“I love that book.” George paused as a waiter approached to ensure they had all they needed. “It might be a bit childish, but I read it every year around this time. I’m actually in the middle of it now.”

“I am too,” Grace confessed. “I was saving it for just before Christmas.”

“Charles Dickens always writes a thoroughly detailed and memorable tale.”

Charles Dickens happened to be a particular favorite of Grace’s as well, and the mere mention made her sit forward with excitement. “Have you read The Pickwick Papers yet?”

His eyes narrowed in thought. “I’m sure I have, only it’s been ages. I can’t say I remember it.”

“Oh you must read it again.” Grace leaned closer to him in her enthusiasm. “Mr. Pickwick and several of his companions, the ‘Pickwickians,’ go on a journey through the English countryside. It’s quite the adventure with so many laughs, like—” She put her fingertips to her mouth to suppress the scene she’d been about to recall. “I don’t want to spoil it. You’ll have to read it and be surprised all over again.”

His whole face smiled as her watched her, his eyes practically twinkling. “Consider it done. I’ll be sure to let you know some of my favorite scenes in my next letter.”

On and on their conversation went, lush with descriptions of books they’d read and recalling things they had shared with one another in their letters, expanding on details that were too lengthy to write.

It was so easy to put off the bombings in such company, in such a lovely room; to forget the ration’s meager meals when dining on fresh beef in a hearty, aromatic sauce, to dream away the world outside when she was so focused on George.

All too soon, their date drew to a close as Grace needed to return for her ARP shift that evening and George had to catch one of the last tubes back to Kent to spend Christmas in Canterbury with his parents.

As Grace and George rode home in a hackney, the flow of conversation ebbed to a companionable silence as if they were both savoring the connection between them one last time until their next meeting. George saw her out of the vehicle and up to the doorway where the full effect of the blackout cloaked the stoop of the townhouse in a curtain of privacy.

Grace paused at the door, little more than half a step from him. It was the closest they’d been all night, save when they were side by side in the cab. She luxuriated in his clean scent and tried to sear every second of the magical night into her mind forever.

“Thank you for the most wonderful evening,” she said, her voice breathier than usual. But then, how could she possibly speak normally when she could barely breathe.