“He’s over sixty-five,” Mimi reminded her. “Believe me, by then it’s often hard to remember your dog’s name.”

“Did you talk about the rent?” Jacob asked.

“No. He didn’t bring it up and neither did I. It wasn’t the appropriate time or place. But I will make an appointment to speak to him. I’m not as afraid of him as I was, probably because I can tell he’s got such a soft spot for Wink.”

“And does Andy have a soft spot for you?” Harriet inquired, a snide tone to her voice and a taunting look on her face.

Christina hadn’t planned on telling Harriet or anyone, but she couldn’t resist replying, “He might.”

“Lucky you,” Harriet said sadly. Rallying, she turned to Jacob. “And you, Jacob, spent a lot of time at Christina’s party talking to Delia Bittlesman. What were you talking about?”

Jacob shrugged. “I went to school with a friend of hers.”

“What school?” Harriet asked.

“Just high school.”

Harriet leaned forward, peering at him intensely. “What is it you aren’t telling us? I’ll bet it was a boarding school!”

Jacob raised his head. “You’re making too much of this. It was St. Mark’s, that’s all.”

Harriet sat back, surprised. After a moment, she asked, “Jacob, are you rich?”

“Harriet!” Mimi scolded. Like a teacher with a child, she instructed, “Jacob, you don’t have to answer that. Harriet, stop it.”

Harriet’s shoulders sagged. “I apologize. It’s just this rent hike that’s making me crazy.”

“We’re all crazy because of it,” Christina reminded her.

“Hey, heads up! Customers headed our way,” Mimi said.

“I’ll finish my lunch in my shop,” Christina said.

Jacob and Harriet agreed, and they all rushed back with rain pelting down on them.

—

The rest of the afternoon dragged. Few customers braved the torrential rain, and everyone commented that they wished it would snow. At six o’clock on the dot, Christina shut and locked her shop door and ran through the puddles to her car.

At home, Christina fed the cat, plugged in the lights of the Christmas tree, took a shower, and wondered what she should wear tonight. Something comfortable, cozy, and kind of sexy. Something to wear while eating clam chowder that subtly hinted: Kiss me. Nothing in her wardrobe fit that particular category, so she settled for skinny jeans and a loose cashmere pullover.

She set the table for two, prepared a green salad, and put a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator to chill. The rain had finally ended, but outside the night was dark and the air was chilly. She lit candles on the table and around the room.

Andy knocked. She hurried to open the door.

“I’ve brought dinner,” Andy told her, nodding toward the large covered pot he held, a Wicked Island Bakery baguette carefully balanced along the top.