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that looks like this. I’ll go look under my bed.”
    A minute later Charles called to her. She returned to the living room, where he handed her both shoes. She inspected them for damage and slipped them on. “Nice work,” she said. “And black coffee doesn’t count, so let’s get moving.”
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    Delighted by the massive bouquet of pink roses in the lobby of the small French restaurant, Hope couldn’t resist touching one perfect bloom as a hostess escorted Charles and her past the display. When they stepped into the dining room, she was even more impressed to find that each white-draped table was graced by three red roses and a bit of ivy in a small silver vase.
    Much was made over Charles and his guest. “You must be a regular here,” Hope commented after they were seated.
    â€œIt’s my favorite restaurant,” he acknowledged. “I come here just about every week.”
    â€œDo you eat out a lot?” she wondered.
    â€œEvery day. I don’t cook.”
    â€œNot at all?”
    He shrugged. “I make coffee.”
    â€œWhat’s in your refrigerator?”
    â€œFruit juice, vegetable juice, bottled water,” he recited.
    â€œWhat else?”
    â€œNothing else.”
    â€œNo ketchup? Men always have ketchup.”
    His mouth twitched. “Is that so? I must be an exception, then.”
    Hope lowered her gaze and concentrated on not blushing. What she had just said implied an extensive knowledge of men and their refrigerators that she didn’t actually possess. Uncomfortably aware of her companion’s amused regard, she opened her menu and pretended to study it carefully.
    Charles broke the excruciating silence. “Do you need any help deciphering the French?” he asked politely.
    Without looking up, she thanked him in that language, assuring him that she was having no trouble reading the menu. She didn’t mention the grammatical error she’d spotted.
    â€œYour accent is beautiful. Are you French?”
    Hope raised her eyes to his. “I’m a natural mimic. Languages are easy for me.”
    His eyebrows lifted appreciatively. “How many do you speak?”
    â€œFrench, German, Spanish, Italian and Japanese.”
    That obviously surprised him. “Really? Do you speak them all as perfectly as you do French?”
    â€œI’m not that good in Japanese. My accent is pitiful and I have the vocabulary of a ten-year-old.”
    She looked at her menu again, and this time she noticed the prices. It was all she could do to keep her eyebrows from jumping straight up to the soaring, wood-beamed ceiling.
    When she heard a chuckle, she realized she had not managed to conceal her shock from Charles. “Go ahead and have some fun,” he said. “It’s on me tonight. And the portions are small here, so be sure to try a lot of different things.”
    Well, why not? Dr. Moneybags could afford it. And if a girl was going to have just one actual date in her entire lifetime, she might as well make it memorable, right?
    After their orders were taken, Charles encouraged Hope to talk about her schoolwork and her translating. Then he asked about her family. “Your parents are in Africa, you said?”
    â€œYes. They’re both teachers, and when I finished high school, God called them to the mission field. The boys were already scattered—one in Dallas, two in Los Angeles and one in Pittsburgh. So Mom and Dad sold the farm and bought the house where I’m living now. Am I talking too much?”
    His mouth twitched with humor. “I’m getting used to it. What will you do after you get your degree?”
    â€œI hope to travel to conferences all over the world as a simultaneous interpreter. I’m studying medical terms, especially. One day you might go to a meeting in Paris and hear my voice through your earphone.”
    â€œIt sounds like you’ll have some real adventures. Is that