We’d looked at the Julius house because I’d made a point of telling my friend and realtor Eileen Norris to put it on the list. I’d seen it when I was searching for a house for myself alone.

But Martin hadn’t loved the Julius house instantly, as I had. In fact, I could tell he found my affection for the house strange. His arched dark eyebrows rose, the pale brown eyes regarded me questioningly.

“It’s a little isolated,” he said.

“Just a mile out of town. I can almost see my mother’s house from here.”

“It’s smaller than the house on Cherry Lane.”

“I could take care of it myself.”

“You don’t want a maid?”

“Why would I?” I don’t have anything else to do, I added privately. (And that was not Martin’s fault, but my own. I’d quit my job at the Lawrenceton library before I’d even met him, and as time went on, I regretted it more and more.)

“There’s that apartment over the garage. Would you want to rent it out?”

“I guess so.”

“And the garage being separate from the house…”

“There’s a covered walkway.”

Eileen tactfully poked around elsewhere while Martin and I conducted this little dialogue.

“You do wonder what happened to them,” Eileen said later, as she locked the door behind her and dropped the labeled key into her purse.

And Martin looked at me with a sudden illumination in his eyes.

So that’s why, when we exchanged wedding gifts, I was stunned at his handing me the deed to the Julius house.

And he was equally bowled over by my gift. I’d been amazingly clever.

I’d given him real estate, too.

Choosing Martin’s present had been terrifying. The plain fact was we didn’t know each other that well, and we were very different. What could I give him? Had he ever expressed a want?