7:22 ... Think ... think! It occurred to me that Nancy Drew would have had this case solved by now, so what was I, a top-of-my-class engineering major and MBA grad, missing? I let my eyes roam around the room. This wasn’t the sort of place where unexpected, magical things happened. Everything that happened here was practical and preplanned. And until tonight, it all made complete sense! I needed a connection, an explanation ... basically a “Why Me?”

I dragged my eyes back to the page to scan it yet again, and this time, I made myself focus on the words themselves.

Ms. Nicola James will be sensible(!) and indulge in a little romance?

It would seem that the journal had been soaking up inspiration as it sat, unsupervised, alongside my much-loved collection of Austen novels all week long. Now I just needed a single man in possession of a good fortune, and I was good to go. To continue the metaphor likening the appearance of the journal to that of the Bingleys, this snarky bit of commentary could be viewed as the introduction of Mr. Darcy, spouting off unnecessarily.

Forgetting for a minute the stranger-than-fiction details of this whole situation, I was offended now on a whole other level. I was nothing if not sensible, but I wasn’t about to be prodded into “indulging” until I was good and ready. And yet, perversely, I was impressed. I didn’t remember using half of those words in my own entry, but obviously I had, because there they were, big as life, taunting me in my very own handwriting.

A glance at the clock had me thudding back into a near stupor of helplessness. The antiques store was a no-go until tomorrow afternoon. Surely there was something I could be doing about this predicament right now... . Then it hit me: I’d re-create my original entry and get it back, fully intact. How that might help, I couldn’t imagine—I was simply driven by a desperation to put things back the way I’d left them, the way they made sense.