She held out her hand for the brochure. “Let me look,” she said.

The next hour passed in a blur of class descriptions and tea, but in the end, and with help from Mavis, Harriet had chosen a selection of workshop activities that would fill up her week of attendance. She set the registration form on her desk.

"I'll fax this in the morning,” she said.

"Make sure to say you want to be with the other Loose Threads on the line where they ask for housing preferences, and note that they're at the quilting school,” Mavis began gathering up her stitching and stowed it in her bag. “The school is for arts and crafts, not just quilting, so there will be other workshops going on at the same time. You could end up bunking with the painters or potters if you don't specify.” She buttoned her shirt, which had belonged to her husband and doubled as her jacket, gathered her bag and purse and headed for the door. “I have to run. Look who's here."

Aiden Jalbert held the door as she stepped out.

Harriet tried unsuccessfully to change the fluttering in her stomach to anger. Aiden had no-showed for a dinner date three weeks before, and she hadn't heard from him since.

She reminded herself there was no reason she should have heard from him, given she had told him herself she was too old to date him. He was, after all, ten years her junior. Yet in spite of her logical self talk, her heart soared at the sight of him.

Strands of straight black hair fell over his forehead. He flicked a lock off his face, and she could see the dark circles under his odd white-blue eyes.

"Can I come in?” he asked and hesitated.

"Suit yourself,” she said and continued straightening papers on her desk.

He collapsed his tall frame into the leather chair and closed his eyes. “Feels good to sit,” he groaned, and her anger fled.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"