Dani was a younger, darker carbon copy of her mother. Max was waiting at their agreed-upon meeting spot outside Lincoln Center, and the likeness was so uncanny that he couldn’t stop staring as they got out of the car. Dani had light-brown smooth skin; her mother had a pale, finely lined face. But the shape of their faces was exactly the same, down to their high cheekbones and thin, slightly upturned noses. Dani’s hair was a deep mahogany and her mother’s was a mixture of light brown and gray, but they had similar shoulder-length, layered styles.

He shook himself out of his paralysis and hurried to greet them. “Hello, hello.”

“Max.” Dani smiled. “This is my mom, Valerie Arbour. Mom, this is Max von Hansburg . . .”

The way she trailed off suggested she was unsure if she should be adding his title. He extended his hand to preempt that. “Lovely to meet you, Ms. Arbour.”

“Please call me Val.”

“You’re a Brit!” She had an accent. “A Northerner, I think?”

“Yes! Leeds! I’ve lived in the States since I was eighteen, though.”

He ushered them inside and to the coat check and— Oh. There was the green dress Dani had referenced. It was the color of the mountain at home in the peak of summer, but it was made of shiny taffeta, which turned the summer association into a Christmas one. The skirt was short—it came to just below her knees—but it was dramatic in the way it jutted out from her waist. It was shaped like a bell, which was an apt metaphor because the whole thing seemed exuberant and elegant all at once, like the bells at St. Stephen’s in Riems pealing on Christmas morning.

He cleared his throat and, realizing he’d probably been staring a little too intensely, suggested they visit the bar. “What can I get you ladies?”

“Oh, I’d love a glass of prosecco,” Val enthused.

“Prosecco for you, too?” he asked Dani, raising an eyebrow slightly. “Or perhaps a negroni?”

“Diet Coke, thanks,” she said.

“Not a drinker?” he said teasingly, but he ordered a Diet Coke for her and a tea for himself. Last night had been a lot of booze for him, too. He knew better—he thought. It had just been so much fun, keeping up with Dani Martinez. And not only in terms of the negronis, but matching her wit, or trying to.

She shot him an exasperated look, but he flattered himself that it was an affectionately exasperated look, and he winked before turning his attention back to her mother. “What brought you to New York at age eighteen, Val?”

“I first visited when I was fifteen, and I met Dani’s dad. I fell in love with him and the city at the same time.”

“My parents met as teenagers attending Model United Nations,” Dani said.