make a good godmother.
And if she thought Mr. Prince was a bit more than very nice, or if she was looking forward to spending time with him alone, which had nothing to do with Max DeVille…well, that was her own business.
Doc hummed again and slipped her spectacles back on her nose. “Max DeVille, eh? That’s a good candidate. He’s a fine man.”
She was…agreeing with Christa? Hmm. “Thank you.”
The older woman’s lips curled into a faint smile, and she picked up her paper once more. “Good luck, Christmas.”
“Have fun, dearie!” Helga called out.
It was perfect timing, because at that moment, Suzy called from the front foyer, “Christa! You have a caller!”
Murmuring her goodbyes, Christa escaped the kitchen, certain she could hear muffled conversation behind her, and hurried for the foyer. When she saw Andrew—and it felt divine to think of him as simply Andrew—she almost skidded to a stop. He looked positively dashing in that tall hat, tailored overcoat with a dusting of snow on the shoulders, and gray gloves.
But best of all, was the way his face broke into a smile when he saw her, and her insides went all squishy.
“Miss Harrington— Christa,” he corrected himself with a little bow, offering his arm. “You look delightful this evening.”
Self-consciously, she glanced down at herself, knowing she was wearing the same gown he’d seen her in the day before. She only had two dresses, plus an assorted collection of skirts and shirts for everyday wear. For that matter, she only had a few pairs of men’s trousers and shirts, and always preferred to wear her poncho when she played poker, no matter the weather.
What a strange life she led.
Her lips tugged into a rueful smile, and Andrew’s expression, which had been bordering on worried as he waited for her response, cleared once more.
Belatedly, she murmured, “Thank you,” as she reached for her coat hanging beside the door.
Suzy sneezed.
Andrew jerked and turned, having obviously forgotten she was standing there.
“Forgive me,” she sniffled, then sighed and waved her hand. “Oh, go on and have fun, you two. I look forward to hearing about it tomorrow, Christa.” Then she turned and fled.
Shrugging apologetically, Christa offered, “Snee—Suzy—has terrible allergies, she claims. But she’s very sweet, I’ve found.”
As he helped her into her coat, Andrew hummed. “Is she another tenant? I confess, until you told me where you were staying, I hadn’t realized there was a boardinghouse on Perrault Street. Funny how I’ve never noticed it.”
“Yes, it is,” was all Christa could offer, reaching for the doorknob. “I’ve heard it catches many people that way. Where are we going this evening?”
As they stepped onto the porch, he offered his arm, and it felt natural to slip her hand into the crook of his elbow.
“There’s limited options,” he said with a chuckle, as he led them down the steps, “although Everland is growing quickly. I’m a regular customer of MacKinnon’s. I thought we might dine there this evening.”
A real restaurant? Christa couldn’t recall the last time she’d dined someplace like that, at least while wearing a dress. When she traveled about, dressed as a man, she’d often buy food at places like Spratt’s Eatery, where the meals were bland, plentiful, and without many options. But that was just eating, it still wasn’t dining.
Dining, especially with Andrew Prince, sounded like a true experience.
Since he was waiting for her response, she tilted her head slightly to watch him out of the corner of her eye. “I think that sounds very nice, thank you.”
He chuckled dryly. “Thank you, Christa. I hope you don’t mind I call you that. I feel—forgive me if this is too forward—that you’re not quite young enough to be a miss, and I confess myself confused as to whether I should call you Harrington or O’Hare. Christa seems easiest.”
His reasoning was sound, and she wasn’t at all offended. “Not at all. I myself often wince when I’m referred to as Miss Harrington. I am somewhat past the bloom of youth, as they say, but not quite relegated to the roll of elderly aunt.”
They stepped down off the sidewalk to cross the street, and he tightened her hold as they crossed a potentially slippery patch. The places where he touched her—held her—were wonderfully warm, and she knew she’d come to no harm while he was watching out for her.
“You are nowhere near elderly,” he assured her with a wry grin. “I myself celebrated my fiftieth birthday last year, and you’re nowhere near as decrepit as I am!”
She had