The woman looked over her shoulder at Deanna. "They're part of our store display. How about these?" She pointed to a group of purple and peach candles that varied in height from two to twelve inches and in width from one-half to four inches. "They're similar height and width," the sales clerk said.

"Sorry, but they don't match my color scheme. The other ones are exactly what I need, and I've been looking for over a month. Thanks, anyway."

The clerk shrugged apologetically and turned her attention to the next customer. Deanna knew that if she couldn't find what she wanted in that department of McCall's, she might as well stop looking. With an air of resignation, she turned to leave.

"Sell her those candles," said a deep voice as Deanna was about to leave. "Never mind, you're busy now. I'll do it."

Deanna spun around, arrested as much by the voice as by the prospect of getting the candles. The smile that greeted her seemed almost bright enough to light the candles.

He put one of each color on the counter. "Anything else, miss? Is it miss?"

Her smile must have frozen on her face. At twenty-nine, she had long ago stopped becoming infatuated by men with nothing more than a handsome face and a come-hither smile. That is, until now.

He stopped smiling. She looked around, thinking he must have been looking at someone else, but he'd focused his gaze on her. Embarrassed, she fumbled in her purse for her list, though she knew pr