The Hitesmans lived in a medium-size home in the northernmost section of the Avenues. A large pine wreath garnished their front door. Nicholas rang the doorbell, then opened the door before anyone could answer. We were engulfed by the warmth of the home, the smell of baking, and the sound of the Carpenters’ Christmas music playing from another room.

A woman walked into the foyer to greet us. She looked to be about my age, pretty with short, spiky auburn hair. Over a red knit shirt she wore a black apron that read:

THE ONLY REASON

I HAVE A KITCHEN

IS BECAUSE IT CAME

WITH THE HOUSE

“Nicholas,” she said joyfully. “And this must be Elise. I’m Sharon.”

“Hello,” I said. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving to you too,” she returned. She looked down at the pies we carried. “Those look delicious, let me take that from you,” she said, taking the cookie sheet from my hands. “Boys, come here. Fast.”

Two young boys, close in age, appeared at her side.

“Carry these into the kitchen and don’t drop them.”

“Okay,” they said in unison.

“Now we can properly greet,” she said, hugging me first then hugging and kissing Nicholas. “It’s so good to see you. You haven’t been around much lately.”

“Work,” he said. “And more work.”

“You lawyers work too much. But Scott says your absence might have something to do with your new friend,” she said, looking at me. “Elise, we’re so pleased you’ve joined us. Nicholas has told us so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope.”

“All good,” she said. Suddenly her brow fell. “Wait, have we met before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You look familiar. I have a pretty good memory for faces. You aren’t famous, are you?”

“No.”

“You haven’t been in the newspaper or on TV?”

I froze. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked, but I was always caught off guard. “I . . .”

“Sharon,” Nicholas said lightly, “stop interrogating her. She just has one of those faces.”

Sharon smiled. “She definitely has a pretty one. I’m not often wrong about things like that, but there’s always a first.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Now come in, come in. We’re almost ready to eat. Make yourself at home. I need to check on the rolls, but let me take your coats.”

I shrugged off my coat and handed it to her. As she started to turn away, a man, stocky and broad shouldered with blond hair neatly parted to one side, walked up behind her. “St. Nick,” he said, extending his hands to Nicholas in greeting.

“Hey, buddy,” Nicholas returned. They man-hugged and then, with his arm still across the man’s shoulder, Nicholas said to me, “This is Scott.”

Scott reached his hand out to me. “So glad you could come. Nick’s told us so much about you.”