She gave him a quick smile. “The traffic sucks and it’s unaffordable, but it’s still my world. All my memories of my mother are tied up with the city, and when I’m there, I feel closer to her.”

“Tell me about her,” Trevor said. “A favorite memory.”

So many moments, she thought, vivid as yesterday. The scenery out the window melded into memories, and she described them for Trevor. Before school started each year, she and her mother used to make an annual trip to I. Magnin in Union Square. Its soaring main hall, the glass murals and gold ceilings, the glittering cases and Lalique crystal light fixtures ruined her for all other department stores. The dazzling marble ladies’ room had been a destination itself, and if it had been a good year, they might go to the café for a crab Louis. In leaner times it would be french fries at Kerry’s and a trip to the creepy Musée Mécanique with its clockwork toys. They always had something in their pockets for the street musicians and buskers they passed. Though her mom didn’t have a car, she sometimes borrowed one when the Blue Angels were practicing. Traffic would be stopped on Highway 101 when the perfect formation of jets came in for a landing over Moffett Field.

Natalie shook herself, realizing she’d drifted off into the past. She hated the reminder that memories were all she had now. “Sorry for all the reminiscing,” she said to Trevor.

“I like hearing you talk about your mother,” he said.

“Cherish your mom while you have her,” Natalie advised.

“Trust me, she’s a big part of my life. I think we’ve arrived.” He turned at a low-lit sign marking the vine-covered building. “I can’t wait for you to see this place.”

A valet whisked the car away, and they were led through the beautiful dining room to a shell-ceilinged nook overlooking an abundant kitchen garden.

“This is lovely,” Natalie said, scooting into the velvet-upholstered half-round banquette. “Amazing.” Everything about the place exuded discreet, tasteful luxury.

“Good,” he said. “You deserve to be amazed.”

“I’ve always wanted to come here,” she confessed. “Unfortunately I’d have to sell a kidney just to be able to afford it.”

He laughed. “In that case, I’m happy to keep you from self-mutilating.”

A sommelier appeared with pink champagne in crystal flutes, which she served with a flourish.

“To the Lost and Found Bookshop,” Trevor said. “Thank you for hosting me today.”

“Thank you for breathing new life into the shop,” she said.

They touched glasses and sipped. Heaven, with bubbles.

“The pleasure was mine,” he told her. “And thanks to little Dorothy Gallagher for getting us together. She made it all happen.”