He looked down at his shoes.

I sighed. “All right. Fine. There’s a boardwalk a few miles up. We’ll drive—”

“No, I can do this.”

He started back toward the car. Then he lifted a finger, as if I might think he was making his escape. I walked to a small embankment and perched on the edge, my toes in the water, sinking into the mud below.

“Better?” he said when he returned a few minutes later.

I turned. He hadn’t just taken off his shoes and socks. He’d rolled his trousers and lost the coat and tie, even if the top button on his shirt was still fastened.

“Much better. Now let’s walk. By the way, I want a house right there.” I pointed at the windswept plateau above the lake’s edge. “A tiny house with a huge porch. I’ll come out every morning, with my coffee and my newspaper, and I’ll watch the sun rise.”

“I don’t think you can get newspaper delivery here.”

“You and your practicality.”

He chuckled as I climbed the incline to the grassy rise. I stood on the edge, face lifted as the wind whipped my hair back.

“My porch will be here. And if you mention the high probability of erosion, I will throw this bottle of wine in your general direction.”

“It’s a magical spot. There’s no erosion.”

“Thank you. I’ll sit on my porch with my coffee and my book every morning. I might even, on occasion, bring work. You will not, however, be able to check that I’m doing it, because I will have no cell service.”

He looked at his phone. “Actually, there is—”

“I will find a provider that doesn’t cover this spot, except on Tuesdays, if the wind is blowing north and I hold my phone just right. Otherwise, I am out of contact.”

“That might not be safe.”

“It’d be safer for everyone else. I can’t call for help and get you guys killed by a roving pack of evil elves.”

I moved to the edge of the bank and lowered myself to the ground. “Come and sit on my porch. It’s time to open the wine.”

He climbed up, then looked at the spot beside me.

“Yes,” I said. “There is dirt. The earth is made of it.”

“I was actually checking for bird droppings.”

“There are those, too, in the dirt.”

He sat beside me and pulled the corkscrew out of a pocket. “I thought you wanted a house of ruins?”

“I do. And a pretty little cottage on the beach. And a ramshackle cabin in the woods. Also, a Victorian with English gardens. Oh, and a condo with a view.”

He pulled the cork. “Which are you going to get first, once your trust fund comes in?”

When I didn’t reply, he said, “Wrong subject?”