The skies suddenly exploded, the rain hurtling down in a torrent. Kay glanced up, then took a step backward. Enough of that. Kay, we are twenty-seven-we no longer fall in love at first sight. In fact, we usually have the sense to back off at the first pass.

“Kay-”

She backed off another pace, refusing to meet his eyes. She’d never given herself to a man like that in her life. What on earth was there to say?

Nothing.

She turned and darted through the rain toward her own car.

Ten minutes later, Kay reached the outskirts of Moscow. Welcome, said the sign on Main Street, a soothing reminder that she was within minutes of home.

No one seemed to know why the town had been named Moscow; its residents certainly had no affinity for Russian politics. Paradise Valley had been its original name, and that, to Kay, captured the flavor of the place. Steep hills, ancient maples and oaks and ash, a delightful blend of rustic and cosmopolitan. Wheat farmers had been buying supplies at Ward’s for generations, and homemade ice cream was still sold on Main Street, yet the University of Idaho sponsored a wide range of cultural events. Muscovites enjoyed the symphony and ballet and even the Moscow sci-fi convention.

As Kay shoved her car into first gear for the steep climb to her home, she passed regal old houses half hidden in bushes and trees. All of the houses were familiar, and so were their inhabitants. The world had not abruptly changed, contrary to what the beat of her heart was telling her.

As she parked and stepped out of her car, the lingering smells of late fall wafted toward her like a soothing balm. The rain had stopped, but the wind had brought down the last of the leaves, and walking along the sidewalk was like wading through oceans of crimson and gold.