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like to go.”
    He was so adorable, it was all she could do to keep from jumping him across the table. But she forced herself to look at her math textbook. “Sorry. Test tomorrow.”
    “Shhhhh!” somebody hissed from the stacks.
    Howe dropped his voice. “This weekend, then,” he said with confidence. “Give me your number.”
    “I don’t have one,” she lied, then gathered up her books. “I’ll see you around.”
    Howe looked slightly stunned to see her rise to leave. “How will I find you?”
    She gave him a seductive look. “If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll find a way.”
    Then she glided away, heart pounding half out of her chest.
    He didn’t follow, but she wasn’t worried. And sure enough, the next day when she came back to her dorm room, it was filled with a dozen vases of red rosebuds, and a single card, asking, “Dinner Friday at Blue Fish? Seven,” with Howe’s phone number.
    Elizabeth flopped backward onto her bed, breathing in the scent of the roses, and laughed for joy. At long last, it had begun.
    When Howe arrived at the dorm lobby to pick her up Friday night, he had on an expensive navy blazer, white shirt, camel pants, and a tie. Too good-looking to live. And a subtle hint of lime came from his freshly shaven face.
    Elizabeth wore a simple skirt she’d made to go with a sweater from Loehmann’s, and fake-crocodile flats. “Hi,” she said. “How did you know I’d go?”
    Howe looked smug. “Because I talked to your roommate, and she said Blue Fish was your favorite restaurant.”
    “She’s wrong,” Elizabeth said mildly.
    Howe’s confident expression fell.
    “It’s Bones,” Elizabeth corrected. “There’s nothing like a nice, thick slab of red meat to fortify a girl.” Her slow delivery had Howe hanging on her every word.
    He coughed slightly, then stroked his tie. “Okay then. Red meat it is.”
    Howe had one of those new radio phones in his BMW convertible, and he called the restaurant to make sure they’d have a table. That done, they settled for the drive.
    “So,” he said, “how is it you’ve been in Whittington all this time, and I know so little about you?”
    It was an innocent enough question, but the answer was anything but. “I don’t like to talk about myself,” she said without disapproval. “What about you? What’s it like, being the crown prince of Whittington?”
    Howe laughed. “Nobody’s ever called me that before,” he said. “At least, not to my face.”
    Elizabeth smiled at his good humor. “So, what is it like, being you?”
    He cocked a gentle half-smile. “Not nearly as much fun as everybody else seems to think,” he confessed. “For one thing, my parents have been after me forever to come back to Whittington and take over the bank.”
    Elizabeth studied him. “And you don’t want to?”
    “In a word, no.” He grinned at the traffic ahead of them.
    “What would you do instead?”
    “I’m going to be a lawyer,” he said with a mixture of pride and defiance, “a damned good one. And I’m going to make a difference, somewhere far from Whittington, Georgia.”
    “And marry a deb,” Elizabeth added with a spark of humor.
    “God, no. You sound like my mother.”
    “Don’t you like debs?” she teased.
    “They’re all right, I guess,” he answered. “Just not for me. Society stuff is so boring.” He stopped at a red light. “What about you? What do you want to do?”
    “Get my masters in poli sci and become an independent woman of means. And make a difference.” It was most of the truth. She just left out the part about marrying him.
    “What? No marriage? No family?” he teased.
    She looked away. “Family things have been . . . painful. I’d rather not discuss it.” Maybe she’d tell him someday, but not till they were married, or at least engaged.
    Howe turned left into the restaurant driveway and stopped for the valet parking. When he came around to get her out, she looked up into his big,