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She nodded. “Okay.”

“Now, open your gift.”

She reached inside the bag, taking out the long, rectangular box. The lid then came off, and she moved the tissue paper aside, that glow returning to her face the moment she realized it was a briefcase.

Her hand went over her mouth. “Oh my God, it’s beautiful.”

“There’s a story behind this present.” I waited for her eyes to lock with mine before I continued, “When I was a kid, my parents took me on vacation to Maine. We were walking through Old Port, a quaint section in Portland, and we came across this small store that specialized in handmade leather goods. I’ll never forget when I passed that window, seeing this huge—at least what had seemed huge at the time—briefcase inside. I made my parents stop and go in and look at it with me, and I said to them, ‘When I graduate law school, I want a briefcase just like that one.’ ” My fingers slid into her hair, holding the back of her head. “Right before I graduated, my father looked up the store. Th