“I was right,” he mused as Michelle tried them on enthusiastically. “They’re just the right shade.”

“They are, indeed. And thank you for mine, also, my sweet.” Sara kissed his tan cheek, holding a strand of white ones in her hand. They suited her delicate coloring just as the off-white ones suited Michelle’s.

“I like mine, too.” He held up a collection of DVDs of shows he particularly liked from Michelle and a black designer turtleneck from Sara.

Sara loved her handmade scarf from Michelle. It was crocheted and had taken an age to finish. It was the softest white knit, with tassels. “I’ll wear it all winter,” she promised Michelle, and kissed her, too.

Michelle had hung mistletoe in strategic places, but she hadn’t counted on Gabriel’s determined reticence. He kissed her on the cheek, smiled and wished her the happiest of Christmases and New Years. She pretended that it didn’t matter that he didn’t drag her into an empty room and kiss her half to death. He was determined not to treat her as an adult. It was painful. But in some sense, she did understand.

So three years went by, more quickly than Michelle had dreamed they would. She got a job part-time with a daily newspaper in San Antonio and did political pieces for it while she got through her core courses and into serious journalism in college.

She went to class during summer to speed up her degree program, although she came home for the holidays. Gabriel was almost always away now. Sara was there, although she spent most of her time in Wyoming at the ranch she and Gabriel owned. Michelle had gone up there with her one summer for a couple of weeks during her vacation. It was a beautiful place. Sara was different somehow. Something had happened between her and Wofford Patterson. She wouldn’t talk about it, but she knew that it had changed Sara. Gabriel had mentioned something about Sara going back into therapy and there had been an argument in French that Michelle couldn’t follow.

Wofford Patterson had also moved up to Catelow, Wyoming. He bought a huge ranch there near Sara’s. He kept his place in Comanche Wells, but he put in a foreman to manage it for him. He had business interests in Wyoming that took up much of his time, he said, and it was hard to commute. Sara didn’t admit that she was glad to have him as a neighbor. But Michelle suspected that she did.

Sara was still playing her online game with her friend, and they fought battles together late into the night. She still didn’t know who he really was, either. Gabriel had made sure of it.

“He’s such a gentleman,” Sara mused over coffee one morning, her face bright with pleasure. “He wants to meet me in person.” She hesitated. “I’m not sure about that.”