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shops. Heirloom furniture, rare books, coin and stamp collectors—but he was pointing to a jewelry store. Beneath the main sign it said, Classic Wedding Bands for Timeless Young Lovers. We drew closer. The place specialized in wedding rings designed in various retro styles like Deco and Art Nouveau. The shops on this street were open late tonight, so Jeremy took my hand and said, “Let’s go in.”
    We had agreed to keep our wedding bands simple, yet for weeks we’d searched in vain, because somehow everything we saw seemed overblown, and had left us unenthused. But tonight must have been one of those occasions when the tide of fate turns, and things that were once difficult suddenly become effortless. For here in this little shop, we immediately spotted displays of appealing, original designs, quite unique from one another, without the usual look of modern, mass-produced bling.
    As we peered into the glass cases, the smiling, bald-headed proprietor pulled out a particular set of rings that we pointed to: elegantly understated, modestly priced matching bands of antique gold with a nicely engraved Deco swirl. We tried them on, examining them in the light.
    “That’s it,” Jeremy said positively, “this is the one I like.” I nodded in happy agreement. The jeweler measured us and said he would size them, and have them engraved on the inside in the script we selected, to say Penny and Jeremy and the year.
    “There’s an excellent engraver on this street who does all our work,” the jeweler assured us. He took down our names and address. Jeremy paid for them, and, feeling his mission accomplished, drifted to the front of the store, as men do when they’re waiting for a woman who’s still browsing.
    “This wedding band will make a perfect complement to your engagement ring,” the jeweler told me, pointing to the ring on my finger. It was of a similar antique gold, which Jeremy had had specially made with a ruby that his mom handed down to him, who in turn had gotten it from her mother. I trembled slightly at the thought of soon meeting Jeremy’s ruby-bequeathing grandmother in person.
    “I’d like to get my fiancé a groom’s gift,” I confided in a low voice to the jeweler, nodding surreptitiously toward an interesting case of men’s cuff- links, tie-clips and rings, all with unusual designs. But before I could examine them further, Jeremy chose that moment to come drifting closer, eager to move on. The jeweler smiled at me without betraying our secret conversation, for he knew I’d be back.
    On the way home, the night air had a velvety freshness to it, with the scent of budding blossoms and leaves on the trees, so welcoming after the cold, nearly scentless winter. We passed other people who were also lingering in the longer daylight hours, meandering by with a pleasant nod to fellow strollers, instead of the usual hurried indifference.
    “Boy, everyone’s in a good mood tonight,” I commented. Jeremy gave me a smile.
    “Are they?” he asked, his hand tightening in mine. He drew me closer into his arms, and gave me a long, lingering kiss that made me feel as if we were on a little planet of our own, suspended in time and space, spinning sweetly, with only the support of sheer air and light, yet as secure as any star in the nightly firmament. It felt deliciously dangerous to be this much in love.

Chapter Four
    W hen we arrived home, the whole first floor of the townhouse was bright with lights. “Bet she’s invited all her friends to your sleepover jamboree,” Jeremy commented, putting his key in the lock.
    We stepped into the vestibule, and peered into the reception room, where Honorine was quietly and happily ensconced at the little walnut desk with a computer on it. She didn’t even hear us come in, because she had earphones on her head, and suddenly began singing to herself in French to the jazzy tune she was listening to, loud, in the way people do when they can’t hear their own volume.
    I