We moved closer to the doors to watch for the car. The little group of smokers were dousing their cigarettes and eying the rain, which had picked up and was turning into a hill-fledged downpour. “That’s one of the things I love about California,” I said as I watched them. “No smoking inside public buildings.”

“It’s a pain when you’re a smoker,” Jack said ruefully. “But once you quit you appreciate it.”

“It took me a month after I moved here to stop requesting nonsmoking when I went to restaurants.”

“Where were you from before that?”

“Chicago. Suburbs, anyway. Grew up there, went back after college.”

“Family still there?”

I felt the uncomfortable twinge that always pinched my heart at the mention of my family. “My mom is, yeah. But there’s just my parents, no one else, and they’re divorced, and we don’t talk much, so even if they were there, it wouldn’t be enough of a reason to stay or go back.” I shrugged, hoping that would be the end of it.

“That sucks.”

I smiled a bit. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

Our car pulled up, and a doorman pushed open the lobby door as he saw us approach. “Oh man,” I muttered as I pulled my wrap tight around my shoulders, but Jack stopped me from venturing out from underneath the eaves and pulled off his overcoat. He held it up over both of us and grinned.

“Ready?”

I chuckled. “Okay!”

We made a mad dash for the car as the driver quickly got out and whipped open the door. I jumped in and scurried to the far end of the car to make room for Jack as he tumbled in and just barely missed getting caught in the slamming door.

I settled into the corner of the car and wondered if it would be tacky for me to check my hair and makeup. I decided to take my chance. As I pulled a small compact from my clutch, I asked, “So where are you from? Are you a California native or a transplant like me?”

He grinned. “No, Im from about as far from California as you can get and still be on the continent: Vermont.”

“Ah, so you do know what real winters are like. Whereabouts?”

“Reily; its a small little place about an hour southwest of Montpelier.”

Satisfied with my appearance, I snapped the compact shut and tossed it back into my purse. “My Vermont geography is completely nonexistent. What is it like out there: mountains, forest?”

“Mountains, mostly, but forest, too. Lots of good skiing. Tons of little B&Bs and ski lodges and stuff.”

“So you spent your youth on the slopes?”

He laughed. “Not as much as you’d think. Did some, obviously, but I wasn’t that into it. Not like most people were, anyway. What does one do for fun in the suburbs of Chicago?”