When the bell over the door tinkled a small sea of faces turned to look at me and though they were all eager, none were so much as Bindy. I stamped the snow from my less-than-adequate boots and flashed her the kind of smile reserved only for those in your closest circle, only for those you truly loved.

As I slipped my coat off my shoulders, brightly aware that I didn’t own a scarf as the snowflakes struck, shocked and then melted against the warm skin of my neck, Bindy cut through the crowd like some kind of savage cat and leapt on me. I had the briefest of moments to adjust my coat back into place so I could use my arms to catch her and I failed. It didn’t matter, though. Bindy was just under five feet tall and weighed no more than a buck o’ five. When she leapt she caught hold of me with arms and legs and held on. I wavered, but only slightly as she planted small, happy kisses over my face and thinning head of hair.

“Oh my sweet, sweet Chester,” she cried between smooches. I winced a little at her use of my proper name. I’d been born Chester Stuart Monroe, but I’d been writing for the last seventeen years as C.S. Monroe. I had learned early on that people had a difficult time trusting a man named Chester. Bindy, of course, was never bothered by such things and saw no reason anyone else should be, either. This was one of the many reasons why I loved her.

When she finally relinquished her hold on me, she tugged me through the crowd and to the back room of the small bookstore. I gave the waiting crowd a what-can-I-do? shrug and went willingly along. Someone patted my shoulder as I passed, which was common, but something I never got used to. It seemed they always wanted to know if you were real or to reach out and touch something that they felt was different from them. Some people enjoyed such attention but it always made me feel like some strange, exotic creature in a zoo. Step right up folks. You’ve pet the bear. You’ve pet the gorilla. Now pet the one and only mystery writer!

In the back room, Bindy pulled a couple of half-full boxes off a bench, removed my coat and sat me down. After she put her long blond hair in a ponytail, she sat on my lap.

“I was worried you weren’t going to make it.” “I almost didn’t,” I said. “They closed Logan right after my plane let out. I had no idea the storm was going to be this bad.”

“Ah, Mr. Monroe, you’ve been in Virginia too long. You’ve forgotten all about your native land and the wicked nor’easters that doth blow here.”

“Is this attrition for my not getting out here more often?”

“Perhaps,” she answered slyly. “So tell me about this hot date of yours. She’s got to be something to get you all the way up here on a moment’s notice.”

Rebecca was something, but I wasn’t going to let on to Bindy that I felt too much that way. It would only serve to embarrass me later if things didn’t work out. I did cave in a little though, and told Bindy the quick version of the Rebecca and C.S. history.