She gave him a look like he’d gone off his nut. “Of course! What kind of a question is that?” She left shaking her head. “See you tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder.

He lit a cigarette, plowed through another page of copy. Left it strewn across his desk and got up to go home and get cleaned up, clenching Anne’s glove in his fist as he walked through the biting dark.

He climbed the porch steps and rang the doorbell at the house where he’d said good night to Anne just a little less than twenty-four hours before. He’d been to his apartment, taken a bath, shaved, and put on fresh clothes; his aftershave-scented cheeks burned in the cold air. The night was clear, star-filled. He held Anne’s glove firmly within his pocket.

A bright-eyed blonde answered the door. “Yes?” she said, smiling at him.

Harry treated her to his most charming grin. “Is Anne Wallace home?”

“Anne? Sure, wait just a minute.” With another cute smile, she shut the door gently.

Taking a deep breath of the cold night air, Harry waited a moment before ambling toward the other end of the wide porch, crossing in front of a picture window that emitted soft lamplight. He stopped when he reached a wooden chair that sat next to the far railing. A table in front of the window held an ashtray containing two lipstick-stained cigarette butts. Evidently, the landlady didn’t allow her girls to smoke in the house, whatever the weather. He turned and ambled back toward the door, just in time for it to open.

There stood Anne. The look of surprise on her face quickly turned to a smile. “Harry!”

“Hello, Miss Wallace,” Harry said, appreciating the happy, warm look on her face—and the curves filling out her green sweater and herringbone tweed skirt. “I hope you don’t mind my stopping by.”

“Of course not,” she said. “Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you,” he said. When he stepped over the threshold, she did not immediately step back. He imagined he could feel the warmth of her body. He pulled her glove from his coat pocket. “You left this in the truck last night,” he said, handing it to her.

“Oh, I did! I’ve been wondering all day where it was. Thank you.”

“No trouble,” he said, smiling down at her. Her lips were the same brick red as the other day.

She stepped away, setting the glove on a sideboard that appeared to be the landing for various lost gloves, textbooks, scarves, lipsticks, purses. “It’s very kind of you to bring this to me,” she said, straightening the stray items self-consciously. “I guess I’m awfully silly, not keeping track of my things.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re silly,” Harry said. “I suppose you have a lot on your mind.”