“Well, you obviously aren’t a good judge of character. I’m very loveable. I’m rich, attractive, and very clever.”

“You’re also arrogant, entirely convinced you know everything, and act like you need antibiotics if someone expresses even a hint of fondness.”

“I had a lot of people in my childhood expressing very vigorous fondness for each other. I didn’t believe in any of it. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“And now?”

I run my hands through his soft hair, loving the way he tilts towards me and the fine lines at the corners of his stunning pale green eyes. “Now, I do.” His face is so dear to me, so warm, and I reluctantly decide to opt for honesty. “You could do better.”

“Undoubtedly,” he says serenely.

I glare at him. “I’m not sure where, but maybe you’ll find someone better, Laurie.” I think of that nebulous figure and feel rage towards him. “But he wouldn’t be me. And I think you need me.”

“Why?”

“To make sure you eat something other than biscuits and noodles. To let you put your cold feet on me in bed, to do your accounts, to watch over you and make sure no one takes advantage of your far too kind disposition. Someone to challenge you.” I pause. “Someone to love you. The real you,” I say far too awkwardly.

“And who is the real me?”

“He’s clever and funny and has a disposition like Mary Poppins on a bad day, but he’s still the only one I would ever let dunk biscuits in my hot milk.”

He steps into my arms as if the space there is made for him, and maybe it was, because before I know it, I’m wrapped around him with my head on his neck, inhaling the scent of soap and home.

“Well, it’s fortuitous that I happen to like arrogant men who hide their kindness very well,” he says, kissing my ear. “I’m very partial to extreme tidiness, forty-eight-hour workdays, and minimal decor.”

“No, you are not. That was a blatant lie. You like mess, chaos, and paint everywhere. It’s like you’re taking over the world one oil paint tube at a time.”

He laughs, and I’m so grateful to have the capricious man making that merry sound in my arms again. Then he sobers as I straighten up. “I was coming back,” he says solemnly. “I need you to know that. My flight back to London is booked.”

“You were coming back?” I gape at him. “To me?”