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“Good. I’ll meet you in the lobby at four.” He inclined his head and left.

I had plans to meet Charlotte for lunch at the Fellows’ Dining Room.

On my walk there, I noticed a new card reader outside the main laboratory door. It had not been there before the fire. Neither had the security officer stationed near the lobby entrance. Even the Fellows’ Dining Room had been secured. I saw Marcus in quiet conversation with a man I didn’t recognize near the service stairwell. Marcus gave me a slight nod. I returned it and continued to our usual table. Charlotte was already waiting there.

“There you are,” she said as she stood up and hugged me. I looked at her long enough to notice her outfit. A cream sweater tucked neatly into a dark green skirt, brown knee-high boots and delicate gold earrings that caught the light. Charlotte always dressed well, but today there seemed to be a little more intention behind it.

“You look lovely,” I said as I sat.

She glanced down at herself with exaggerated innocence. “Do I?”

“You know you do.”

She made a show of considering that. “Perhaps I made a slightly greater effort than usual.”

“That sounds mysterious.”

“Oh, it definitely is. But today is not the day I spill my secrets. Today is the day you tell me about last night.”

I laughed as we got settled in and started eating our lunch. I started from the beginning: the drive to the restaurant, the moment he held my hand, our dance beneath the sparkling lights. The kiss. Finally.

“That is so romantic. And I say that as someone who made an entire career out of inventing romantic things.”

“It was,” I admitted, unable to stop smiling. “And apparently, I’m seeing him again this afternoon.”

Charlotte’s eyebrows lifted. “Apparently?”

“He came by my office this morning and asked me to meet him at four. He said there was something he wanted to show me.”

“And he didn’t tell you what?”

“Not a word.”

“Mysterious. I approve.” She studied me for a second. “You seem lighter.”

I looked down at my tea before answering. “I don’t think I’m carrying everything by myself anymore.”

“I’m really glad to hear that, Emilia. And, for the record, you’ve started smiling before people even say something funny.”

I laughed.

“Like that,” she said, pointing gently at me. “Just like that.”

I shook my head. “You really do notice everything.”

“It’s how I avoid having to do real work.”

“You write novels for a living. When you aren’t writing, you’re researching,” I said.

“That’s exactly right,” she said. “The illusion has been remarkably successful.” She reached for the notebook beside her. “Now, before I become unbearably sentimental, I have spent three days trying to fix Chapter Seventeen, and I desperately need another opinion.”

“I’ll do my best.”

She looked back at her notebook. We spent the next forty minutes talking about her manuscript, the conservatory’s winter planting schedule, and the spring production’s first rehearsal. Blackwood had a way of making me look forward to seasons that hadn’t arrived yet.

When we stood to leave, Charlotte touched my arm briefly and said, “Keep smiling.”

She was already walking toward the exit before I decided what to say in response.