Switch

container of ink paste inside. Heavier, too, because of

what I meant to do with the contents. The wood slipped

against my fingers as I carried it to the cash register. I

didn't want to let it go long enough for Miriam to ring it up

and put it in a Speckled Toad bag, but I did.

I was sweating a little, my stomach and throat buzzing with

anticipation. Colors seemed a bit too bright and sounds

too loud. I was already thinking of a quiet room and

candlelight, and the scritch-scratch of a pen on the paper.

I already knew what I was going to write.

Miriam rang up my purchase and wrapped the satin box

liberaly in tissue paper, then slid it into a bag. She peered

at me over her half glasses, her mouth pursed, and tapped

the countertop with her crimson nails. 'You need

something else.'

I was already spending too much. 'I don't think so.'

Miriam ignored me and turned to the glass-topped display

case next to the counter. She leaned over to look at the

Cross and Mont Blanc pens inside, each snuggled in its

own cradle of velvet. She ran her finger over the glass,

drawing my attention to each of the pens I'd lusted over

since discovering her shop. There was a Starwalker

rolerbal pen in black and one in blue. There was a

Meisterstuck Classique Platinum rolerbal in classic black

with silver accents. She even had one of the special

limited-edition Marlene Dietrich pens I'd seen online that

cost the earth.

'Mont Blanc doesn't cal them pens, you know,' she said

in the reverent voice of an archeologist unearthing

something precious. She didn't look at me as she unlocked

the back of the case and ran her fingertips over the velvet.

the back of the case and ran her fingertips over the velvet.

'They're referred to as writing instruments.'

Her fingers closed on one, a slim black piece with the

signature six-pointed star in the cap. She drew it out and

laid it flat on her palm the way the jeweler had done with

the diamond ring Austin had bought me. The pen in

Miriam's palm wasn't quite as expensive as that ring, which

I stil had locked away in my jewelry box…but it wasn't

much less, either.

I itched to take it, but shoved my hands in my pockets

instead. 'Yes, I know. I've been to their Web site.'

Now her gaze, cool and amused, flicked to me. 'I'm sure

you have. You look at these pens every time you come in,

Paige.'

'They're beautiful pens.'

Miriam puled out a smal square of velvet and laid the pen

—the writing instrument—on it. Then she folded her hands

and tilted her head to look at me over her glasses again.

'Let me ask you something, my dear. Would a plastic