One Plus One Makes Marriage. Marie Ferrarella

out familiar, well-loved faces of movie stars, many long gone except for the miracle of celluloid. She sighed in what sounded to Melanie like ecstasy.

      The reaction pleased Melanie. Melanie McCloud had hammered in every single nail herself that supported the 126 photographs, painstakingly recreating Aunt Elaine’s old parlor.

      Her shop, Dreams of Yesterday, now had the atmosphere of a cozy room, where someone could seek refuge from a frantic world for an afternoon—the way she had so often in Aunt Elaine’s parlor, she remembered fondly. It was there that the photographs had originally hung. Most of them were personalized with a salutation from a movie star, and some had short notes, all directed to her late aunt.

      Melanie smiled to herself as she silently watched the woman next to her. The woman’s excitement grew in direct proportion to her recognition of the various celebrities. It was her first time in the shop, and she didn’t know where to look first, afraid of missing something in her scattered, shotgunlike approach to viewing the photographs.

      “Oh, look, there’s Rita Hayworth.” She sighed again, beaming. Without being fully conscious of it, she patted her own strawberry-tinted hair as she commented, “Such a beauty.” Turning her head a fraction of an inch, the woman spied another star. “And Tyrone Power. My mother was just crazy about him. Oh, and Errol Flynn.” Standing on her toes, she looked closer at the inscription, then blushed over the risqué message written in a bold hand across the actor’s bare chest.

      Melanie bit her tongue to keep from laughing. That particular photograph, one of her aunt’s treasures, was not for sale, but she knew her aunt would have gotten a kick out of having people see it. As a matter of fact, she would have insisted they see it. She was proud of the. fact that the handsome actor had come on to her in print.

      The elderly woman paused and turned toward Melanie, astonishment mingled with the joy of discovery. That was half the fun of owning a place like this—seeing the way people reacted to items that she had, for the most part, taken for granted while she was growing up.

      Scarlet nails fanned out as the woman touched Melanie’s arm in instant, intimate camaraderie. “Tell me, my dear, where did you get all these wonderful things, and who is Elaine?”

      It was evident by the look on the woman’s face that she thought Elaine was in an enviable position, to have known so many great stars.

      “Elaine was Elaine Santiago, my great-aunt.” There was pride in her smile. There was little that Melanie loved more than reminiscing about her aunt.

      “Was?” A tinge of disappointment entered the woman’s voice.

      Melanie nodded. “She died a little over two years ago. But she left me her collection of memorabilia.” Melanie gestured around the shop. “About half of all this was hers.”

      The rest Melanie had gone out of her way to acquire for this little shop in Bedford, California, like the large shipment that had arrived just this morning, thanks to a successful afternoon at a Hollywood memorabilia auction. She couldn’t wait until she closed up tonight, so that she and Joyce, her partner, could go through everything. Not just to see if it was all there, but just to enjoy it.

      The woman looked at the wall again, still overwhelmed by the wealth of photographs hanging on it. “She was a big movie fan?”

      That was putting it mildly, Melanie thought. Aunt Elaine had crammed her head full of colorful stories and a myriad of trivia by the time she was old enough to read. Aunt Elaine was a walking font of information and she never forgot anything.

      “The biggest. She worked at MGM in the wardrobe department for years, then went over to Paramount Studios, where she went on to become a makeup artist.” For someone like Aunt Elaine, the job had been a dream come true. And everywhere Aunt Elaine went she made entire platoons of friends. She believed it was her mission to leave everyone’s life a little brighter for knowing her. In Melanie’s opinion, she succeeded beyond her wildest dreams.

      “In her time she knew them all. Everybody loved Aunt Elaine. That was what they all called her, Aunt Elaine.” And that was what she’d tried to be, everyone’s aunt. The thing about Elaine Santiago was that she truly cared about people. And everyone knew it. “She always seemed to know when someone had a problem, and she was always willing to lend a sympathetic ear. No one could keep anything from her. She was exceptionally easy to talk to.”

      Melanie grinned, remembering one of her aunt’s favorite stories. “Burt Lancaster once said to her that she could probably get a stone to talk. She had that way about her.”

      The greatest compliment Melanie had ever received was when someone had compared her to her aunt. Her mother had put a slightly different spin on it, saying that she could coax words out of a mime, but it was one and the same, Melanie mused. She and Aunt Elaine loved people, all manner of people.

      A hint of envy entered the gray eyes. “She must have been a remarkable woman.”

      She’d get no argument from Melanie. “She was, in every sense of the word.” Melanie still missed her fiercely. She knew a part of her always would.

      “Melanie, you want to come here a second?” Joyce Freeman’s raised voice broke apart the easy tempo of the conversation. When Melanie turned in her direction, Joyce gestured with a touch of urgency that was underscored by the frown on her small mouth. “I think someone here wants to talk to you.”

      There was a nervous note in Joyce’s voice. So what else was new? Joyce wasn’t happy unless she was worrying about something. Melanie gave the woman at her side an encouraging smile.

      “You’ll excuse me?” she murmured, beginning to back away. “Feel free to browse as long as you like. I’ll be back to answer any questions in a minute. Maybe two,” she amended as she glanced again in Joyce’s direction and saw the depth of her best friend’s frown. Even from across the shop, it looked pronounced.

      It undoubtedly had something to so with the tall man who was standing beside her. Melanie lengthened her stride, hurrying over while still giving the impression of taking her time. She could feel the man’s scrutiny as she drew closer. Curiosity began to sprout.

      “Something the matter?” She directed the question to Joyce, who looked positively ready to leap out of her skin.

      There was confusion in Joyce’s dark brown eyes. She didn’t really care for change in general and absolutely abhorred the unknown. The unknown was standing at her side in the form of a very tall, very somber-looking man with charcoal gray eyes and the darkest shock of black hair Melanie had ever seen.

      Hair, she thought, that looked like velvet. The kind of velvet found on the inside of a really expensive jewelry box used to hold valuable, well-loved rings. For a second, looking at him, Melanie couldn’t help wondering if his hair felt as soft as it appeared.

      Without thinking, she almost reached out to touch it before she caught herself. Would that have made the man’s frown retreat? Or merely deepen?

      Melanie’s eyes shifted back to her friend’s face. There was no relief evident at her approach. If anything, her expression of concern had intensified. Now what? Melanie tried to shrug off the tiny kernel of concern that was beginning to root within her. It was all probably nothing. Just Joy’s way.

      They complemented each other that way, Melanie thought. Joy, in direct contradiction to her nickname, worried about inventories and bills, about things that might happen and things that didn’t happen, while Melanie, with what Joy dubbed her terminal optimism, went along assuming the best would somehow manage to push its way through any dark obstacles that stood in its path.

      Melanie absolutely refused to spend her time worrying. She firmly believed that if something was going to go wrong, it would happen without her obsessing about it, and if it didn’t go wrong, then worrying that it might would have been a waste of energy and time. She made Joy crazy, especially since most of the time she was right.

      Joyce licked her lips. She slanted a nervous look at the man. “I’m afraid he thinks something is the matter.”

      Melanie