I glanced over his shoulder and saw the Mayor speaking to his daughter. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was clear that he was leaving and she wanted to stay.

“Are you working here by yourself?” Mr. Carrington asked.

“Father needs me to work,” I told him.

“Can’t he hire someone?”

“Not yet, but hopefully soon.”

He looked around at the almost empty store. “How is the grand opening going?” he asked with a smirk I didn’t like.

I also noticed that Patricia Fleming had drifted closer to the counter. I couldn’t believe it, but she was unmistakably eavesdropping on our conversation.

“Father says once we’re established, it’ll get better,” I answered.

“Do you believe that?”

“I … I hope it will.”

I was shocked that he would speak so bluntly but admired his honesty.

“Well, he needs to hire someone,” he said. “A shop girl is no position for a lovely creature like yourself.”

Yes, he did! He called me a ‘lovely creature’!

I could feel my cheeks flush and I faltered for something to say. Then, I remembered the present they gave me for my birthday. “Thank you for the journal,” I said.

“It was my wife’s idea, but I’m glad you enjoy it.”

“I do. I’ve been writing in it almost every day.”

“Is every day worth writing about?” he asked.

I told him it was a good outlet for my thoughts, to which he replied, “And your deepest, most secret desires, I hope.”

I know it may have been a little inappropriate but it was also fun. I have never met someone who is so intimidating, so clever, and so handsome. I was also enjoying the look of shock on Patricia Fleming’s face that she was trying to hide.

“And how is your wife?” I asked.

“She’s fine. She’s at her mother’s in Boston, along with our valet. They’ll be back for the Fourth of July Celebration. Which reminds me, we have a picnic at the Nightingale House on the Fourth of July as part of the celebration. The whole town is invited, but it would make me particularly happy if you would attend.”

I could think of nothing I wanted more but told him that I may have to work.

He said that was nonsense and that all the shops are closed on the Fourth of July. “And who knows?” he said. “Maybe business will be such that your father can hire someone else to waste their life behind that counter.” He picked up a tin of lip balm from the display next to the register and laid it on the counter. “How much is this?”

I told him it was twenty cents.

He pulled out his billfold, removed a five-dollar bill, put it on the counter, and said, “Keep the change.”

“You want my father to open an account?” I asked.