We picked up our tickets and found our seats in the fifth row of the middle section. The room buzzed with excitement. Nicholas leaned into me. “I think you’ll like this.”

“Have you seen it before?”

“No. But I’ve heard good things about it. Everyone needs to see the Rockettes at least once in their lifetime.”

“When I think of the Rockettes, I just think of legs,” I  said.

He laughed. “Well, that’s what they’re famous for. And dancing.”

There were fourteen musical numbers, concluding with a living nativity, the Wise Men arriving at the manger on a caravan of real camels. The showstopper was the fifth act, “The Parade of the Wooden Soldiers,” when, in the finale, a cannon shot knocked the dancers over like a line of dominoes. As the curtain fell, the crowd joined in singing “Joy to the World.”

The temperature outside had dropped to well below freezing, and Nicholas pulled me in close as we walked back to our hotel. I only wished that it was farther away.

Chapter Twenty-Four

CHAPTER

Twenty-four

I bought Nicholas a present today. Even though it emptied my savings account, it’s nothing compared to what he’s spent on me. I hope he appreciates the widow’s mite.

Elise Dutton’s Diary

I slept in the next morning. Nicholas had a breakfast meeting with his client, so he left without waking me. He also said that I needed the rest, which was true. He had left a note under my door asking if I would do him a favor and pick up something for him at Tiffany on Fifth Avenue. I had already planned on shopping. I wanted to get something for Nicholas.

I ordered room service, which was another first for me, then sat in a robe near the window looking out over the city while I ate my oatmeal brûlée. I felt a long way from Montezuma Creek.

After breakfast, I took a cab to the Metropolitan Museum. Since I had started working at ICE I had purchased more than a thousand tickets for the museum, but I had never been there myself. I went into the sales office and met my sales representative, Justin, who was demonstrably excited to meet me after all these years. He was young, flamboyant, chubby, and bald and looked nothing like I expected.

He insisted on taking me on a personal tour of the museum’s highlights. The breadth of the collection was stunning. I was amazed to see actual Picassos and Rembrandts, and Van Gogh’s sunflowers.

Around two o’clock I thanked Justin and took a cab to the Montblanc store on Madison Avenue. As I looked over a display case of pens, one of the sales personnel approached me. “May I help you?”

“Hi,” I said. “I need to buy a gift for a friend. A pen.”

“Male or female?” he asked.

“Male. And he’s a lawyer.”