“I take offense at being called a weirdo. You’re the weird one. You’re in America. Speak American.”

“Why the bloody hell would I speak American? The language is called English!”

“Because American English,” I said. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“You lose an argument the moment you say English,” he replied, shaking his head. “You can’t argue with an English person about the English language.”

“I don’t know how to talk to you.” I shook my head just like he had and stood up. “It’s like running in circles all the time.”

Isaac grinned. “It’s like that talking to you, too.”

I rolled my eyes and nudged him out of the way so I could get to the wine in the fridge. “I think we’re done here.”

“Do you?”

“I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

“I was being sarcastic, Hannah.”

“I know. I chose to ignore it. You’re not very good at it.” I pulled a wine glass from the cupboard. “Do you want one?”

With a nod, he said, “I’m not very good at sarcasm? Do you have much experience with British people? We created sarcasm.”

“This town isn’t exactly full of Brits,” I replied, pouring the two glasses of wine. I screwed the cap back on the bottle and set it down, then handed Isaac his.

I probably hadn’t thought this through very well.

Drinking was why I was in this mess in the first place.

Goddammit.

I nodded for him to follow me through into the living room and took a seat on my sofa. Isaac took the armchair, settling himself in and adjusting the collar of his dark blue shirt.

He really was unfairly handsome. The shirt played off his lightly tanned skin to perfection, illuminating his eyes in a way I could only dream of with makeup.

Men really did have it easy.

I dragged my gaze away from his sculpted, stubbled jaw, and into the middle of my glass. It was actually preferable to looking at him—I wasn’t imagining kissing him if I wasn’t looking at him.

In theory.

What would it be like to kiss him?

He had deliciously full lips that just looked so soft—the kind of soft I’d have to apply three layers of Chapstick to make mine look half as good.

Ugh.

Men had it easy; women had it rough.

I scratched my boob as discreetly as possible and sipped my wine. I just wanted this to end—I had no idea what he was going to suggest now that we’d talked an awful lot about not a lot at all.

I couldn’t believe he’d brought up actually having sex. I never thought that would be something he’d suggest. I never thought he’d actually be attracted to me, because he’d only ever been my neighbor.

Just that. Nothing more. In fact, he’d only ever been as polite to me as he’d been to Mrs. Keighley, my other neighbor.

The problem? I liked talking to him. It was fun—he was fun. I’d laughed more in the last twenty minutes than I had all day, and that was what scared me.