“You’re a heartbreaker, Katherine Deveraux.” “That has nothing to do with me and everything to do with them,” I say, blowing on my coffee before sipping it. There is chicory in the brew, and I drink it appreciatively while we walk. “I have already had to tell more than one of them that I am not interested in courtship, thinking about courtship, hearing about courtship, or talking about the possibility of courtship. What is it with men thinking every woman they meet must be half in love with them?” “You can’t blame them, Katherine. You’re the prettiest face in three states, and it’s only
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