“Can’t complain, can’t complain.” Ike took a step backward. “So, what brings you down here?”

“Looking for a gift, for Virginia. And I heard you had some trouble you might need help with.” Theo glanced around. The symmetry of the window display was mirrored inside with its neat ranks of bookcases, and the shop looked and smelled the same as it had the last time he’d visited—the same as ten years ago, probably: ink, dust, promises. And there were still plenty of customers, sitting in chairs or standing, heads bowed, open books resting in their hands. But the once-overstuffed shelves looked a little depleted, with gaps where volumes lay on their sides instead of standing horizontal.

Ike followed his gaze. “Donations for the troops.”

“Of course, good for you,” Theo said, patting Ike’s shoulder. “So, the association—”

“Ah, yeah. Those morons. You’d think they’d have bigger fish to fry, but oh no”—he raised his arms—“they’ve decided to make our lives a misery.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Take a seat,” Ike said, hands on the move again.

Theo sat on the worn leather chair in front of the desk as Ike shuffled through piles of books and mountains of papers, lifting several cold cups of coffee out of the way until he found a wooden cigarette box. He flipped open the lid and held it out to Theo.

“Thanks,” he said, taking one before pulling his solid gold lighter from his pocket.

Ike didn’t take his eyes off the lighter the whole time, and when he took his cigarette out of his mouth, he exhaled a long slow whistle with his cloud of smoke. “You sure are marrying up.”

“Yeah,” Theo said. “It was a birthday gift from Virginia, and all she’s gettin’ from me is a lousy book!” He gave Ike a crooked smile, his small mustache tilting upward.

“So, you set a date?”

“She’s got her heart set on Valentine’s Day. I’m thinking about it, but it’s kind of corny, to tell you the truth. I’d rather just go to the country and do it quietly, but you know women.”

“I do. Which is why there isn’t going to be a fourth Mrs. Brussel.”

Theo laughed, knowing his friend wouldn’t be able to help himself if the right woman walked into his store.

Ike asked, “How’re Samuel and Madelaine?”