“Kate has a date,” Paula said, catching him in the act of watching her car disappear around the corner.

“Lincoln?” he asked hopefully, more comfortable with an old rival than a new one.

“They’re over. With some guy she met at the store.”

“My store?”

“She just said ‘tienda,’ but I think so.”

“She told you this in Spanish?”

“That’s why she’s here, isn’t it?”

“Sí,” Mitchell ventured uneasily.

The next day he told Kate she’d have to start addressing postcards for the sale he had every April.

“I don’t mind at all, but you do know it’s only the first of February.”

He remembered her approaching birthday and the dilemma about Valentine’s and said, “There are over a thousand to send out, so we should get started on it.”

He set her up in his office in the back and waited on the thin stream of customers himself.

“Call if you need help,” she’d said before he shut her in.

“I will.” But he knew even if there was a line ten deep he wouldn’t call.

Around two, a young man in a dark-green parka came up to the counter. Mitchell knew he was going to ask for Kate, and when he did, he explained that she was busy at the moment. He was careful not to indicate in which direction she was so busy. Unperturbed, the man asked where the art section was, then slowly made his way toward it, lingering at the new-arrival bin, the poetry shelves, mythology, psychology, before arriving at art. If he pulled out a book, he replaced it exactly as it had been, flush with the other spines and the edge of its shelf, just as Mitchell liked them. But he had bad posture and snarls in his hair. He could see Kate looking at her watch as she came out of his office. He couldn’t think of any way to keep her from coming forward. She looked down all the aisles until she found him.

“Hey,” Mitchell heard her say.

“How’re you doing?”

“A little disoriented.” She flexed her hand, the one that had been addressing flyers for the past five hours. Her friend didn’t ask why, and Mitchell was pleased that he shared this information with Kate alone. “Let’s go,” she said. Mitchell’s spirits plummeted.

She hadn’t mentioned leaving early. She had to stay until six. She came around the counter to get her coat and scarf. “I’m going to grab something at Westy’s. Want anything?”

He’d forgotten all about lunch. “No,” he said, even though he was suddenly starving. “Only mushroom soup.”