His eyes widened when he realized it was me. “Punkin Pie!” He grabbed me in a bear hug so tight I almost passed out, but at least he seemed happy to see me. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“Me, too,” I said, gasping for air. The man was bigger than a bull and twice as genteel. Tonight he wore a subdued dark suit that couldn’t begin to tame the wild man within-or the unruly mop of hair that grew in a thick black mass of curls. My father always said Abraham’s hair should have its own zip code.

Abraham was a force of nature, occasionally blustering, sometimes destructive, always stubborn and brilliant. He smelled of musty books and peppermint tea, and I clung to him for an extra moment just to enjoy his scent.

I’d missed him, loved him like a favorite uncle. This was the first time I’d seen him since severing our business relationship, but he was acting as if we’d never been apart. It was a little weird, but I was happy.

With his arm still around my shoulder, he waved madly to a woman standing a few feet away. My entire body shook as he cried out, “Doris, come meet Punkin-er, Brooklyn!”

A petite, frail woman in a black and gold Chanel suit waved back absently before continuing her conversation with the tall, balding man next to her.

“She can do wonders for your career, Punkin,” he whispered loudly.

As we waited for Doris, I had a few more seconds to catch my breath, look around and try to forget that he’d used that horrid childhood nickname of mine three times now. Yes, I’d once had a little obsession with pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. Hadn’t everyone?

I guess I could forgive him as long as he was about to introduce me to someone who could help my business. That was enough to tell me he’d let go of his anger at my leaving him. Not that I expected him to actually discuss it. Abraham was a male from the old school-strong, silent, occasionally brooding. Except when he was ranting about something. Then he was anything but silent.