“I don’t know,” he said, frustrated with his inability to put together a complete thought, much less translate it into actual sentences. “Just that if you need a friend, I will be there.”

Her lips parted, and he saw movement in her throat, all her words trapped there, all her emotions in check.

“Thank you,” she said. “That’s . . .”

“Don’t say it’s kind of me,” he ordered.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not kindness. It’s . . . I don’t know what it is,” he said helplessly. “But it’s not kindness.”

Her lips quivered into a smile. A mischievous smile. “Very well,” she said. “You’re not kind.”

“Never.”

“May I call you selfish?”

“That would be going too far.”

“Conceited?”

He took a step in her direction. “You’re pushing your luck, Billie.”

“Arrogant.” She ran around the table, laughing as she put it between them. “Come now, George. You cannot deny arrogant.”

Something devilish rose up within him. Something devilish and hot. “What do I get to call you?”

“Brilliant?”

He moved closer. “How about maddening?”

“Ah, but that’s in the eye of the beholder.”

“Reckless,” he said.

She feinted left when he feinted right. “It’s not recklessness if you know what you’re doing.”

“You fell onto a roof,” he reminded her.

She grinned wickedly. “I thought you said I jumped.”

He growled her name and lunged, chasing her as she shrieked, “I was trying to save the cat! I was being noble!”

“I’ll show you noble . . .”

She yelped and jumped back.

Straight into the house of cards.

It did not fall gracefully.

Neither did Billie, to tell the truth. When the dust had settled, she was sitting squarely on the table, the wreckage of Andrew’s masterpiece scattered around like a Chinese firecracker had been lit beneath it.

She looked up and said in a very small voice, “I don’t suppose the two of us can put it back together.”

Mutely, he shook his head.

She swallowed. “I think I might have reinjured my ankle.”

“Badly?”

“No.”

“In that case,” he told her, “I’d advise you to lead with that when Andrew returns.”

And of course that was when he walked through the door.

“I hurt my ankle,” Billie all but yelled. “It really hurts.”

George had to turn away. It was the only way to keep from laughing.

Andrew just stared. “Again,” he finally said. “You did it again.”

“It was a very nice house,” she said weakly.

“I suppose it’s a talent,” Andrew said.

“Oh, indeed,” Billie said brightly. “You’re brilliant at it.”

“No, I meant you.”

“Oh.” She swallowed—her pride, most likely—and stretched out a smile. “Well, yes. There’s no point in doing something if you’re not going to do it well, wouldn’t you agree?”

Andrew said nothing. George had the urge to clap his hands in front of his face. Just to make sure he wasn’t sleepwalking.

“I’m truly sorry,” Billie said. “I’ll make it up to you.” She pushed herself off the table and limped her way upright. “Although I don’t really know how.”