“An hour later, proven absolutely right, I slid the last drawer closed, sat on the dusty floor, and had a good, sorry=for-myself "what now?" moment.”

“This is not exactly what I had in mind when I agreed to miss lunch," Alex said grumpily forty minutes later. He shifted uncomfortably and tried to see what I was doing.I stared him back into submission. "Wait."The art room is usually empty Thursday afternoons except for me. Ms. Evers leaves early to teach her UArts class and looks up.Of course, I am one of the few entrusted with the Secret Location of the Key.A few feet away from where I sat perched on a stool,Alex was posed on the anchient chaise we use for figure drawing. It's a relic, probably from the Palladinetti years: chipped mahogany and dusty velvet, what little remaining stuffing pokes out from a century of holes. I was probably luxurious once. Now it's like sitting on a slightly smelly board. But I'd wanted to sketch Alex as I so often saw him, reclining with his head propped on one hand,listening or talking or coaxing me to put down the glass, already,Ella,and come here.”

“Maybe if he hadn't paused to take an audible breath, we wouldn't have heard it. But as it was, the creak from the floor outside my half-open door came in loud and clear. Alex shot up like he'd been poked with a sharp stick. I crossed the room in a single breath and jerked open the door.Nonna, halwayf past my room and clearly heading for the stairs, looked like something out of a cartoon. Her shoulders were hunched, she had one foot lifted off the floor, and she was cringing. "Oh,Fiorella. I am sorry!"In an alernate universe, another Ella was frantically reassuring her shrieking grandmother that nothing had happened, she had not endangered her immortal soul, and it would be a very good thing, please, if Poppa's revolver went back into its dusty case.In this one,Nonna had a gun forefinger to her own temple. She popped her thumb and rolled her eyes. Not knowing what else to do, I stepped aside. "Um...Nonna, this is Alex Bainbridge. Alex, this is my grandmother..."He was already across the room, hand extended. "Buongiorno, Signora Marino. Piacere di conosceria."She responded with a delighted cackle and a torrent of Italian. I caught "welcome" and "sausage." Of course, I might have been wrong about both. Alex listened attentively, then gave her a crooked smile. "Scusi, signora. I don't speak Italian. Well, much,anyway. I just practiced a couple phrases for...um...practice.""Ah"-Nonna reached up to pinch Alex's cheek, not to hard-"it doesn't matter. You have me at buongiorno. Now, come,come.”

“The last fire in the drawer was 1890. It was the year Edward painted Across the Delaware (acquired in 1961 by Jacqueline Kennedy and now hanging in the White House foyer), the year he married Diana (April), and the year he nearly made her a widow on their extended honeymoon (May) when he overestimated the water temperature at the cliffs in Brontallo, Switzerland, and had to be pulled, nearly unconscious and hyppthermic, from the water by a pair of passing Norwegian tourists in a rowboat.”

“I'd given the bare minimum of info-especially after-hypocrite that he is-Frankie made such dramatic gagging motions at my description of the Mustang that a passing shopper had asked if she should call 911.So I braced myself. "Dare."Frankie's brows went up. "Well. All right,then." He scanned the floor. "I dare you to stand up next to that mannequin over there,and list the five best Unrequited Love songs of all time.”

“Daniel stood up and loomed over Sadie. "Sing?""Sorry?""Do.You.Want.To.Sing.With.Me?"For a count of five, nothing happened. Then,a thousand sad wallflowers at a thousand loud dances were redeemed in that moment. Sadie positively lit up. "Yes," she said, sitting up straight. "I do.""Okay." He started for the stage. "Lose the jacket."She paused halfway out of her seat. "What?""The jacket," he said over his shoudler. "It's freaking ugly."I watched as Sadie froze."C'mon, Sadie. I'm aging here."Sadie slid the jacket off her shoulders. It caught at her elbows for a second, then she let it drop to the chair. Underneath, she was wearing jeans and a red cashmere sweater. She looked terrified, mortified, and really good. "Excellent," Daniel said. "Let's go.”

“I couldn't think of any possible universe where wrapping myself around his knees to keep him in place would be construed as anything other than psychotic."Okay." He unfolded himself from the stoop, six feet of spendid, and actually held out his hand.For a second, I thought he wanted to shake. I levered myself halfway up before realizing he was offering to help me up.What a gent.What a spaz. Me, that is. I crouched there, helpless, sat back down a little, then realized how incredibly stupid that must look,started up again. By the time I finally took his hand, I was almost upright,and if I haven't let go almost immediately, I would have looked even more ridiculous than I felt."So,Ill see you Monday, maybe," he announced. "On the floor somewhere.""Not unlikely," I managed. "I can often be found on floors." Whatever that meant. I winced inwardly. Then compounded the idiocy. "I watched a Brady Bunch marathon once when I had strep throat."He laughed. "Nice try, Grasshopper, but no dice.”