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Sofia sighed, exhaustion suddenly rearing its head, and the playfulness disappeared from Christopher’s expression. His gaze slipped over her, seeming to take in her slumped shoulders and the tired lines of her face. He studied her with the sort of care that might have felt good under different circumstances. As it was, she felt deeply exposed. “What is it you want from me?”

Christopher smiled sweetly, his expression clear of artifice. “Only your friendship.” Sofia couldn’t keep the baffled expression from her face, and Christopher’s tone softened further as he explained to her, “You complain to me when nothing has gone right in your day, and I look for an empty space beside yours at the supper table because I know your company will make everything taste better. When you come down with a cold, you accept my handkerchief without questioning my motive. Perhaps you even come to expect it in your hand before you think to ask for it. And when my cow gets loose and eats your begonias, you feel glad to see it there because it’s the perfect excuse to bring it home to me and share a cup of tea. Friendship, Miss Lioni, that is all.”

Sofia was spellbound, lulled into some soft, half-melted version of herself by his soulful eyes and inconceivable words.

“How about friendship for an hour? Give me one hour each afternoon, Miss Lioni. One hour to earn your friendship for another day. You can always go back to hating me tomorrow."

She could taste the refusal on her lips, feel it buzzing there waiting to be released, but it would not come. An hour every day to allow him to know her? She couldn’t give him that. Because if he ever knew her—really knew her—he would hate the person he found. Foolish as it was, though, she couldn’t stand the idea of seeing the rapt anticipation lighting his face decay into cold disappointment. And so she nodded, her stupid, hopeful heart leaping in her chest at the prospect of this man’s friendship.

“I have conditions.”

“Of course you do.”

She glared.

He smiled.

“I choose the time. It cannot interfere with the children or my work here.”

Christopher nodded. “Gabriel can button his own shirts. I am at your disposal.”

“You have to return the pear trees to the glasshouse. They need pollinators and there are no bees in my room.”

“I considered the addition of butterflies. Your counterpane is floral, they would be right at home.”

“No.”

“No?”

“And no more little gifts.”

“How negotiable is that condition?”

“It’s not.”

“Good then, a little bit negotiable.”

“Mr Keene!”

“Miss Lioni!” He cocked his head to the side, a lock of hair falling over his brow. It looked soft. “You’re beautiful when you’re annoyed. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“And none of that.”

“None of what?”

“Flirting. No flirting. Friends do not flirt. They do not call one another beautiful.”

“It isn’t flirting, it’s factual. You are beautiful when you’re annoyed, which has the effect of making me want to annoy you more. Also, Gabriel is my friend and I tell him he looks pretty all the time … although he doesn’t seem to care for it either.”

Sofia narrowed her eyes, holding her ground like a seasoned general.

He sighed, but none of his cheerfulness fell away. “Very well. No flirting. But you may have to be flexible due to the subjective nature of this ‘flirting’ you speak of. Furthermore, if I’m to make all these concessions, I would ask for one in return.”

She eyed him suspiciously.

“I would like for you to call me Christopher.”

“No. Assolutamente no.”