it does, but not for the reasons you’re assuming.”
“What exactly am I assuming?” he asked.
“That I’d use you.”
“For what?” he demanded.
“Well, for one thing, that robot toy. We both know how badly Gabe wants it for Christmas and it’s expensive and you might think I...”
“What would I think?” he asked forcefully when she didn’t complete her sentence.
“That I’d want you to get me the toy.”
“Would you ask me to do that?” If she did, he’d gladly purchase it—retail price—on her behalf.
“No. Never.” Her eyes flared with the intensity of her response. She started to leave and Jake followed.
“Then it’s a moot point.” He began to walk, carefully matching his longer stride to her shorter one. “Under no circumstances will I purchase that toy for you. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” she said.
“Anything else?”
Holly looked at him and then away. “I don’t come from a powerful family or know famous people or—”
“Do you think I care?”
“No, but if you did, you’d be plain out of luck.”
He smiled. “That’s fine with me.”
“Okay,” she said, stopping abruptly. “Can you explain why you want to see me?”
Jake wished he had a logical response. He felt drawn to her in ways he hadn’t with other women. “I can’t say for sure, but deep down I feel that if we were to walk away from each other right now, I’d regret it.”
“You do?” she asked softly, and pressed her hand to her heart. “Jake, I feel the same way. What’s happening to us?”
He didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know.” But he definitely felt it, and that feeling intensified with each meeting.
They started walking again. “So, can I see you tonight?” he asked. That was important, necessary.
Her face fell. “I wasn’t making it up, about not having anyone to take care of Gabe. If you were serious about bringing us dinner...”
“I was.”
Her face brightened. “Then that would work out perfectly.”
“Do you like take-out Chinese?” he asked, thinking Gabe would enjoy it, as well.
“Love it.”
“Me, too, but you’ll have to use chopsticks.”
“Okay, I’ll give it a try.”
“Great.” Jake breathed easier. Everything was falling into place, just the way he’d hoped it would. He glanced at his watch and grimaced. He was late for work. He hoped Karen or Mrs. Miracle had covered for him.
Retreating now, taking two steps backward, he called out to Holly, “Six-thirty? At your place?”
She nodded eagerly. “Yes. And thank you, Jake, thank you so much.”
He raised his hand. “See you tonight.”
“Tonight,” she echoed, and they both turned and hurried off to their respective jobs.
Jake’s step was noticeably lighter as he rushed toward the department store. By the time he arrived, ten minutes later than usual, he was breathless. He’d just clocked in and headed for the elevator when his father stopped him, wearing a frown that told him J.R. wasn’t happy.
“Are you keeping bankers’ hours these days?”
“No,” Jake told him. “I had an appointment.” A slight stretch of the truth.
“I was looking for you.”
“Any particular reason?” Jake asked. He’d bet his lunch break this sudden interest in the toy department had to do with those robots.
His father surprised him, however, with a completely different question. “I heard from HR that you requested a transfer for one of the seasonal staff....”
“Mrs. Miracle.”
“Who? No, that wasn’t the name.”
“No, it’s Merkle or Michaels or something like that. The name badge mistakenly says Miracle, and she insisted that’s what we call her.”
His father seemed confused, which was fine with Jake. He felt he was being rather clever to keep J.R.’s attention away from the robots.
J.R. ignored the comment. “You asked for this Mrs. Miracle or whoever she is to be transferred and then you changed your mind. Do I understand correctly?”
“Yes. After I made the initial request, I realized she was a good fit for the department—a grandmotherly figure who relates well to kids and parents. She adds exactly the right touch.”
“I see,” his father murmured. “Okay, whatever you decide is fine.”
That was generous, seeing that he was the department head, Jake mused with more affection than sarcasm.
“While I have you, tell me, how are sales of that expensive robot going?”
Jake wasn’t fooled. His father already knew the answer to that. “Sales are picking up. We sold a total of twenty-five over the weekend.”
“Twenty-five,” his father said slowly. “There’re still a lot of robots left in the storeroom, though, aren’t there?”
“Yes,” Jake admitted.
“That’s what I thought.”
He made some additional remark Jake couldn’t quite grasp, but it didn’t sound like something he wanted to hear, anyway, so he didn’t ask J.R. to repeat it.
As he entered the toy department, clipping on his “Manager” badge, Jake was glad to see Mrs. Miracle on duty.
“Good morning, Mr. Finley,” she said, looking pleased with herself.
“Good morning. I apologize for being late—”
“No problem. I sold two Intellytrons this morning.”
“Already?” This was encouraging news and improved his workday almost before it had started. “That’s wonderful!”
“They seem to be catching on.”
The phone rang just then, and Jake stepped behind the counter to answer. The woman at the other end of the line was looking for Intellytron and sighed with audible relief when Jake assured her he had plenty in stock. She asked that he hold one for her.
“I’ll be happy to,” Jake said. He found Mrs. Miracle watching him, smiling, when he ended the conversation. “I think you might be right,” he said. “That was a woman calling about Intellytron. She sounded excited when I told her we’ve got them.”
Mrs. Miracle rubbed her palms together. “I knew it.” The morning lull was about to end; in another half hour, the store would explode with customers. Since toys were on the third floor, it took time for shoppers to drift up the escalators and elevators, so they still had a few minutes of relative peace. Jake decided to take advantage of it by questioning his rather unusual employee.
“I thought I saw you on Saturday night,” he commented in a nonchalant voice, watching her closely.
“Me?” she asked.
Jake noted that she looked a bit sheepish. “Did you happen to take a walk around Central Park around ten or ten-thirty?”
“My heavens, no! After spending all day on my feet, the last thing I’d do is wander aimlessly