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Honorato gave Angela’s ensemble a once-over. “Hey, check you out, looking all professional and stuff.”

“Oh, thank you.” Angela still wore her grandmother’s thorn-patterned waistcoat, along with another of her silk dress shirts and a smooth wool business skirt. She had also donned Fiona’s favorite double-breasted camelhair overcoat. “It was Gram’s.”

Honorato stared at Angela with a deadpan expression. “You’re wearing the clothes of your dead grandma?”

Angela glared at him. “Did you have to make it sound so morbid?” She rubbed her sleeve. “Gram bequeathed all her possessions to me, and as silly as this may sound, wearing her clothes makes me feel connected to her again.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Honorato stuck his hands in his pockets. “I remember your gram. She was pretty awesome. And you do look nice.”

“Thanks.” Angela adjusted her overcoat. “And I figured it was time to update my apparel. Come next year, I’ll be joining the workforce. I should dress to impress.”

Honorato looked down at his own outfit—old sneakers, faded jeans, a frumpy sweater, and a beat-up brown leather bomber jacket. “Ah crap, I’m gonna have to dress like a yuppie too, aren’t I?”

“Or you could keep making me look better by comparison,” Angela teased, checking her wristwatch. “Violette should be here any minute.”

“Right, you mentioned her on the phone. What’s her story?”

“We met at the art museum. I really like her, and I can’t wait for you two to meet.” Angela spotted Violette beyond Honorato’s shoulder, walking along the sidewalk across the street. “Oh, there she is.” She waved to Violette, and Violette waved back.

Honorato glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, wow. You didn’t mention she was gorgeous.”

Angela’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t even think about it.”

“What? You said you couldn’t wait for us to meet.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not playing matchmaker.” Well, I guess I am for Uncle Corin and Prudence, Angela thought. But that’s neither here nor there. She lowered her voice as Violette drew closer and would soon be within earshot. “Look, she just went through a terrible breakup.”

“Fine, fine.” Honorato turned to Violette as she crossed the street to join them. “Hi there. Angela’s not trying to set us up.”

Violette froze and gave Honorato a blank look. “Um, okay?”

“Jesus Christ, Honor,” Angela muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Violette Dufrêne, this is my friend, Honorato Custódio.”

Violette shook Honorato’s hand. “Um, nice to meet you … guy I’m not being set up with.” She gave Angela a questioning look. “I … sort of heard about you already … from my ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh, good things, I hope,” Honorato replied, awkwardly swinging his arms back and forth at his sides.

Violette bit her lip and shared another look with Angela. “Not exactly. My ex is Stephen Briar.”

Honorato grimaced. “Oh God, you dated that preppy sack of—”

Angela elbowed Honorato in the side. “Oh, look,” she said through gritted teeth, pointing to Corin as he strode around the street corner. “Here comes Uncle Corin.”

“What are you three still doing out here in the cold?” Corin called as he approached at a brisk pace. “You could have waited for me inside.”

“I just got here,” Violette said.

“And me and Angela are just dumb,” Honorato added with a shrug.

“Well, honestly, hurry on in.” Corin ushered his companions up the steps ahead of him, and they all filed inside the dealership.

The rich scent of wood finish, polish, and aged paper enveloped Angela, and she felt as if she’d stepped out of time, surrounded by historic treasures. Not an inch of the showroom walls was visible behind the crowded array of framed oil paintings. The gallery was sectioned into seven rows of vintage furniture, ornate shelves, and velvet-draped display tables, all laden with eclectic assortments of relics—statuettes, old books, vases, cigar boxes, pocket watches—all manner of paraphernalia that Angela would’ve itched to pick up if she were still a child. Everything was arranged in an orderly fashion, but there was so much that it felt like whimsical disarray, regardless.

The door had not yet swung shut before Ezekiel and Prudence stepped out from a back room with welcoming smiles. They were accompanied by a tall woman with a russet-brown complexion, black hair woven in waist-length Havana twists, and wearing a sharp pantsuit. Greetings were exchanged between those who already knew one another, then Ezekiel presented his and Prudence’s companion. “Everyone, allow me to introduce Keiko Oshiro, my general manager, as well as the sole reason this dealership didn’t go down in flames.”

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Keiko said, giving the visitors a pleasant smile. “The dealership closed at 6:00, so you won’t be disturbed while Mr. Blair shows you around.”

Angela, Corin, and Violette introduced themselves to Keiko, then Angela brought Honorato forward. “Ezekiel, Prudence, Ms. Oshiro, this is my friend, Honorato Custódio.”

Honorato gave a curt nod. “Hey.”

Prudence shook Honorato’s hand. “Nice to meet you, young man.”

“Honorato,” Ezekiel mused. “Something tells me you’re the sort who lives up to his name.” He offered his hand, but Honorato hesitated to shake it, frowning at the leather gloves Ezekiel wore. “I burned my hands when I was a boy, and they’re quite unpleasant to look at.”

“Oh, okay.” Honorato accepted Ezekiel’s handshake. “It’s weird, cause Cory wears gloves all the time too for his germaphobia.”

Ezekiel looked to Corin, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Cory, is it?”

“Only my young friend here can call me that,” Corin said, a firm look in his eye—that look vanished when Prudence moved to stand beside him.

“Aw, I think Cory’s a cute name,” she said, curling her arm around Corin’s elbow.

Corin blushed. “Oh, well, I suppose I wouldn’t mind if you’d like to call me that.”

Angela pretended to scratch her nose to hide the pleased smile she couldn’t hold back.

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