He was staring at me incredulously. But his face was tense, defensive.

"You think I lifted a van off you?" His tone questioned my sanity, but it
only made me more suspicious. It was like a perfectly delivered line by a
skilled actor.

I merely nodded once, jaw tight.

"Nobody will believe that, you know." His voice held an edge of derision
now.

"I'm not going to tell anybody." I said each word slowly, carefully
controlling my anger.

Surprise flitted across his face. "Then why does it matter?"

"It matters to me," I insisted. "I don't like to lie — so there'd better
be a good reason why I'm doing it."

"Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

"Thank you." I waited, fuming and expectant.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"No."

"In that case… I hope you enjoy disappointment."

We scowled at each other in silence. I was the first to speak, trying to
keep myself focused. I was in danger of being distracted by his livid,
glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel.

"Why did you even bother?" I asked frigidly.

He paused, and for a brief moment his stunning face was unexpectedly
vulnerable.

"I don't know," he whispered.

And then he turned his back on me and walked away.