“You know very well what I’m talking about.”

“Don’t tell me that you regard what we did in bed on Sunday morning as a labor negotiation.”

“Stop being obstinate. Working at the bookstore will make you vulnerable to whoever walks in the door. You’ll have no way of protecting yourself against whatever nastiness your old enemies decide to unleash on you. Jewel should have more sense.”

“Quit it, Daddy, you’re scaring me.”

“Mock all you like. As long as you’re working at Frenchman’s Bride, you’re protected. At the bookstore, you’ll be a sitting target.”

“I’ve known some unreasonable men in my time, but you just shot to the head of the cafeteria line. You want to get rid of me, remember?”

Predictably, he ignored her. “Why didn’t you discuss this with me?”

“No time. She didn’t offer me the job until yesterday morning.”

The slow, ominous monotone that rumbled over the phone line told her she’d made a strategic mistake. “You’ve known this since yesterday, and you’re just getting around to mentioning it?”

“I had some distractions. Thanks, by the way, for being so nice in the attic. I should have thanked you yesterday, but you might have noticed I have a problem expressing gratitude.”

“You have no problem at all expressing gratitude. And I’d very much appreciate it if you’d stop trying to control every conversation that makes you in the slightest bit uncomfortable by throwing out your imaginary character flaws.”

He was a dangerous man, and she quickly changed the subject. “Don’t you think it’s about time you did that happy dance?”

“One of us has to look out for your best interests. Call Jewel immediately and tell her you’ve reconsidered.”

“No.”

“We have an agreement. I don’t plan to let you back out.”

“Hold it right there. The only agreement we ever had was that you intended to make me as miserable as possible, and I intended to courageously make the best of an intolerable situation like valiant Southern women have always done.”

“We’ll talk about this over dinner,” he snapped, clearly reaching the end of a very short rope.

“As to that-”

He broke the connection before she could say more.

Colin was in a foul mood that night as he got dressed to take Sugar Beth to dinner. In her typically reckless fashion, she’d only made her life more difficult. By accepting the job at the bookstore, she’d be at the mercy of everybody who still held a grudge against her. He slipped his watch on. Her yowling admirers had shown up again last night. He’d been reading in the second-floor study, so he hadn’t heard them right away, and by the time he’d gotten downstairs, they’d driven off, robbing him of the satisfaction of driving them off himself.

He gazed around at his bedroom. She’d made sure he had clean laundry, fresh sheets, and a supply of his favorite toiletries. He’d started to get used to having someone looking out for his comfort, even though he was perfectly capable of doing it himself. Still, the smaller touches tended to escape him, like the polished red apple resting on a white cloth napkin next to his bed. One apple. Maddening woman. He frowned and shot his cuffs.

As he made his way to the carriage house, he chastised himself for not specifically telling her she’d been rehired, but he doubted it would have made a difference. Sugar Beth liked to muck about with things. She’d been on his mind all day-the way she’d looked when they’d made love, her sharp edges smoothed out, those silvery eyes slumberous and utterly beguiling. Afterward, she’d snuggled in his arms and entertained him with her sass. The thing of it was, he’d never been a lighthearted person, but when he was with her, he at least felt the possibility of lightheartedness. Too late, he wished he’d thought to bring her flowers, something intrinsically Southern, full of spice. Something beautiful, complex, and as elusive as she was.

He approached the carriage house porch. Just the thought of seeing her again lifted the dark mood he’d been carrying around all day. And then he spotted the note taped to the door.

More cramps.

Sugar Beth nibbled on a sweet potato french fry and gazed through the Lakehouse windows. Beyond the docks, the water lay dark and mysterious, waiting for the Jet Skis and swimmers to return. In high school, they’d hung out at Allister’s Point, where they’d drunk illegal beer, told dirty jokes, and made out. She wondered if Colin had ever made out on a beach blanket that smelled like beer and suntan lotion. She couldn’t imagine it.

She pushed aside the uneaten half of her barbecue, a Lakehouse specialty, along with tamales, corn bread, and fried dill pickles. The weeknight crowd was sparse, but she’d still opted for the far corner table in the dining room, and even then she’d had to fight off Jeffie Stevens.

She’d been drawn to the Lakehouse tonight by nostalgia, along with a taste for the barbecue she’d grown up on. The rustic riverboat decor still looked much as she remembered: brass light fixtures with green glass shades, plank walls, gingerbread trim, wooden captain’s chairs with vinyl cushions to protect against the wet swimsuits that were prohibited in the dining area-a rule that was conveniently forgotten from May into October, when the Lakehouse did most of its business. In the old days, green velour valances had topped the big windows that looked out over the water. Now the valances were red with gold ball fringe, and the wooden floor held a fresh coat of steel gray paint. A jukebox sat in the corner next to a tiny dance floor conveniently located by the doorway that led to the bar.

She reached for her Coke, then nearly knocked it over as Ryan stepped up to that very same bar. Just her luck. She’d come here to avoid being seen in public with Colin, and now she’d run into Ryan. Maybe he wouldn’t spot her. But a long mirror ran along the wall in front of him, and as the bartender passed over his beer, Ryan’s head came up.

She turned to gaze out the window, pretending not to notice him, but he was coming right toward her. He wore a gray suit, white shirt, and a tie loosened at the neck. Every eye in the dining room swung in their direction. She gazed down at her plate, spoke through tight lips. “You know better than this. Go away.”

He kicked out the chair across from her and sank into it, beer bottle in hand. “I don’t feel like it.”

The teenage boy she remembered would never have taken a seat without being invited, but that boy had been a lot more polite than this hard-eyed captain of industry. She wanted her dog.

“I mean it, Ryan. Everybody’s going to say I lured you out here, and frankly, I’m getting a little tired of being held responsible for the fall of all mankind.”

His hair wasn’t deliberately rumpled like Colin’s. Instead, it looked as though he’d shoved his hand through it a few too many times, and the lines in his face seemed deeper-etched than they’d been four nights ago. His suit coat fell open as he stretched his legs and gestured toward her plate with his bottle. “Are you going to eat the rest of that sandwich?”

“Yes.”

But he’d already pulled her plate toward him. As he picked up her untouched half, the past rushed at her so fast she felt dizzy. How many meals had he finished for her when they were in high school? She’d been a picky eater, more interested in fun and flirting than food, and he’d had a teenage boy’s gargantuan appetite. Suddenly, she wanted it all back: the opportunities she’d squandered, the self-confidence she lost, the blissful arrogance that had made her believe nothing could ever harm her. She wanted her mother. The Seawillows. Most of all, she wanted the life she’d have lived if she’d stayed with her first lover, even though she hadn’t loved him for a very long time.

The boy most likely to succeed polished off her sandwich and took a swig of beer. “Did you think about Parrish after you left?”

“I tried my best not to.”

“Remember how we were going to leave here? Go to the big city and make our mark?”

“You were going to make your mark. I was mainly going to shop.”

Colin would have enjoyed that, but Ryan barely seemed to hear her. Even as kids, they hadn’t shared the same sense of humor. His had always been more literal. Like Winnie’s. He peeled up the edge of the beer label with his thumb. “Did you ever think about me?”

Weariness from a long day caught up with her, and she sighed. “Go home, Ryan. Better yet, I’ll go.”

She tossed down her napkin and started to rise, but his hand shot across the table and grabbed her wrist. “Did you?” he said fiercely.

She was in no mood for this, and as she fell back in her chair, she jerked her hand away. “I thought about you all the time,” she retorted. “When Darren Tharp slapped me across the room, I thought of you. When he screwed around on me, I thought of you. And the night I staggered into a Vegas wedding chapel with Cy, both of us so drunk we could barely say our vows, I thought of you then, too. One morning- And this happened after my divorce, mind you, because, unlike my loser husbands, I didn’t screw around. One morning I woke up in a seedy motel with a man I could have sworn I’d never seen before, and, baby, you’d better believe I thought of you then.”

A mixture of emotions played across his face: shock, pity, and the faintest trace of satisfaction that came from knowing she’d been punished for what she’d done to him. His all-too-human reaction quenched her anger, and she gave him a rueful smile. “Before you get too smug, I’d better tell you that I stopped thinking about you the day I met Emmett Hooper. I loved that man from the bottom of my heart.”

Ryan’s satisfaction faded, and she knew what was coming next. She held out her hand to put a stop it. “Don’t bother jumpin’ on the pity train for me. Emmett and I had more happiness in our short marriage than most couples have in a lifetime. I was very lucky.”

He surprised her by going all starchy. “Winnie and I’ve been very happy.”

“I wasn’t making comparisons.”

“All couples hit rough patches now and then.”

She and Emmett hadn’t. He’d died too soon.

“Anything I can get you, Mr. Galantine?” The waitress’s eyes were bright with curiosity as she sidled up to the table. “Anything else, miss?”

“I’ll have another beer,” Ryan said, “and bring her some of that chocolate pie.”

“Just my check,” Sugar Beth said.

“Make it two pies,” he said.

“Sure enough.”

“I don’t want pie,” Sugar Beth told him, as the waitress left. “I want to go home. And since you’re such a saint, apparently it hasn’t occurred to you that Winnie’s going to hear all about our little tête-à-tête here, and I’m guessing she won’t take it well, so this might not be the best way to patch up your differences.”

“I have nothing to feel guilty about.”

He’d answered too carefully, and Sugar Beth studied him. “You want Winnie to hear about this.”

“Hand me those fries if you’re not going to finish them.”

“I don’t appreciate being used.”

“You owe me.”

“Not after Sunday.”

He studied the ring his bottle left on the table. “You’re talking about Gigi.”

“Still as sharp as ever.”

“I’m not apologizing for being upset.”

“Then you’re an idiot. You and Winnie managed to turn me into forbidden fruit, and you can bet that Gigi’s already figured out a way to see me again.”

Instead of an angry rejoinder, he traced the water ring with his finger. “You’re probably right.”

The waitress returned with the beer, two pieces of pie, and Sugar Beth’s check. As she left, Sugar Beth stirred the last bits of ice in her Coke with her straw. “She’s a great kid, Ryan. Right now, she’s asking the questions that most of us don’t get around to until we’re older.”

“She hasn’t asked me anything.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“We have a great relationship,” he said defensively. “We’ve always talked.”

“Before she turned into a teenager.”

“That shouldn’t make any difference.”

“You sound like you’re ninety. You remember what it was like. I’m not her parent, and I’m also notorious, which makes me an irresistible confidante.”

“What kind of questions is she asking?”

“Privileged information. You’ll have to trust me.”

He gazed at her for a long moment. She waited for him to say she was the last person he’d trust, but he didn’t. “Colin’s right. You have changed.”

She shrugged. He fiddled with his beer bottle again. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we’d stayed together?”

“We wouldn’t have. My self-destructive streak was a mile wide. If I hadn’t left you for Darren Tharp, I’d have left you for somebody else.”