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She lurched from the chair. “I’d like to look at your hat selection.”
    He smiled, and then with a hand on her elbow, led her to an enormous array of type fitted into shallow drawers. The presses pulsated through the wooden floor into the soles of her shoes and up into her limbs. That had to be why she felt shaky on her feet. Not because of Mr. Graves’s touch.
    The presses came to an abrupt halt.
    The editor stopped his search and faced her. “Perhaps I’m out of line, but I feel compelled to say I disagreed with the committee’s decision.” He took a step closer until she could see the length of his lashes, became aware of the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. “I saw the logic in the astute arguments you made regarding your suitability.”
    Compliments on her cooking she’d had, but no man had ever praised her intellect. Still…“Then, why didn’t you speak up?”
    “I thought about the burdens my sister-in-law carries rearing her boys alone. Too late I realized that even with her hardships, Mary is an excellent mother.” He stepped closer yet, until she could feel heat from his body, could see gold flecks in his dark eyes. “I’m sure you’d be a good mother.”
    Sudden tears filled her eyes and she looked away.
    He touched her arm. “I think I know how much the committee’s decision has hurt you.”
    Adelaide noticed his assistant watching the exchange with interest. Teddy Marshall would be telling his wife about this visit at noon and the whole town would know by nightfall. She smoothed her skirt, then her brow. “Whether it hurt me isn’t the point. It wasn’t fair.”
    His gaze locked with hers. “Life is often unfair, Miss Crum,” he said, and then returned to his search of the boxes.
    From his tone, Adelaide suspected he wasn’t simply talking about her situation. Did he have a message in there? Some lesson to learn? If so, she wasn’t ready for it. Not with her heart burning with want for something she couldn’t have.
    He held out two blocks for her to examine. “Here you are.”
    Adelaide pulled her spectacles from her bag to peruse the blocks, glad for the distraction from all the confusing feelings rushing through her. With Mr. Graves standing near, she found it difficult to concentrate. Taking an eternity to make a simple decision wasn’t like her. She forced her focus on business, not on the man at her side.
    At last, she selected the larger block engraved with a most fetching hat, complete with feathers. “I’d like to use this.”
    Remembering her mother’s words, she removed her wire-rimmed eyeglasses and stuffed them into her purse.
    “Your eyes are pretty either way,” he said softly.
    Is he teasing me? “I’ve been told spectacles give me the appearance of an old maid schoolmarm.”
    “They give you an air of intelligence.” He met her gaze. “I find intelligent women attractive.”
    She fingered the ribbed edge of her collar, her mind whirling around the compliment.
    A door slammed. Fannie Whitehall crossed the room, her curly red hair poking out from under a big-brimmed straw hat.
    Fannie said hello, and then brushed past Adelaide with as much interest as she’d give a fencepost. She held out two jars topped with a thin layer of paraffin and thrust them into Mr. Graves’s hands. “I brought some of my preserves like I promised.”
    Charles looked at the jars like he’d never seen jam before. “Thank you, Miss Whitehall.”
    “That jam’s mighty fine on biscuits.”
    He gave a lopsided grin. “I’m sure it is, but I’m not much of a cook.”
    “I’d make you a batch, but you’d have to bake them.” Fannie let out a giggle. “I always burn the bottoms.”
    “Biscuits are my specialty.” The words tumbled out of Adelaide’s mouth. Had she actually said that? Out loud? Apparently she had, judging by the startled expression on both Mr. Graves and Fannie’s faces. “Ah, as a thank-you for the time you spent on my ad.”
    “That’s kind