“No, keep reading. I want to hear more.” Leeann popped another bubble.

Sugar Beth’s eyes flicked over Winnie, then returned to the notebook page. “Should I go back to the naked nipples or the tiny panties?”

Ryan laughed and draped a proprietary arm around Sugar Beth’s shoulders. “Hey, this sounds good.”

Sugar Beth looked down at Winnie, her voice syrupy with bad intention. “Or maybe I should start where she calls out her lover’s name?”

Winnie was going to throw up.

“Yes, why don’t I start there. ‘Oh, my darling . . . ‘ “

“That’s quite enough, Sugar Beth.” They all whirled around at the sound of a clipped British accent. Winnie struggled to her feet and watched as Mr. Byrne, her favorite teacher, walked toward the bleachers. He was wearing a gray-and-white-striped vest today over his old black turtleneck, and he had his long hair tied back in a low ponytail.

Even though he was the youngest teacher in the school, almost everybody was afraid of him because he could be so sarcastic. But the kids respected him, too. He didn’t show movies in class, and he expected everybody to work hard. Winnie adored him. He was never sarcastic with her, and he even gave her some of his own books to read because he said she needed to broaden her horizons.

Sugar Beth didn’t look worried or nervous like the other kids would have. Instead, she stared him right in the eye. “Hey, Mr. Byrne. We’re just goofin’ off. Isn’t that right, Winnie?”

Winnie couldn’t make her lips move. She couldn’t do anything.

“Both of you come with me.”

“I have a meeting right now, Mr. Byrne,” Sugar Beth said, all sweet and polite. “Homecoming court. Are you going to be in your room in about an hour?” She sounded exactly like Diddie, who was famous for scheduling the school board meetings around her favorite TV shows.

None of the other teachers ever stood up to Sugar Beth because they didn’t want to get on Diddie’s bad side, but Mr. Byrne still hadn’t figured out how important Diddie was. “I don’t really care what you have planned.”

Sugar Beth shrugged and passed the notebook to Ryan.

“I’ll take that,” Mr. Byrne said.

Winnie’s heart stuck in her throat as Ryan handed it back. First Winnie had been humiliated in front of her classmates, and now even Mr. Byrne would know what a pervert she was. As for Ryan . . . She could never look at him again.

Sugar Beth skipped down the bleachers with the notebook. Winnie couldn’t swallow as she watched it pass from her hand to his.

The buff-colored walls closed in on her as they made their way from the gym to Mr. Byrne’s classroom. Sugar Beth chattered away, not seeming to care that he wasn’t answering back. Winnie trailed behind, her feet dragging.

When they reached the door of his classroom, Mr. Byrne stopped. Winnie stared down at the ugly brown tile floor. He was wearing the old black loafers he always kept polished.

“I believe this is yours, Winnie.”

She looked up at him through her misery and saw the familiar haughtiness in his eyes, along with a kindness no one except her ever seemed to notice. He held out her notebook.

She couldn’t believe he was returning it, and her hand shook as she took it. “T-thank you.”

Sugar Beth gave a light little laugh. “Mr. Byrne, you should read what Winnie wrote first. Everybody knows how smart she is, but I’ll bet you didn’t know that she’s so creative.”

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Winnie,” he said without looking at Sugar Beth. “And I’ll expect you to have something scintillating to offer about that dreary Hester Prynne.”

She gave a jerky nod and pulled the notebook to her chest. Just before she turned away, she caught a glimpse of Sugar Beth’s face. Her eyes glittered with the old familiar hatred. Winnie knew exactly why it was there. Why it would never go away. Even though Sugar Beth had everything Winnie didn’t—beauty, popularity, self-confidence, and Ryan Galantine—Winnie had the one thing Sugar Beth most desperately wanted.

Their father loved her the best.

Winnie tossed the last of the broken wine goblet in the trash. Her mind skittered toward the other memory from that year, the one that was infinitely more painful than having her sexual fantasies exposed, but even after all this time, she couldn’t think about it. Instead, she gazed at Ryan, all grown up now. He’d turned the cuffs on his light blue dress shirt. She loved his wrists, the way his bones were formed, the strength in them.

She’d been his rebound girlfriend, there to console him the summer after Sugar Beth had dumped him and married Darren Tharp. Although Winnie might not have transformed herself into a swan while he was away at school, she was no longer an ugly duckling, either, and he’d noticed.

Sex had been her plan, not his, and he’d almost seemed puzzled when he found himself in bed with her one afternoon while his parents were at work. When she’d realized she was pregnant, she’d been terrified to tell him, but he’d put on his game face and married her. He’d even said he loved her, and she’d pretended to believe him. But she’d known then, just as she knew now, that his love for her was only a pale imitation of what he’d felt for Sugar Beth. To this day, he’d never once looked at Winnie the same way.

She pulled two pottery coffee mugs from the cupboard and set them on the counter. “Do you remember . . . when Sugar Beth found my notebook in the gym and tried to read it to everybody?”

Ryan stuck his head in the refrigerator. “Is there any more half-and-half?”

“Behind the orange juice. I’d . . . written a sexual fantasy about the two of us.”

“Yeah?” He straightened, the carton of half-and-half in his hand, and smiled at her. “What kind of sexual fantasy?”

“Didn’t she tell you about it?”

“Hell, I don’t know.” His smile vanished. “That was years ago. You’re way too hung up on what happened in high school.” He closed the refrigerator door just hard enough to rattle the eighteenth-century tea box sitting on top. “I don’t understand why it still bothers you so much. You ended up with everything. Frenchman’s Bride, a few million in your trust. Even the plant’s going to be yours someday. Why would you waste your time thinkin’ about what happened in high school?”

“I don’t.”

It was a lie. Her entire adult life had been shaped by those difficult years: her intellect, her painstaking attention to her appearance, even her social conscience.

The coffeemaker gave its final burp, and Ryan pulled out the carafe. As he filled the mugs, she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. “Sugar Beth came into the store today.”

Only a wife would have noticed the tiny pulse that jumped at the corner of his jaw. He filled the mugs, then replaced the carafe and rested his hips against the edge of the counter. “What did she want?”

“Just looking around, I guess. I don’t think she knew it was my shop.”

He liked half-and-half in his coffee, but he took a sip without opening the carton. “Parrish is a small town. You were bound to run into her sooner or later.”

Winnie began rinsing the dinner plates. “Her sweater was cheap. She looked tired.” She might as well have hung out a sign advertising her own insecurities. “But she’s still beautiful. As thin as ever.”

He shrugged as if he’d lost interest, but he was still drinking his coffee black. She wanted to change the subject, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Maybe he felt the same way because he set down his mug and let his eyes drift over her. “So tell me about that sexual fantasy.”

She turned off the faucet and forced a smile. “I was only sixteen, so it was pretty tame. But I could be persuaded to make up something better after Gigi’s asleep.”

He crossed his arms, and the corner of his beautiful mouth curled. “Yeah?”

She loved his smile, but she was tired, jangled, and what she really wanted to do was take a warm bath, then curl up with a book. Instead, she closed the distance between them and slipped her hand between his legs. “Definitely.”