"Did you get enough to eat?" I ask as I look at the half-eaten plate of food and the picked-over pancakes. "You didn't like it?"

"Oh, no, it was wonderful, thank you. I, um..." Piccola looks down at her hands and then finally back at me. "Honestly, I'm nervous."

We're sitting on the side of my office next to the window, and the late morning light is streaming in around her and making her look like an angel. We're on the couch facing one another with breakfast on the small table next to ...