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Back when Edwin Nabler opened his very first shop—where was it, now? Cleveland? or was it Scranton?—there was a thrill surrounding

the first customer of the day. Who would it be? A serious shopper? A browser? (There weren’t many of those. Nabler had a gift

when it came to salesmanship. They might not buy on the first visit, but they always came back.)

But he had to admit, that thrill was gone.

It was still a pleasure to welcome the first person to open the shop door. He still had the strength for a “How are you today?”

or a “What fine weather we’re having, wouldn’t you say?” or “Is there anything special you’re looking for?” But that charge

he used to get at the start of his business day had dropped to a lower voltage.

Still, he managed a smile for the woman who had stepped into Choo-Choo’s Trains on this sunny morning. When he emerged from

the back room, he closed the door quickly so as to muffle the sound of those multiple trains chugging their way around his

layout.

He walked up to the cash register and flashed the woman a smile as she looked his way.

“What fine weather we’re having, wouldn’t you say?” he asked. As good an opener as any from his repertoire.

“I love the fall,” the woman said.

“We won’t have these colors for much longer,” Nabler said. “It all seems so fleeting. The beauty of the changing season is here, and then it’s gone.”

He put her in her late thirties. Slim, attractive, dark hair. The ring on her finger told him she was married, and a mother

in all likelihood, given that she had entered what some would derisively refer to as a toy store. (How he hated that, but

they were called toy trains, so what could you do?) But part of the workforce, too, he thought, judging by her professional attire. A simple blue

dress with long sleeves, two-inch heels, just the right amount of makeup.

“I’ve never been in here before,” she said. “I must have walked past it, but somehow it escaped my notice.”

Nabler smiled. “I hear that a lot.”

“Been here long?”

“A while. But we’re more of a specialty shop. It’s not like you need a model train every day. We’re not like the diner across

the street, where if you don’t get your daily cup of joe you’re not going to be any good to anybody.”

She chuckled. “Isn’t that the truth.”

“So, you’re into the hobby? A collector, perhaps?”

“Oh no, not me. I’m thinking this might be a perfect Christmas gift for both my husband and my son. Something they could enjoy

together.”

“And get them out of your hair,” Nabler said.

The woman laughed. “That’s not my intention, but you might be right about that.”

She was wandering down the far aisle, looking at sets and packages containing individual engines and cars. “You have some

beautiful stuff here.”

“Thank you. I do all the detailing on the cars myself.”

“Really? But the trains themselves, are they made in America? Overseas?”

“They’re manufactured right here in the good ol’ US of A, but you know the way things are going. I think we’re going to see

much of the work move to China. But even when it comes to that, when the trains arrive here, I do extra work on them in the

back, so that anything you get from Choo-Choo’s is essentially an exclusive product.”

“Nice to hear. What sort of extra work do you do to them?”

Nabler smiled. “You know, there was this restaurant I used to go to. A very swanky place, and they had the best scrambled

eggs I’d ever had in my life. And I thought, they’re just scrambled eggs. We all know how to make scrambled eggs, right? But

these had something extra about them. So one day, I asked the waiter if he could ask the chef what he put into the eggs that

made them so extraordinary. So he went off to see the chef and came back, and you know what he said?”

“What did he say?”

“The secret ingredient is love .”

“Oh come on!” the woman said, laughing. “I thought you were going to say cheese or mayonnaise or onions or something. So that’s

it, then. You put love into your trains.”

“What can I say? I hate to toot my own horn.” He waited to see if she would laugh at that. When she didn’t, he said, “That

was a train joke. Toot? Horn?”

“Ah,” she said.

Nabler smiled sheepishly. “We train nerds aren’t particularly noted for our wit.”

“Tell me about this set,” she said.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Edwin said, coming around the counter and checking out the woman’s choice. “A Southern Pacific steam engine, four-six-two, a—”

“What does four-six-two mean? The number on the side is zero-four-three.”

“Okay, so, you see all the drive wheels? Four small wheels at the front, then six big wheels in the middle, and two small

wheels at the back end. Four-six-two.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe that’s more detail than you need. So, a Southern Pacific steam engine with matching tender where the coal would be,

a cattle car, a missile-launching car, and—”

“Like, a military missile? A rocket? Why would a train be carrying a missile?”

“There’s an element of whimsy with these sets. They’re designed more for fun than realism. The roof opens down the middle

and a missile pops up and fires. Just don’t aim it at anyone’s eyes.”

“It fires? You’re not serious.”

“Ma’am, I would never kid about something as serious as a missile car. It has been a mainstay of the toy train lineup since

the early sixties.”

“Sorry. I guess I’m a bit of a literalist.”

“Not a problem. So, a cattle car, a missile car, this one carries a giraffe, and then there’s the matching Southern Pacific

caboose. And it comes with track and a power pack, or transformer, to make it run.”

“It’s perfect. I can see it under the tree now.”

“If I may make a suggestion,” Nabler said hesitantly, “why not give it to them now as opposed to waiting another couple of

months till Christmas? And if they get the bug—”

“A bug? Is that an accessory?”

“The bug . As in, they get caught up in the hobby—then you’ll want to come back to get more boxcars and buildings and scenery for them for Christmas. So that they can build their empire.”

The woman smiled. “Aren’t you the clever salesman.”

He raised his palms innocently. “It’s only a suggestion.”

“An empire,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you have one of those?”

“I do, in fact. In the back of the shop. I wouldn’t be cut out for this line of work if I hadn’t caught the bug myself.”

Her eyes brightened. “Would I be able to see it? I mean, is it available for public viewing?”

It was then that he fully appreciated how nice her hair was. Long and flowing, and once dyed, it would be ideal for a field

or a lawn. And there were hints of a fine bone structure in her face and, presumably, her entire body. Given her petite stature,

she would be easy to prepare. He could fillet her like a perch, extract her delicate frame in no time.

He felt an itch, wanting to make her part of his process.

But no, he’d already had this debate with himself. Time to take a bit of a breather. Although this particular set she had

her hands on, it would pack a punch, he believed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s a bit of mess at the moment. Before I show it off, I have to work out some of the kinks in the

track. Don’t want to be running a train and have any embarrassing derailments.”

“Of course. Forgive me if I was being pushy, there.”

“Not at all.”

“Anyway, I’m sold. I’m going to get this.”

She went to lift the set off the shelf, but Edwin intervened. “Allow me,” he said, and carried the package over to the counter.

He slipped behind it as the woman approached and opened her purse.

She suddenly shook her head, as though she had forgotten something. “I’m so rude. I haven’t even asked you your name.”

“Edwin,” he said, extending a hand. “Edwin Nabler. And you are?”

“Janice,” she said.

“Janice. Nice to meet you.”

She laughed. “I’m buying this for my husband, Harry, and our son, Dylan. Harry’s the chief of police here, in Lucknow. Chief

Cook?”

“Yes, yes,” Nabler said, nodding. “I do believe we’ve met.”