“He’s a chauffeur.” She laid a hand on Simon’s shoulder as they peeked out the window together. “That’s what they call people who drive limousines.”

“He’s coming to the door.”

“He must need directions.”

“Can I just go out and look while you tell him how to get someplace? I won’t touch it or anything.”

“We’ll ask.” She took Simon’s hand and walked to the door.

Simon was right, she thought as she opened the door. He did look like a soldier—tall and straight, with a military bearing in his black uniform and cap.

“Can I help you find someone?” she asked him.

“Ms. Zoe McCourt? Master Simon McCourt?”

“Ah.” She tugged Simon a little closer to her side. “Yes.”

“I’m Bigaloe. I’ll be driving you to Mr. Vane’s this evening.”

“We get to ride in that?” Simon’s eyes went wide and bright as twin suns. “Inside?”

“Yes, sir.” Bigaloe gave Simon a quick wink. “In any seat you like.”

“Sweet!” He pumped a fist, gave a hoot, and would have charged to the limo if Zoe hadn’t hauled him back.

“But we have a car. And a dog.”

“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Vane sent this.”

Zoe looked down at the note Bigaloe held out, recognized the stationery. “Simon, you stand right here,” she ordered, and released his hand to open the envelope.

The single sheet of letterhead read:

Don’t argue this time either.

“But I just don’t see why . . .” She trailed off, undone and defeated by the desperate plea in Simon’s eyes. “We’ll be out in just a minute, Mr. Bigaloe.”

“You take your time, ma’am.”

The minute she closed the door, Simon threw his arms around her waist. “This is so awesome!”

“Yes. Awesome.”

“Can we go now? Can we?”

“All right. Get your jacket, and the present we made for Bradley. I need my purse.” And my shoes, she thought. It looked like it would be the marcasite earrings tonight.

The minute they were out of the house, Simon made a beeline for the car, then skidded to a halt to wave wildly at the Hansons, who stood on their front porch.

“We get to ride in a limousine!”

“Isn’t that something?” With a wide grin, Mrs. Hanson waved back. “Just like a rock star. I want to hear all about it tomorrow.”

“Okay. This is Mr. Bigaloe,” Simon announced when the driver opened the door. “He’s going to drive us to Brad’s house. That’s Mr. and Mrs. Hanson. They live next door.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Bigaloe tipped his cap, then offered a hand to Zoe. “The dog can ride up with me, if that suits you.”

“Oh. Well, if he’s no trouble.”

“Look at that, John.” Mrs. Hanson gave her husband’s hand a quick squeeze. “Just like Cinderella. Just hope our girl’s smart enough not to go running off when the clock strikes.”

There were little glass vases with fresh flowers beside the tinted windows. And little lights, like faerie lights, streamed along the floor and the roof.

There were a television and a stereo, and buttons to work everything on a panel just above her head.

Everything smelled like leather and lilies.

Simon was already crawling over the long seat along the side to poke his head through the opening to the limo’s cab and peppering Bigaloe with questions.

Zoe didn’t have the heart to stop him. And it gave her a moment to try to adjust.

After that moment she gave up. It would take her a year to adjust.

Simon came sliding back. “Moe likes it up front, and Mr. Bigaloe’s letting him stick his head out the window. And Mr. Bigaloe says I can touch anything, because I’m the boss. And I can have a soda from the ice place over there if you say so, ’cause you’re the boss of me, and I can watch TV! In the car. Can I?”

Zoe looked at his bright and dazzled face. On impulse, she caught that face in her hands, gave him a loud, smacking kiss on the mouth. “Yes, you can have a soda. Yes, you can watch TV in the car. And look, look up here. You can make the lights go on and off. And there’s a telephone.”

“Let’s call somebody.”

“You do it.” She picked up the phone and offered it. “Call Mrs. Hanson. Won’t she love that?”

“Okay. I’m going to get a soda, and turn on the TV, and call her so I can tell her.”

She giggled with him, and played with the controls, and drank a ginger ale just so she could say she had.

When they arrived at Brad’s, she took Simon’s hand before he could reach for the door handle. “Mr. Bigaloe’s supposed to come around and open it,” she whispered. “That’s part of his job.”

“Okay.” When the door opened, Simon popped out and looked up at Bigaloe. “That was really good. Thanks for driving us.”

“It was a pleasure.”

“I guess you could tell it was our first time in a limo,” Zoe said when he helped her out.

“I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed driving anyone quite so much. I’ll look forward to taking you home when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait until I tell the guys.” Simon grabbed the leash and let Moe pull him to the door. “They’re not going to believe it.”

Before Zoe could tell him to knock, he was pushing the door open and shouting for Brad. “Brad! We watched TV in the car and called Mrs. Hanson and had sodas. And Moe rode up front.”

“Sounds like a busy ride.”

“Simon, you’re supposed to knock. Moe!”

The dog had already made a dash for the great room and the sofa.

“He’s all right,” Brad told her as Moe leaped on the cushions and stretched out like a furry sultan. “We’re getting used to him around here.”

“We brought you a present.” Dancing in place, Simon thrust the box into Brad’s hands. “Mom and I made it.”

“Yeah? Let’s go back to the kitchen and open it up. Just let me get your coats first.”

“I can do it. I know where they go.” Simon yanked off his jacket and bounced on his toes until Zoe handed him hers. “Don’t open it until I’m there.”