All for a Story by Allison Pittman Page A

breathe between her thoughts of a new peignoir for Charlie and a confrontation with the man who may or may not be her boss in the next couple of days.
    She cocked her head toward Everett’s closed office door. “Business?”
    “Personal, actually.”
    “Oh.”
    She waited for him to inquire as to her reason for being at the bank that morning, but he simply stood, calm as water, as if he could stay right there all day.
    “He’s not really my uncle,” she blurted out, not nearly as comfortable in the silence as he. “Everett’s an old family friend. Closest I have to family these days, I guess.”
    “My uncle did his business here,” Max said. “He had a safety-deposit box. I just got the key.”
    “What do you think is in it?” Her mind swam with possibilities.
    “I have no idea.”
    And what was more maddening, he didn’t seem in any hurry to find out.
    “By all means, Mr. Moore, don’t let me keep you.”
    She backed one step away, surprised at just how reluctantly she did so, and even more surprised at the little leap of joy whenhe said, “Why don’t you come in with me? We’ll have a look together,” even though his invitation carried with it the same enthusiasm as if he’d offered her half a sandwich.
    “Is that allowed?”
    “It’s my box. I get to say who’s allowed.”
    She didn’t know if she should legitimize his invitation by taking his arm, but then he didn’t offer it, so she simply walked beside him as they approached the vault. When they arrived at the outer room, however, the portly keeper looked at Max over the thin spectacles perched on his nose.
    “Quite sorry, sir. But all of the rooms are occupied now. Perhaps you could return in, say, half an hour? Ten o’clock?”
    “Of course.”
    It was the same response she’d had for Everett, but lacking in conviction. If Max’s disappointment was anywhere near Monica’s, it was some kind of fight to hide it, and the slight hitch in his breath was the only betrayal that he felt any frustration at all.
    He turned to Monica. “I’m sure you have other things to do.”
    “What would I have to do?”
    “I don’t know. Buy some diamonds? Fund an orphanage?”
    “What?” His comments were funny, but not in a way that made her want to laugh. Instead, she studied his face, trying to discern if he seriously believed what he said. “Why would you think such a thing?”
    He reached out and ran the back of his fingers along the mink collar on her coat. “This. It makes you look like some millionaire maven. I guess Uncle Edward was paying you more than I thought.”
    “I have bad habits and expensive taste. It can be a deadly combination.”
    He gave her collar a tug. “It was certainly deadly for this little guy.”
    This time she did laugh and swatted his hand away. “Leave him alone; he’s precious. Ten more payments and he’s mine.”
    “Congratulations.”
    The word carried just enough irony not to be insulting, and the lilting humor in his voice made her feel that she’d been scooped up and taken away to some amusing new dimension.
    “So,” she said, knowing her thin, arched brow was quirked most becomingly, “if I’m still invited to tag along into the vault, I know a charming little place where we can have a cup of coffee while we wait. Not far from here.”
    It was a bold thing to do, even for her, but her skin was crawling with the scent of another woman’s perfume, something that could only be soothed by the company of another man. This man, though, was taking a lifetime to decide, making her work very hard not to push the offer.
    He leaned in, close, giving her a whiff of his shaving soap. “Will I have to know a password?”
    “Yeah. ‘Cream and sugar.’”
    “Well, then.” He opened the door to the street. “Lead on.”

Beauty made you love, and love made you beautiful.
    ELIZABETH VON ARNIM, THE ENCHANTED APRIL
    MAX FELT like he was chasing a raven. Monica kept a good few steps ahead of him as they