He shot her that smile again, but this time it failed to soften her. “And I’m not Thoreau. Granted. But I’m happy here, Alan.”

She didn’t look happy, he noted. She looked irritable and edgy. Certain he could help her, he patted her hand. “For now, perhaps. For the moment. But what happens after a few more weeks, when you realize it’s all just a”—he gestured vaguely—“just an interlude? By then it’ll be too late to get your position back at your school, to register for the summer courses you planned to take toward your doctorate. The lease is up for your apartment in two months.”

Her hands were locked together in her lap now, to keep them from forming fists and beating in frustration on the arms of the chair. “It’s not just an interlude. It’s my life.”

“Exactly.” He beamed at her, as she had often seen him beam at a particularly slow student who suddenly grasped a thorny concept. “And your life is in San Francisco. Sweetheart, you and I both know you need more intellectual stimulation than you can find here. You need your studies, your students. What about your monthly book group? You have to be missing it. And the classes you planned to take? And you haven’t mentioned a word about the paper you were writing.”

“I haven’t mentioned it because I’m not writing it. I’m not going to write it.” Because it infuriated her that her fingers were beginning to tremble, she wrenched them apart and sprang up. “And I didn’t plan on taking classes, other people planned that for me. The way they’ve planned every step I’ve ever taken. I don’t want to study, I don’t want to teach. I don’t want any intellectual stimulation that I don’t choose for myself. This is exactly what I’ve told you before, what I’ve told my parents before. But you simply refuse to hear.”

He blinked, more than a little shocked at her sudden vehemence. “Because we care about you, Rowan. Very much.” He rose as well. His voice was soothing now. She rarely lost her temper, but he understood when she did she threw up a wall no amount of logic could crack. You just had to wait her out.

“I know you care.” Frustrated, she pressed her fingers to her eyes. “That’s why I want you to hear, I want you to understand, or if understanding is too much, to accept. I’m doing what I need to do. And, Alan—” She dropped her hands, looked directly into his eyes. “I’m not coming back.”