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thought I don’t listen.”
    â€œI never said that,” she whispered.
    â€œI can tell.” He pushed her hair back from the sides of her face and kissed her. Firmly. Completely. Lucy ran her hands up his back and held tight. After a few silent delicious moments, he whispered softly, not breaking contact. “And you’ve won. I’ll lend you that leather armchair you love so much and maybe a bookcase or two—not all of those are Birthday Books. Some need a breather.”
    â€œAh . . . My master plan.” She kissed him. Once. Twice. “You’re so easy.”
    â€œAlways.” James quit talking.

Chapter 4
    T he next morning found Lucy dwelling on the evening’s more exquisite moments and dreaming up ways to congratulate James once he won his trip. A book? A pen? A print? Nothing felt right. She had poured her second cup of coffee and curled into her armchair when her phone rang.
    â€œLook outside,” James ordered.
    â€œNo ‘Good morning’?”
    â€œGood morning. Look outside.”
    Lucy uncurled and walked to the window. It took a moment to drop her eyes to street level and comprehend the sight below her. James stood next to a small U-Haul truck and waved up at her. “You did not!” she squealed.
    â€œI did. Brad helped me load them, but it’s you and me now.”
    â€œI’ll be right down. Stay there.” Lucy ran to her room. Throwing on jeans, sneakers, and a sweatshirt—pausing only for a quick swipe with her toothbrush—she hit the front stoop in under three minutes and launched herself into James’s arms. “You brought me furniture!”
    â€œDo they have enough meaning to make the cut?”
    â€œThey’re from you. That’s all the meaning they need.” She climbed into the back of the truck. “And I love this chair. You can tell how good it is . . .” She ran her fingernail across the armrest, making a scratch.
    James launched in after her. “What are you doing? That’s still my chair.”
    â€œWatch.” She rubbed at the spot and it disappeared. “Good leather does that. It can absorb a little abuse. Cheap, thin leather holds the scratches. It’s very sad.”
    â€œYou’re lucky I own a happy chair.”
    â€œI knew it the first moment I laid eyes on it.” Lucy turned to the bookcases. “And both? You only have these two.” She traced a finger along the scalloped trim at the top. “These had to have come from your mother.”
    â€œGrandmother. She had them in storage for half a century.”
    â€œHelen? They’re lovely.” Lucy ran her hand along one broad shelf. “What about all your books? You can’t stack them around your apartment. That’ll drive you nuts.”
    â€œI already ordered two new ones from Crate and Barrel.” At her shocked expression, he continued, “My standards aren’t as high as yours. I require shelves for my books; they don’t have to have decades of experience to prove they’re qualified for the job.”
    â€œMy books are fine, though. Don’t bring these in.” Lucy hopped out of the truck. “They’re your grandmother’s. That’s special.”
    â€œThey’re mine and you’re special. Besides, smashed books are hardly books at all.”
    â€œOkay. I’ve done my best.” Lucy clapped her hands together. “I accept.”
    â€œThat’s my girl. Hop back up and take this end and I’ll step down first. It’ll be easier for you.” James stepped off the back of the truck and shouldered a majority of the chair’s weight.
    In the end, Lucy provided minimal load but maximum navigational support. Three trips, one scuffed doorjamb, and two hours later, they flopped into her two armchairs and faced her bookcases. One entire shelf remained empty.
    â€œI need more books.”
    â€œNot today.” James