“Yes,” said John. “No. I, er, I wanted to apologize, again, for my rudeness after the second time I was rude when I had come down to apologize.”

Annie frowned some more. “Okay,” she said. “Apology accepted.”

“That’s not all,” said John.

“Somehow I didn’t think it would be.”

“I don’t agree with you opening the café.”

“Yes, I did get that impression. But it really isn’t any of your business.”

“You don’t understand what it is that you’re doing.”

“And what exactly is that?” asked Annie.

“Giving false hope to a trusting old lady.”

“I don’t see how. From where I’m standing, Mari is doing just fine out of our arrangement. She’s going to get twenty percent of everything I make from the kiosk and the café without having to lift a finger. If anything, I’m building her a little nest egg ready for when she comes home.”

“She’s not coming home!”

“Says who?”

“Says me!”

“Shouldn’t Mari decide whether she gets to live in her own home?”

“You have no idea of the relationship I have with my aunt or the discussions we’ve had about her future.”

“Are those the ones where you sell her home out from under her to a business fat cat for mega bucks?” Even Annie was surprised by her brazenness.

John puffed out exasperatedly. “He’s a builder, I’ve known him for years. Despite what you may have heard, his plans are very sympathetic of the land.”

“But not so sympathetic of your aunt’s wishes.”

John ran his hand through his hair and sucked air in through his teeth.

“You are determined to think the worst of me,” he said curtly.

It occurred to Annie that she may not have been entirely fair, but while she racked her brain for something conciliatory to say, John took her silence as confirmation.

“Enjoy your Sunday,” he said, turning to walk down the steps. “Perhaps if you would appraise me by my actual actions, rather than what you presuppose my intentions to be, you might judge me less harshly.”

“Presuppose?” Annie called after him. “Who even talks like that? Oh, wait a minute, the 1870s just called, they want their vocabulary back!”

John didn’t look back. In three long strides, he had reached the gate and let himself out, fastening the latch carefully behind him. He climbed into his Range Rover and drove away.

Annie was struck by how quickly the conversation had turned. Was he right? Was she determined to think the worst of him? It was true that she had felt riled by John from the very first with his snitty e-mail. And now, she found herself stuck in a kind of spite-rut, where whenever she saw his face, she felt overwhelmingly compelled to be rude to it.

Chapter 44