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August. Kit and I moved here right before the start of the school year.”
    “Ah. Then this is your first New England winter.”
    “And it may well be my last.”
    “You’ll adjust. Give it a year or two—”
    “Or ten?”
    Still engrossed in the heater controls, he glanced up. When he smiled, warmth swam in those golden eyes. “Or ten,” he said, “and your blood will thicken. You’ll start to feel like a native.”
    “Right now, I feel like a Popsicle.”
    He finally got the heater knobs adjusted, and glorious warmth flowed from the vents. “In another month, there’ll be flowers blooming everywhere.”
    “And I’m supposed to believe you because… ?”
    “I’m a priest. We’re not allowed to lie. Are you hungry?”
    “I’m not sure. Ask me again after I’ve thawed out.”
    “I have ninety minutes before afternoon confession. Since it was too noisy to talk at the Expo, we might as well talk over lunch.” He carefully backed out of the parking space. “If you’d like music,” he said, shifting gears, “there’s a little of everything in the console.”
    With icy fingers, she locked her seat belt and snugged it around her, then flipped open the hinged console cover to reveal his CD collection. Melissa Etheridge. U2. Bruce Springsteen. Tom Petty. “My, my,” she said, “you have interesting musical tastes.”
    “For a priest?”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “You were thinking it.”
    “You have to admit,” she said, working her way through CD cases, “there probably aren’t too many priests around who own the soundtrack to
Saturday Night Fever
.”
    “Bite your tongue. That’s a true classic from the good old days when the Bee Gees wielded iron control over the Top Ten, and John Travolta was King of the World. I was twelve years old when I saw that movie, and I wanted to be him.”
    She studied him with avid interest. “As I recall. Father, that movie was rated R. How’d you get in at twelve?”
    “I had a friend with an eighteen-year-old sister who drove a ‘66 Bonneville. It had the biggest trunk I ever saw. If we squeezed tight, she could fit four of us in there. She used to sneak us into the drive-in.”
    “So you were a wild child.”
    “That’s a polite way of putting it. I was a rebellious, hardheaded delinquent, determined to ride the fast track to hell.”
    “How’d you end up on the road to heaven instead?”
    “Sooner or later, we all grow up.”
    When he pulled up in front of a Chinese restaurant in a strip mall near the Expo, she studied its facade with apprehension. The plate glass windows hadn’t been washed in months, and a wide crack marred the plastic sign that said All Day Buffet.
    “I know it doesn’t look like much,” he said, shutting off the ignition, “but the food’s marvelous.”
    “I didn’t say a word.”
    “You didn’t have to. You have an incredibly expressive face. Trust me, you’re safe here. They haven’t killed a customer yet.”
    Outside the entrance, he paused to flip open the door of a battered newspaper vending machine. He pulled out a folded tabloid and tucked it under his arm, then held open the restaurant door for her. The instant she stepped inside, heavenly smells accosted her from every direction: ginger, soy sauce, Chinese tea and the mouth-watering aromas of frying chicken and pork.
    An elderly Asian man led them to a corner booth and poured them each a steaming cup of tea before disappearing through a swinging door into the kitchen. She took a sip of the fragrant hot liquid, warmed her hands with the miniature teacup and studied the man who sat across from her.
    His eyes were keen and bold as he returned her assessment. “We can help ourselves to the buffet.”
    She set down her teacup. “Then lead the way before I expire from hunger.”
    The restaurant may have been small, but the quality and variety of foods on the buffet were surprisingly good. She took her time choosing from the assortment of exotic delicacies,