“Do you have a business card?”

“Um, sure.” I fumbled in my bag, found my cards and handed one to her. She peered at it for a few seconds before nodding.

“I’ll call you.” She slipped my card into her clutch purse, glanced around the room, then patted Abraham’s barrel chest. “I’m going to track down Teddy and hit the bar before it gets too crowded, but then I want that behind-the-scenes tour you promised me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Abraham said, grinning.

She winked at me, smacked Abraham’s arm and wiggled her fingers good-bye as she walked away.

I turned to Abraham. “I love her.”

“She’s a classic, all right.” He checked his watch and swore under his breath. “I’d better run. I’ve got some business to attend to.”

“Of course. I won’t keep you.”

“Look, why don’t you mingle for an hour or so, then come downstairs to my workshop? I’ll give you a sneak preview of the Faust.” He leaned in close and wiggled his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you’re not dying to see it.”

I grinned. “I’d love to see it.”

“It’s spectacular, trust me.”

“I do, Abraham.”

He gave me another quick squeeze. “You’re my good girl.”

Tears stung my eyes. The first time he’d ever said that to me, I was eight years old and miserable. My stupid brothers had used my favorite book, The Secret Garden, as a football and I’d found it lying in the dirt, its front cover hanging by threads and half the pages ripped or shredded. My mother suggested I go see the commune’s bookbinder to get it fixed.

Abraham took one look and ordered my brothers into the studio, where he promised them any number of chilling reprisals if they ever damaged another book again. After scaring the bejeezus out of them, he sat them down and gave them a quick lesson in book arts and history-the kid-friendly version-followed by an explanation of what family meant and why they should cherish and honor their sister by respecting what was precious to her.