“LIZZY, I CAME to say goodbye,” Cousin Willie said. “It’s been great to reconnect with you.”

Liz was at her desk, writing an email to Kathy de Bourgh’s publicist, who had ignored Liz’s entreaties since her failure to call during Kathy de Bourgh’s ten-minute window of availability several days before. “You, too,” Liz said to her cousin. Miraculously, Mary had agreed to drive Aunt Margo and Willie to the airport, and their imminent departure made Liz generous toward her cousin.

Willie stopped just a few feet from Liz’s chair; his countenance was serious, and he seemed agitated.

“Is something wrong?” Liz asked.

Instead of speaking, he swiftly bent down and pressed his lips to hers. The surprise of the kiss was exacerbated when it became evident that he did not mean for it to be brief; he proceeded to open his mouth, and with the intrusion of his tongue, Liz pulled back her head in horror.

“Oh, Willie—” She was shocked but not entirely; she was appalled but also amused; she felt, already, cruel and distant, as if this were a moment she was comically describing to Jane or Jasper rather than currently experiencing. Still, she needed to focus in order to extricate herself with dignity or grace.

“I realize I’m not a prince in a fairy tale,” Willie said. “But we get along. We’re known quantities to each other. And you’re almost forty.”

“Jane is almost forty. I’m thirty-eight. But, Willie, my God, we’re cousins.”

“Not by blood. It isn’t like our kids would face a stigma.” These hypothetical children that she didn’t want with any man, least of all Willie—she resented him for conjuring them up. “Look,” Willie said. “You and I are practical people. I’ve never been able to see the point of roses and chocolates, and I’m guessing you haven’t, either. But I’ll be faithful to you. I’ll respect your work, and I know you’ll respect mine—I don’t want a woman who gives me a hard time about my long hours. I think we owe it to ourselves to give a relationship a try.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Liz said, “did you come to Cincinnati with the idea of hitting on me?”

“You and I have always been compatible. Margo and your mom both think we make a great couple.” Willie set his hand on her shoulder; immediately, she lifted it away, stood, and folded her arms.

“We’re not a couple,” she said. “And if you’re under the impression that I want us to be one, you’re mistaken.” Softening her tone, she added, “When you meet some awesome woman in a year or two, you’ll be so glad you didn’t end up with me.”

“How can you be certain I’ll meet someone when you haven’t?”

Ignoring the question’s sting, Liz said, “There’s a lot you don’t know about my life.”

Willie sighed; he seemed irritated rather than wounded. “Does the cousin thing bother you that much? Growing up, we hardly spent time together.”

“Yes, it does bother me.”

“I’m open to giving you a few days to think it over,” Willie said. “I’ll call you later this week, after I’m back in California.”

“No, Willie. And I can tell you now that it’s a waste of time to try this with any of my sisters.”

Willie set his hands on his hips. “Do you know how much I’m worth?”

“You need to go.” She would not give him a farewell hug; his obstinacy had become offensive.

He looked at her curiously. Perhaps, Liz thought, he was for the first time realizing that she had an identity, an agency, other than those he’d invented for her. At last, he said, “It’s funny you think there’s such a big difference between being thirty-eight and being forty.”