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blue eyes and took his hand.
    “Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked, drawing her close to his side once she was on her feet.
    “You’re pretty darned good-looking yourself,” she said, lightly elbowing him in the side, then stepping ahead. “C’mon.” She pulled him toward the entrance. “Let’s have some good red meat and talk about sex, religion, and politics.”
    Howe was laughing when they came inside. “Whittington,” he told the host as he kept a possessive eye on her.
    Magic. This was magic, and Elizabeth could tell it was the same for him.
    Her hidden hopes took flight, making her feel free and fun and flirty for the first time she could remember.
    All eyes turned their way as the maître d’ led them to a secluded corner booth in the dark, cozy steak house.
    When Howe slid into the booth to sit beside her, the air between them was charged with chemistry, but Elizabeth reminded herself to take her time. Their courtship needed to unfold, slowly and gently, till they could trust each other.
    So instead of jumping Howe Whittington’s bones at Bones, Elizabeth talked to him about favorite books and movies. They agreed on some and disagreed on others, laughing all the way through their shrimp cocktails. Then they ate steak and talkedabout campus life and politics. Then they ate some more and talked of faith and philosophy. He loved a good, fair argument just as much as she did, and soon, she felt as if they’d been friends forever.
    Magic.
    Then she turned the topic to him, and Howe told her about his childhood sins, sneaking out of the house and escaping to play Tom Sawyer. Rubbing itching powder into his mother’s girdle. (Elizabeth wished she could have been there to see haughty Mrs. Whittington when the powder started working.) And the time Howe “borrowed” their black housekeeper’s baby because he wanted a brother. Mrs. Whittington must have
loved
that one!
    Elizabeth listened well and kept the conversation on him, fascinated to finally get a glimpse inside the man she’d longed for all those years. He was just as wonderful as Cathy had said that day she’d first seen him. Honest. Funny. Humble. Kind. Who wouldn’t love a man like that?
    They’d demolished half the huge steaks when he admitted, “I always used to wonder if I was popular for myself, or for my money. I still do.”
    He was worried about her, her motives. But so frank about it.
    Elizabeth took a long swig of her iced water, the only thing she ever drank. Then she placed her hand over his. “Give people some credit, Howe. Your money and your family come with the package and helped make you who you are.” Her eyes met his over the dim little light on the table. “I like who you are very much. I’m sure your friends do, too.”
    Howe leaned close to kiss her, but she deftly evaded him by asking softly, “What’s good for dessert here?”
    She wanted the magic to last as long as it could, their courtship evolving, slow and easy. She wouldn’t be rushed. And she reminded herself that men want what they can’t have.
    For the first time in her life, she was truly happy, and Howe Whittington was the reason why. She would make him happy, too. They’d escape together, for a sparkling new life together. God willing, for the rest of their lives.

Chapter 5
     
    The present: Piedmont Hospital, Atlanta, Georgia
     
    It was a stroke, and Howe got worse.
    He let out another of those awful laughs in the chopper, but still didn’t regain consciousness. When they reached the hospital, the paramedics whisked him to Trauma One, where the doctors Howe’s mother had summoned were waiting.
    In the ordered confusion of the ER, the doctors assured Elizabeth that Howe was getting the best care possible, then banished her to the waiting room, where she struggled to collect herself.
    Her heart still hammering from adrenaline, she paced the dark blue carpet, oblivious to the decorated Christmas tree and the minor Sunday afternoon