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a romantic dinner for two tonight? A cozy fire in the hearth … candles … a nice bottle of wine …”
    â€œAnd me cooking?”
    Belle chuckled. “Only if you want to eat something other than deviled eggs or tuna casserole—”
    â€œLike the last tuna dish? Made with the slight omission of fish, if I recall.” Rosco also laughed.
    â€œSo I forgot it, sue me. Besides, the noodles and spinach and mushrooms were tasty. Anyway, you’re the culinary expert—which is one of the reasons I married you.”
    â€œI hope there was more than one reason!”
    â€œClause 37-A in our marriage license: The guy knows how to make real food.” She gave him a long and loving kiss, then suddenly pulled away. “Darn. I forgot. Sara’s coming over for supper tonight to work out the ‘logistics’ of the toy-wrapping party. And I promised I’d try to make a Yankee pot roast for her.” Belle hunched her shoulders and smiled ruefully. “‘Try’ being the operative word. I guess we’ll have to postpone this tête-à-tête of ours.”
    Rosco looked at his wife, his arms still circling her waist. His expression was now both serious and tender. “We have our whole lives, Belle.”
    â€œOur whole lives,” she repeated softly. “Aren’t we lucky?”
    â€œThe luckiest people in the world.”
    Arm in arm, they left her office and walked through the living room to the front door. “You know, I still haven’t found you a gift, Rosco. Something really special, I mean.”
    â€œYou haven’t?” Rosco couldn’t keep the relief from his voice.
    â€œDon’t sound so pleased. I suppose you’ve already stashed my present in some secret corner.”
    â€œWell—”
    â€œI wish you weren’t so organized.” Belle made a face. “No, I don’t. What I wish is that I were more like you—never misplaced my house keys or car keys, never lost the all-important note that held the crucial clue to a puzzle: all that right-brain business you’re so good at.”
    â€œBut I like your left-brain qualities. Correction: I love them, and I wouldn’t have you change them for the world.” Rosco gave his wife another smooch. “I’ll tell you what. You be my gift. You already are. Just put a nice, big, red ribbon around your waist; I’ll take it from there.”
    â€œBut I want you to have something wonderful to unwrap on Christmas morning.”
    â€œDidn’t I just say I have you?” He stepped back and perused her from head to foot. “Maybe a gold ribbon is the way to go?”
    â€œMr. One-track Mind … So, what did you get me?”
    â€œWould you believe me if I said I hadn’t found you anything yet? Or should I say purchased, yet?”
    â€œNo.” Belle looked at him. “You’ve hidden something right under my nose, haven’t you?”
    Rosco shook his head. “Scout’s honor.”
    â€œIs it in the living room?” She began scanning the eclectic furnishings that offset the home’s picture-perfect period restoration: a standing Victorian-era lamp with a dramatically sculpted shade, a mission-style armchair, her prized thrift-shop couch upholstered in a vintage floral fabric whose color scheme was an eye-scorching burnt orange and jungle green. “Or maybe the kitchen?
    â€œBelle, I promise—”
    At this point a prodigious amount of yipping and growling interrupted them. Kit and Gabby stood in front of the couch. Despite the amount of noise the dogs were making, there didn’t appear to be any physical necessity for the argument: no questionable chew-toy ownership, no rambunctious puppy shenanigans.
    â€œHey, you two,” Belle ordered, moving out of Rosco’s embrace. “What gives?”
    â€œMaybe it’s holiday jitters,” Rosco offered.
    â€œ Hmmmphhh. Since when do