That detail alone told me how long he had been preparing to be this man; the charm had always had a contingency plan folded up behind it.

When he saw me come out onto the porch, he raised the manila folder and shook it at me.

“The game is over, Isabel,” he said, coming up the walk.

“Get out of my way.” I stood where I was, between him and my door, my hands loose and open and visible.

“My mother does not want to speak with you, Gavin,” I said.

My calm seemed to enrage him more than shouting would have.