"I have a plan," Matt said.

He was wearing a navy T-shirt with the sleeves cut out, and it tucked into jeans that were almost white from wear. The jeans had a frayed, horizontal slash across the knee and were perfectly molded to masculine bulges and hard, muscular thighs. He smelled like pine sawdust and musk, and Lizabeth thought he was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen. If his plan was half as enticing as his perfect butt, she was in big trouble. "What's the plan?"

'You might not want to hear it. It involves sweaty, naked bodies… ours. And there's this part where you're on fire-internally, of course-and you're begging me to make hard, passionate love to you."

"That's not a plan. That's a fantasy."

Matt smiled. "Not the way I see it."

Elsie pulled into the driveway in her big blue and white Cadillac. She levered herself out of the car, took a grocery bag from the front seat, and started across the lawn. "What's going on here?" she said. "What's all the fuss about?"

Lizabeth took the bag from her. "Matt's having lights installed around the house for security purposes."

Elsie smiled broadly, creasing her face. "Good idea. It was a shame we had to miss that guy bashing his way through the azalea bushes last night."

"It's a waste of time and money," Lizabeth said. "Hell probably never come back. And besides, it's supposed to rain tonight. No one would be dumb enough to flash in the rain."

Eight hours later, Lizabeth admitted she'd been wrong about the flasher. There seemed to be no limit to his stupidity. Rain softly pattered on the windowpane and ran in narrow rivulets down the screen while Lizabeth and Elsie peered out at the bedraggled exhibitionist. His paper-bag mask sat limp and wet on his head, his tie was plastered to his chest, and his docksiders were sunk a good inch and a half in mud.

Elsie slowly shook her head. "That's pathetic."

"He seems a little compulsive about this flashing stuff," Lizabeth said. "I really didn't think he'd show."

"Yeah, you gotta give him something for hanging in there. The man's no quitter."

Lizabeth gnawed on her lower lip. "You think we should throw an umbrella out to him?"

"No," Elsie said, "I kinda like watching him drip. Let's see what he looks like with the floods on him." She reached over and flipped the switch, and the yard was bathed in an eerie wash of white light.

For the first time, the man's arms and legs and shoulders were clearly revealed. Lizabeth thought he seemed much more naked and sadly vulnerable. He took a step backward, then turned and ran around the far side of the house. "This was mean," Lizabeth said. "I think we scared him."

Elsie closed the curtains and stepped back from the window. "You know, as far as perverts go, he isn't much."

Lizabeth smeared joint compound over the last nail in the drywall and stuffed the wooden handle of her six-inch taping knife into her back pocket. Rain thrummed on the roof of the half-finished house and beat against the newly installed Thermopanes, and the cloying smell of wet wood and joint compound mingled with the pungent aroma of freshly turned earth. It was three o'clock, and the light filtering into the upstairs bedroom was weak. It would have been a dismal day, Lizabeth thought, if she hadn't been working side by side with Matt. He had a way of filling a room so that even the most barren space seemed snug and inviting.

"So what do you think about drywall?" Matt asked. "Is this intellectually stimulating, or what?"

Lizabeth smiled. Four hours of slathering white goop over nails was not intellectually stimulating, but it was just fine for her purposes. It gave her a lot of time to think about other things. Not the least of which was the flasher. Ridiculous as it seemed, she felt sorry for him. Undoubtedly, flashing was some form of aggression, just as rape was, and she had to always keep that in mind, she told herself. And this wasn't a random flashing. That made it all the more frightening. So why wasn't she afraid? Why did she feel like a crumb for turning the lights on him? And then there was Matt. Thinking about Matt had become a full-time job. She thought about him at night when she was alone in bed, and she thought about him first thing in the morning when she brushed her teeth. Lizabeth burst out laughing, because in a moment of insight she realized she was much more frightened of Matt than she was of the flasher.

Matt raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"I was thinking of the flasher," Lizabeth said. "And it occurred to me that I'm much more frightened of you than I am of him."

Matt stomped the lid down on the can of joint compound. "There's all kinds of fear," he said. "Some kinds of fear are much more fun than others."

It was true, Lizabeth thought. Matt was a ride down a white-water canyon. He could make her stomach drop with a sideways glance or a small, knowing smile. Danger had its up side, she decided. There was nothing like an occasional shot of adrenaline to spice up your life. Lizabeth, Lizabeth, Lizabeth, a small voice whispered, those are fairy thoughts. Better watch out, the voice continued; before you know it you'll be eating Swiss chocolates for breakfast and wearing silk underpants. Hah! Lizabeth answered. Fat chance, on her salary.

Matt reached out for her, but she slipped away. "So, why are you afraid of me?"

"First of all, there's sex. It makes me nervous."

"Everyone's a little nervous in the beginning." He grinned.

"No," Lizabeth said, "you don't understand. I mean really nervous. The truth is, I'm not especially good at it past a certain point." She rolled her eyes and groaned.

The grin widened. "Bet I could fix that."

Lizabeth didn't doubt it for a second. "Maybe we should continue this conversation some other time."

Matt looped an arm around her. "How about I take you home and check on the roof to make sure there are no leaks. Then I can say hello to the kids and investigate the contents of the oven to see if I want to stay for supper."

"You think you can get an invitation?"

"Elsie likes me. She growls a lot, but she's a sweet old broad."

Lizabeth giggled. "I'm going to tell her you said that."

"You wouldn't dare! Ill give you five dollars not to tell her."

They both stopped at the door and looked out at the rain. Boards had been laid, from the small cement front porch, across the quagmire that would one day be a lawn, to the curb where Matt's truck was parked. Matt walked across without thinking, as surefooted as a mountain goat, and Lizabeth tiptoed behind him, using her arms for balance, feeling like a high-wire act, wondering at what point in her life she'd lost her sense of daring and balance. When she got to the end of the board Matt was waiting for her with his hands on his hips. "Lizzy," he said, "you walk like a sissy."

"I know," Lizabeth wailed. "I'm not good at this."

"You lack confidence. You have to grab life by the throat. Be a fairy! Besides, what's the worst thing that could happen? You could fall off into the mud. It's not like it's life-threatening."

Rain was beginning to soak into the back of her shirt. "I'm getting wet!"

"Ignore it. Go back and walk on the board like a fairy."

Lizabeth swiped at the water that was dripping from her nose. "A fairy wouldn't walk. A fairy would fly."

"Fairies can't fly in the rain. It's not good for their wings."

"Get out of my way," Lizabeth said. "You don't know squat about fairies, and I don't want to walk on this dumb board anymore."

Matt flapped his arms and made chicken sounds.

Lizabeth squeezed her eyes shut. "Uh! Okay, okay. I'll do it."

"Now skip," Matt yelled when she was halfway back to the house. "Jump up and down. Let's see you run!"

Lizabeth giggled and jumped up and down. She was soaked through, and she felt ridiculous. "There," she said, "but I'm not going to run. The board is too slippery. Ill fall."