A small dog ran across the road, followed by three children and a hoop, and for a minute Sam was occupied in slowing the horses. When she looked at him once more, his expression was strangely sharp and considering, as though the cheerful professor had momentarily stepped out, leaving only the genius behind. “Let me be clear,” he said. “I do want to use your house. I’m hopeful I can either convince you or irritate you or charm you into letting me do so. But whether you do so or not is entirely your decision, and I’m not going to fly off the handle if you refuse me. Even if you never let me in that house again, I’ll continue to think you’re a charming, funny, intelligent woman whom I like and respect very much.”

“Sometimes you’re not vague at all,” she said, blinking.

“Not when something’s important,” he said, and clucked to the horses. The buggy started rolling towards town once more.

Alva didn’t know what she was supposed to say. She was suddenly ashamed of her fear, embarrassed by its weakness and its unfair assumptions. Of course not all men were like Alain. The problem was you couldn’t know right away which ones were and which ones weren’t.

“I’m not funny,” she said.

“Of course you are,” he said, and seemed so convinced that she let the matter drop.

They sat in silence as they drove into town. The sun was breaking hesitantly through the clouds, and a few children took advantage of the sudden springlike weather to play a rowdy game of tag on the side of the street. Alva pulled her coat closer around her neck and reflected that only children could interpret slightly-above-freezing temperatures as playing-outside weather.

Sam eased the buggy to the side of the road, jumping down and tying the horses before he helped Alva descend. They stood in front of a dank little tavern, the kind of dark hole one can walk by a dozen times and never really notice. It was no more than a dozen feet wide, painted a blue that looked like it had survived the last war and possibly the one before, and had a stoop spattered dark with tobacco spit and dirt and other things Alva preferred not to speculate on.

“Thank you for bringing me,” she said, hoping the tentative smile she offered would be taken as an apology.

“You’re welcome,” he said, smiling back. “But if you think I’m leaving before the fireworks you’re insane. Shall we?”

Oh, right. For a few beats, she’d forgotten how infuriating the man was. A welcome trickle of irritation squared her shoulders.

“Again, I thank you for your escort,” she said, using her very firmest tone. “Although I might also note you practically bullied me into accepting it. But I assure you, I no longer require your … kind services.”