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The polite, expected thing to do would probably have been to contact Myth via the speed dating app. But she had given her a business card, and in any case, Elaine considered herself generally such good company that if she dropped by unannounced it ought to be considered a blessing.

She had, besides, been meaning to spend a morning antiquing. Which would normally have meant the usual day-off sweats and messy topknot, but in consideration of how she and Myth had been introduced, she took the time to primp a little. Getting gussied up for the speed dating event had been the first time in quite a while that she'd put on a dress and makeup for anything but work - she was, she thought with disgust, letting her personal life slip out of her fingers despite her best intentions - and so the Elaine that pushed open the door of the shop on the next chilly weekend was, if not exactly strapped into clubwear and heels, at least still sporting a red lip.

"I came to check in on your cryptozoology," she called into the shop, before the door was even fully open.

"Research is ongoing," she said with mock gravity, following her in and leaning on the counter at her complete ease, apparently less perturbed by dust and cobwebs than might be feared. "I asked the lady doing my pedicure if she'd seen any unusually large and hairy feet, but it didn't yield the leads I'd hoped for. I did tip her double, though, after what she told me."

She watched Myth going about her business, and then laughed. "I didn't mean to shut down your whole operation," she said. "Much as I would love some lemonade, I don't want to chase all your customers away for the sake of it."

She was scrubbing her hands of hand sanitizer, procured from the keychain at her wrist, when Myth returned with the drinks. She placed hers down carefully away from the paper, which she turned to with visible relish.

"I think I may have given you the wrong idea," she said, turning over some pages. "I'm the definition of an amateur here - I have zero expertise, especially when it comes to value or anything like that. I just like to see what people thought was worth documenting." She paused on a certain clipping, wrinkling her nose in distracted thought. "My favorite thing is when you open an old book and there's notes in it, you know?" She turned over another page, more slowly.

"I'm sort of jealous that you get to deal with it all day for work. I mean, I know that's the sort of thing people say when they think your job is just playing around and don't think about any of the hard parts - like when you tell an artist you wish you could play around in paint all day, like that's the whole thing - but I hope you get what I mean."

There was a twinge, at that, and Elaine had to wrestle down the instinct to feel both offended and defensive, and took advantage of the lemonade to give her a moment to remind herself that the person across from her wasn't passing judgment on her, personally, and simply had an understandable distaste for - well, people like Elaine, to be honest, always trying to monetize everything that came into their way, and feeling guilty if a hobby didn't in some way pay a bill.

It took the duration of the sip to remember that she, herself, found this particular aspect of herself irritating as well, and let it go.

"Times are tough," she said. "I guess people feel like they need to stay hustling just to stay in the same place, let alone get ahead. At least they're not selling crack or something."

Well, mostly let it go. She at least sounded cheerful about it - not defensive, not insulted, not even irritated. The fact that she had never been a snob about it certainly helped keep the tone light.

She squinted at a page as she continued, moving past the topic lest she lose her good humor. "I am glad that there's only hard and annoying parts, at least. Could be the entire thing, you know?" And then: "The names in some of these things. Imagine going around being called Hortensia. Maybe that was just like being Emily back then, though."

She took it, a little startled out of speech for a moment. She remembered with misgiving that she'd met this woman at a dating mixer, and considered with even more misgivings all those U-haul lesbian jokes, and her own refusal of commitment and all the attendant drama in her past.

Still, she was used to receiving gifts, and they usually weren't as thoughtful as this. And it would be rude beyond belief to refuse it.

She opened the locket gently, looking before tucking it back into the scarf.

"You really, really shouldn't," she said, with sincerity and almost a sort of dismay. "That's way too sweet of you. You'll have to make up for it by letting me buy this," she added, pointing to the scrapbook. "And since I don't know anything about vintage ephemera, you can really charge me the most extortionate rate you can imagine." This, with a great deal of sudden cheer, as if the idea of being made to pay through the nose for the scrapbook would settle the score very appropriately. "You have to," she finished, "because if you give me a few days with that scrapbook I can come back and tell you whose initials those are and who was kissing whose picture, I guarantee it. I have a talent," she added, beaming without any modesty whatsoever.

She did as suggested, rising and tucking the scrapbook tenderly under one arm to explore the shelves while Myth decided on a suitably usurious price.

"I'll come back once I know who they are," she said, with the confidence that Myth would want to know, no matter how banal the answer ended up being - and it nearly always was. In a way, that only made the hunt more appreciated.

And Elaine, lately, was feeling a great deal of sympathy and kinship - bordering on something like envy - for banal people with mundane lives.

It occurred to her that she had a phenomenal opening for a joke about giving away one's product, but she decided, after a moment's hesitation, that she did not yet know Myth well enough to subject her to that sort of observation. She let it pass.

"And I'll bring lemonade, too, if you want. Then we'll really be even."

It was as well that her back was to Myth when the price was named, as her expression experienced a series of uncontrollable transformations, running quickly from shock to dismay to rueful resignation before resettling back into her usual bright smile.

She had, after all, asked for an extortionate rate. If anyone knew that the price of asking for punishment was usually having to pay it accordingly, it was Elaine. She reasoned that she'd been spending less on going out, given everything, and that Petitcru had adjusted so well to her new diet that she hadn't had to cough up an emergency vet visit in nearly six months. And she knew from personal experience that the price wasn't unreasonable, and that she had in fact paid more for an especially appealing volume, although normally in Elaine's experience that was one with vintage personal ads in it.

And besides, sometimes it was nice for people to believe you were more of a high roller than you really were. That, more than anything, settled it.

She turned back beaming, already reaching for her credit card.

"Done. But you're on the hook for the lemonade again."