painting I thought would be perfect for Elliott’s office.

“Bailey. I love it. You knew I would. It’s not fair. I have to compete with your vision.” He reached around the couch and produced a card and a very small box. The size of the box caused in me a surge of panic. “What?” he asked. “Did you think I would not get you something? What kind of total imbecile would I be to not want to acknowledge a holiday that celebrates beginnings?”

I read the card first. It began with a quote from Shelley: “Ah the dawn of the New Year! May we find inner peace, gentle spirit, God’s grace, forgiveness, dreams, and prayers.”

For a chef, he was a beautiful writer. Then he presented me with the box. I opened it gently and slowly. I was speechless. It was the beautiful coral and opal brooch I had spied and fallen in love with but deemed too expensive in my favorite vintage shop, The Sleepy Anarchist.

“How did you know? How did you know?” I repeated. I felt like a silly schoolgirl.

“You are not the only one who studies things. I know you go into that eclectic shop. I counted on them knowing you. They did, of course, because you are so memorable. They told me you had your heart set on this. I wanted to see you smile.”