She drops a pile of books. They clatter down the stairs. “Bippy, you look pale.” “The wind must have slammed the door in the parlor. I agreed to a date with that man, Connor Hunt….” “What man, where? What door?” “Here.” I pick up the books, lead Auntie down to the parlor. The door is wide open. Connor is gone, again. “There was a man in here?” Auntie says. “Splendid. You’re going on a date.” “It’s not a date. I didn’t mean to say date. He kept asking.” “I’ve heard of this Connor Hunt, but I can’t remember where. No need to worry. Enjoy yourself.” She rattles the knob. “See, this door does not lock. There is no lock at all.” “But—” “Look.” She shows me the smooth knob, opens and shuts the door. “I couldn’t open it.” Her brows furrow. She steers me back to the tea room. “Sit, take deep breaths. I’ll make you some tea.” Tea, her answer to everything. “I’ll tell him I can’t have coffee with him, next time he stops in,”
