“You’ll be in the exact right place,” he said. “I’ll see you at noon.”
John was prompt but Liesl wasn’t. The ringing phone pulled her back to her desk at 11:59, just as she was trying to leave it, and Professor Mahmoud’s name on the display intrigued her enough to answer.
“Forty-three thousand dollars,” he said instead of hello.
“You’ve won it?” She grinned like she had personally won the lottery.
“They’re asking about shipping and insurance. I didn’t prep for this part. No one else even bid.”
Christopher entered auctions with a bang, flashing donors about to scare off other bidders. This plan had been all Liesl’s.
“Give them my contact information and I’ll arrange it all,” she said. And then they offered each other congratulations and Liesl ended the call with an unbelieving shake of the head.
John was waiting for her by the elevator. He had on a white button-down shirt. He had ironed it.
“Do you have a hot date after this?” Liesl asked.
He looked so very happy to see her.
“A hot date with a librarian,” he said. “Can you believe my luck? I’m meant to meet her right here at the entrance to this library. I’m told she has sea-blue eyes and that she blushes to the most delightful shade of pink when she’s embarrassed. Have you seen her?”
And she was happy to see him.
“It snowed,” she said. “We’ll have to go somewhere close by.”
“I’ve packed you some mittens. So not so terribly close by.”
“Well,” she said. “You’ve thought of everything.”
“You run and grab your coat,” he said. “And we’ll be on your way.”
“I haven’t brought a coat.”
“Oh dear. I haven’t thought of everything after all.”
“My fault,” she said. “I should have mentioned on the phone.”
“I won’t be put off. Why don’t we do something wild and take a taxi to lunch?”
“Deal,” she said. “I’m just hungry enough to agree to that.”
He handed her the mittens, which she pulled on with her pants suit.
“Perfect,” she said. “Did you paint today?”
“Just sketched.”
He held her hand through her woolen mitten, letting go only to open the door for her.
“Blocked?” she said. “Is this lunch a way to shake loose ideas?”
“This lunch is an excuse to see my wife.”
“You see me every day,” she said.
He motioned for her to walk through first.
“You seemed as though you could use a break in routine.”
“Yes,” she said. “I haven’t been myself.”
The snow imbued them with magical powers. As soon as they got down to the curb and Liesl raised her arm, a taxi pulled up in front of them. They barely had time to get snow in their eyelashes. The radio was playing Gershwin. What kind of taxi plays Gershwin in the middle of the day? John turned to Liesl and smiled a smile that glowed. He was so very happy to see her.
She left it to him to select the restaurant, and though she was surprised when he said Paris, a place with white tablecloths and fresh-baked rolls served with little silver tongs, she didn’t complain. It was only a few blocks from the library, which made the whole situation with the taxi seem even more luxurious. Imagine taking a taxi in the middle of the day to go only a few blocks! When the taxi pulled in front of the restaurant’s pink facade, John jumped out and ran around to hold her door open for her. He looped his arm through hers and walked her to the restaurant door, both of them tiptoeing through the now-ankle-deep snow.
“You’re acting as though we’re celebrating.”
“Aren’t we? I’ve accepted a commission.”
She held his arm tighter. They were greeted by a white shirt and black apron. The restaurant smelled like butter and money.
John had decided to forsake their budget that afternoon, not to celebrate his new commission, but because of the snow. For some perplexing reason he had come to regard the snow as a breakpoint in which their anxieties were covered like furniture protected from dust by drop cloths.
True, the place was fit for new beginnings—the water glasses were crystal. Liesl’s eyes fell to the wall behind the bar. John saw it at the same time as she did. The twenty-foot wall behind the bar had been lined with bookshelves and filled with books. Thousands of them. And each of the thousands of books had its cover torn off, exposing its cream-colored paper and subtle stitching. Liesl asked the white shirt about it, waved her hand at the wall. The white shirt grinned. Said the designer had removed the book covers in order to create a more restful atmosphere. Wasn’t it delightful, he wanted to know. They left behind the crystal water glasses and went to a noodle shop down the street instead.