Sherri couldn’t believe it. There were other men who knew poetry and liked it? The boys at school would groan and make fun of anyone who took it seriously the way Arthur did. He seemed shaken, and surprised to be so impressed. His eyes were light brown, the color of cinnamon. “Sherri Taylor, I think I just fell in love with you.”

Sherri felt for a moment that they were the only two people in the restaurant—actually, they’d ascended to another realm, a feeling that lasted about as long as a spell of déjà vu. She heard chairs scraping across the linoleum floor and coffee cups clinking against tables and laughed, embarrassed. She realized their hands were still touching. She pulled hers away, leaving the money with him.

He cleared his throat, gathered the bills, and counted them discreetly. “One hundred and sixty-five dollars.”

Sherri reached for the money. “No, there should be two hundred and twelve.” She counted as efficiently as a bank teller. “I swore I had more.” She bit her lip and looked in her purse to see if the money had fallen out of her wallet. This wasn’t the first time her money had gone missing. Sherri kept track of everything; was it possible that Val was skimming her cash? She felt guilty for even having the thought. “Well, anyway, just take it.”

“You sure?” He stuffed the money into his shirt pocket. “I just want you to know that the markets are crazy. You invest, and then you forget about it. You can trust me with this, but it’s a risk.”

“I’m OK with risk,” she said. The truth of what she said next made her sad: “And I’ve got nothing to lose.” Arthur seemed smart and capable. His steadiness blunted any fears she might have had.

“Oddly enough, it’s actually you I need to trust.”

“Why?”

“Because, like I said, I shouldn’t even tell you this, but I have inside information. My dad sits on the Chicago Board of Trade, and I overheard him talking with a friend. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop or anything, but I heard what I heard. I’m a ‘Jr.,’ so I can’t buy the stock under my name, so if I open an account for you, we’ll use your name, and I’ll put some of my gold money in it.”

“So we’re doing each other a favor.”

“That’s exactly right. I’ll even pay you some of my gains to make it worth your while.”

Sherri was so wrapped up in Arthur’s spell that she hardly noticed the waitress with the syrup-and-butter-stained apron tied at her waist stopping at the table with a pot of coffee. “Refill?”

Sherri looked up, startled. “Berta?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Roberta seemed embarrassed to be working at Giles. She pointed the coffee pot in Arthur’s direction. “Who’s this?”