Still troubled, she went to the taxi line. Standing at the curb, she noticed the man in the tweed jacket hurrying over. He had a stocky build; his shoulders looked very strong, straining the fabric. It was snowing, and she wondered whether he was cold without a topcoat. His briefcase looked a bit battered, as if he had had it since high school. His hair was brown and wavy, cut very short. She glimpsed the Harvard tag on his luggage, and that made her look away—a little too much advertising that he was an Ivy Leaguer, she thought.

A cab stopped, and Mara put her hand on the door to get in at the same time as the man. His eyes looked dark, charged—and for a minute she thought he was going to fight her for the cab. His energy frightened her, and she stepped back.

“It's all yours,” she said.

“Want to share it?” he asked, seeming to regroup quickly.

“No. That's okay.”

“Come on. Where are you going?” Suddenly the darkness in his eyes was replaced by one of the brightest smiles she'd ever seen. He looked sweet, charming, and insouciant—as if he was about to ask her to join some mad adventure in the nation's capital. In spite of her initial aversion to him, his smile was undeniably cute, and the tone of his voice was totally flirtatious.

Mara just smiled politely and ran for the next cab, telling the driver, “Hay-Adams, please,” and climbing in as quickly as possible to get away from the man, who stood at the curb with a smitten look in his hazel eyes and—adorably—his hand over his heart.

She got to the wonderful hotel across Lafayette Park from the White House. Her grandparents had stayed here long ago, and Mara felt the blessing of her grandmother as she checked in at the grand lobby desk, rode upstairs in a burnished mahogany elevator, and entered a beautiful yellow room overlooking snow falling on the park and White House. She had just opened her suitcase—to unpack her dress and her latest needlepoint canvas designs—when she heard a knock at the door.

Peeking through the peephole, she saw someone standing with a big bouquet of red tulips. Granny must have sent them, she thought. Grabbing her bag for a tip for the porter, she threw open the door.

“It's you,” she said, recognizing the young man from the cab stand.

“You needed tulips,” he said. “It's snowing out and you're beautiful, and all I could think was, I have to give that girl some red tulips.”

“But how did you know where I'd be?”

“Fate led me here,” he said.