She’d been certain he’d offer her money, which would have given her a perfect excuse to throw his Sunday dinner back in his face, but he’d outmaneuvered her, and now she’d feel churlish if she refused. She dropped her sketches on the bed and thought about how much she missed the farm. She wanted to talk to Riley. She wanted to see how the new furniture looked and check up on Puffy and embarrass herself in front of Jack. She wanted to be part of it all again. Her old weakness—trying to belong where she didn’t. “Is everybody going to be there?”

His mouth tightened. “You want another chance to act like an idiot in front of Mad Jack, don’t you?”

“I’m more mature now.”

“Sure you are.” He picked up her sketches from the bed. “Yeah, they’ll all be there. Tell me what you need.”

As long as she stayed with the group, she could go. Just this once. She mentally reviewed the contents of the pantry and gave him a short list, which he didn’t bother to write down. He held up her final sketch. “This is great, but I thought you were painting her dog.”

“Nita decided she has to be in the portrait, too.” Nita cared more about keeping Blue around as her indentured servant than she cared about the painting. “Are you ready to go home yet?”

His gaze wandered to the bed. “Definitely not.”

She set her hand on her hip. “I’m supposed to take off my clothes just because you got bored and decided to hop over my balcony railing tonight? I don’t think so.”

His eyebrows drew together. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it, that I stayed away.” He jabbed his finger in the general direction of her face. “You’re not the only one who’s allowed to be pissed off.”

“I didn’t do anything to you! I needed a job, and don’t tell me I had one with you because I didn’t.”

“I was counting on you, and you turned your back on me. Obviously, you didn’t care how I felt.”

He looked honestly angry, but she didn’t believe him. “You’re overprivileged, overindulged, and perfectly capable of holding your own with all of them. What really bothers you is not getting your way.” She marched to the balcony door so she could throw him out, but as she pushed the handle, she imagined his body sprawled on the ground with his legs twisted underneath him, and she backed away.

“What really bothers me,” he said from behind her, “is believing you were someone I could count on.”

She set her jaw against a twinge of guilt and headed across the room. “You’re going out the front door. Don’t make any noise, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”