“The clover?” she asked.

“Yes, please.”

She lifted it from the display case. “This also comes in gold with diamonds.”

“The silver charm is fine, thank you.”

“Anything else?”

“No, that’s it.”

“This way, please.”

I followed her over to the cash register.

“Will that be cash or plastic?”

“Plastic,” I said, handing her my Visa card. She ran my card, glanced at the name, then back up at me. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so.”

She glanced once more at my name on the credit card. “Elise Dutton. No, I think I do. What school did you go to?”

“I’m not from around here.”

“Hmm,” she said, handing me back my card. Then a look of recognition came to her eyes. “I know who you are. I read a story about you a few years back. You . . .” She stopped abruptly.

“Yes?” I said.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m mistaken.”

She quickly packaged up my purchase and handed me the bag. “Thank you for shopping. Have a good day.”

“Happy holidays,” I said dully, then quickly left the store.

Nicholas met me as I was walking out. “Sorry that took so long,” he said. “That guy was inept with a cash register.” He looked at me closely. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not feeling well,” I said. “Can we go?”

“Of course.” He glanced over at the store, then took my hand. “Come on. It’s too crowded here anyway.”

Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER

Fifteen

Dan came to see me today. He’s about as welcome as a January utility bill.

Elise Dutton’s Diary

The next Monday was calmer than usual since we didn’t have any tours out that week. The holidays were our slowest time of the year, and most of our efforts then went toward preparing and marketing the next year’s tours.

A little before noon I looked up to see Dan standing in the doorway of my office. “Flowers,” he said. “Where’d you get those?”

“What do you want?” I asked.

He stepped into my office. “You weren’t at Thanksgiving dinner.”

“I told your parents I wouldn’t be there.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“What do you want, Dan?”

“I came to see what’s up. Why you didn’t come.”

“I was busy.”

“On Thanksgiving?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“What, you had work?”

“I had another invitation to dinner,” I said, annoyed by his persistence. “I always thought it was weird anyway, going to dinner with you and Kayla.”

“An invitation from who?”

“A friend.”

“A friend,” he said suspiciously. “Male or female?”

“I don’t need to report to you.”

“A man, huh?” He walked closer to my desk. “Tell you what—I’ll take you to lunch, and you can tell me about this guy. I’ll pay.” He made the offer sound remarkably magnanimous, and, for him, it was.

“I already have lunch plans,” I said.