Focus, Colleen. “Um...I...” Colleen couldn’t seem to get her mouth to work.

What could she say, after all?

“This is—you know what?” Paulie said. “This is not my problem. Bryce, sorry about your dad. Lucas, see you around.” With that, she left.

Colleen swallowed. “Um...”

Lucas was glaring at Bryce, who gave her a panicky glance, then looked back at his cousin. “Lucas, bud, uh, remember the time I saved you?”

Then Lucas looked at her, and man, Colleen wished he hadn’t, because those black eyes were burning into her, and so not in a good way. “Let’s talk about this in private,” she whispered.

“No need,” he said. He stood there a horribly long second, then turned and he walked out, dragging her heart behind him.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Bryce said.

She turned to him. “Bryce...”

“Shit, Coll, I’m sorry. I mean, I just...my dad and stuff, I guess I was feeling sentimental.”

“It was one time, and we both agreed never to mention it again! And come on! It wasn’t exactly meaningful.”

“Ouch,” he said.

She realized they were at his dad’s wake, after all, and put her hand on his arm. “Sorry.”

Bryce gave a half smile. “No, no, you’re right. It wasn’t. I really am sorry.”

She took a deep breath, which did nothing to slow her heart rate. “Well, it’s done. I should go. Hang in there, Bryce. I’ll see you at the funeral.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Sorry again, Coll.”

And she knew he was. Bryce was a gentle idiot.

But not as much of an idiot as she was.

* * *

SIX YEARS AGO, for no good reason, Colleen typed Lucas Campbell, Chicago into Google.

She couldn’t help it. Every once in a while, she did it. He didn’t have a Facebook page, or Twitter, like a normal person. But he was married to the daughter of one of Chicago’s most prominent citizens, and there was mention of him once in a while.

She’d seen their wedding write-up in the Chicago newspaper online. The bride was attended by her closest friend from Miss Porter’s School, the article said, as well as the groom’s sister and eldest niece. His twin nieces served as flower girls. The groom’s best man was his cousin, Bryce Campbell. The reception was held at The Drake, where guests were treated to music by the Moonlight Jazz Orchestra. The renowned Sylvia Weinstock designed the cake. The bride’s dress was custom-made by Isaac Mizrahi, a family friend. The couple had met in college. Lucas Campbell was a proud son of the South Side and worked for Forbes Properties in construction—so much for law school, Colleen had thought, and why bother when you could marry into one of Chicago’s wealthiest families?

But it didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem like him.

Then again, she didn’t really know him as well as she’d thought.

After that, she vowed not to look ever again. Bryce was living out of town at the time, and Joe was kind enough not to mention Lucas when he came into the bar. If she didn’t want to hear about Lucas, she didn’t have to.

Her iron resolve lasted about eight months, until her birthday when she drank an entire bottle of Blue Heron Chardonnay by herself, and looked up baby announcements on Google.

Nothing.

She looked again every few months after that, because for some masochistic reason, she wanted to know if Lucas had become a father. She didn’t want to be slammed with that news when she was working at the bar, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to hide how she felt.

But there were no baby announcements. Not for two years, and Colleen finally stopped looking.

But she couldn’t help thinking about him. She and Faith discussed many times the unfair power of first love. After every guy who turned out to be less than Lucas, after every wine and roses festival that marked another year of not being with Lucas, Colleen missed him so much it felt as if her soul ached.

And then late one snowy night when she was practically alone in the bar, without any good reason, she looked him up on Google again, and boom. The Chicago Sun-Times came through.

He was laughing in the photo, and so was his wife. They looked gorgeous, her blond hair, his black. Ellen wore a yellow gown with chunky diamond studs in her ears, and Lucas, damn him to hell, looked like a high-class pirate in his tux, just slightly dangerous and utterly, horribly beautiful.

Lucas Campbell and Ellen Forbes-Campbell enjoy comments from the master of ceremonies at the annual Lurie Children’s Hospital gala, the caption read.

Colleen couldn’t look away, even though the picture made it feel like a branch was being rammed through her chest.

She still loved him.

What an idiot she was. She still loved a man who was having a marvelous time with his wife, far, far away.

She closed the site, deleted the browser history so Connor wouldn’t know how pathetic she was, and went back into the bar, and there sat Bryce Campbell. For a second, he looked so damn much like Lucas that she shuddered with missing the boy who’d once treasured her.

“Hey, Bryce. What can I get you?”

She pulled him a beer, and they chatted. Bryce was sweet. Easy. Uncomplicated. And there on a night when no one else was around, when Bryce had nowhere better to be and neither did she, it was nice to have a friend.

He walked her home, as the snow was heavy, and it was courtly of him. As he stood in front of her house, looking up at the sky, he asked, “You ever wish you left this town, Colleen?”

“Not really,” she said after a beat. “But yeah. Once in a while.”

“I never really thought I’d end up here. At my parents’ house. I always figured I’d be...I don’t know. Cooler. Smarter.”

She wasn’t sure what he was asking, but he looked so sad. She reached up and brushed some snow from his hair. “I think you’re fine the way you are, Bryce,” she said.

Then he kissed her.

Oh, sure, she knew it was insanely stupid. But then, on that quiet, lonely night, when if you looked at him a certain way, you might mistake Bryce for Lucas...when she had seen proof that Lucas was happy without her—well, shit.

Two lonely people. A snowstorm. A few beers. The combination doesn’t usually lead to the smartest decisions in the world, and sure enough, forty-two minutes later, Colleen hated herself.

And, to his credit, Bryce kind of hated himself, too.

“This was probably a mistake,” he said, pulling his clothes back on.

“Yeah. No offense. But yes.”

“You’re really nice, Coll.”

“You, too.”

“Just...” His voice trailed off.

“I know.” She wanted a shower, her skin was crawling so bad. Not because Bryce was disgusting...because it was so wrong. “Bryce, if we could just forget about this, I think that’d be best.”

“Okay. Yeah. Definitely.”

“Don’t tell Lucas,” she whispered.

“Jesus, no. Listen. It’s already forgotten, okay? I’ll see you around.”

“Okay. Thanks, Bryce.”

And that was it. Meaningless, mediocre, mistake. Bryce was no Lucas. Not even close. Worse than being a vengeful act on her part, it was pathetic. Colleen O’Rourke, who was supposedly so smart about relationships, and so good with men, had been reduced to abject loneliness and shagged a guy who reminded her of her first love.

As for Bryce, well, he was all foam and no beer. He was an “Oh, look, shiny!” type of guy, and she’d been shiny.

So Colleen spent a miserable month or two. Bryce still came into the bar, and bless his heart, he really did seem to forget about it. There were no lingering looks, no simmering chemistry (please), and no signs of resentment whatsoever.

Eventually, Colleen shook it off. It was a lapse in judgment, that old familiar phrase, and not one she was going to make again. Time to get over Lucas Campbell. She’d find someone else, eventually. No harm, no foul, and no one had to know about it.

Until today.

First stop was the Petrosinsky home. Paulie’s father answered the door.

“What did you do now?” he barked. “She’s power-eating a bucket of Double Deep-Fried Buttermilk Bossy.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Petrosinsky.”

“Come in,” he said wearily. “Go talk to her.” He held open the door, and Colleen sidled past the statue of a rooster dressed like a butler and went up to Paulie’s room. The door was open, and there was her friend, bucket in hand, eating, crying and watching Terminator 2 on her enormous TV.

“Paulie?” she said.

Paulie wadded up another tissue and tossed it toward the trash, where it joined its many brothers. “Come on in,” she muttered.

Colleen tiptoed closer and sat on the edge of the massive bed. “I’m so sorry I never said anything,” she whispered.

Paulie gave her a watery glare, then glanced back at the TV. “Want some chicken?”

There was probably no better person on earth than Paulie Petrosinsky, and Colleen’s eyes filled with tears.

“Thanks.” The chicken was horrifyingly good. She chewed and swallowed, watching Arnold’s motorcycle outrun the 18-wheeler.

“I’m sorry I made a scene,” Paulie said. “It’s just...embarrassing. Like I could be with Bryce when he could get someone like you. I was shocked.”

“Paulie, you’re ten times better than I am.”

“Yeah, right. Look in the mirror, Colleen.”

“Looks are meaningless.”

Paulie snorted. “Right. If I looked like you, Bryce would be climbing me like a tree.”

“My looks have gotten me nowhere,” Colleen said. “I’m pretty, so what? I’m single, and I’ve had one meaningful relationship in my life, and everyone thinks I’m the town slut and I let them. In fact, I like them thinking that. It’s better than knowing I’m kind of a wreck. Whereas everyone takes one look at you and they know how decent you are.”

“Decent. A very decent virgin, so cry me a river,” Paulie said, taking another piece of chicken. “Have some more. This batter is made with crushed Frosted Flakes.”

“No wonder it’s so good,” Colleen said, taking another massive breast. “Paulie, I didn’t say anything about Bryce because it was a mistake. A one-time mistake.”

“Was it because you were mad at Lucas? Because it seems like a really shitty thing to do.”

Colleen swallowed. “No. It was because I was lonely. I loved him, and he was married, and I was still stuck.” She paused. “And really, really lonely.”

“I know that feeling.”

“Paulie, I’m so sorry it hurt you.”

The other woman sighed and flopped back on the bed. On-screen, the cool, newer terminator stuck his arm into a nurse, killing her. “Okay. I accept your apology, Coll. I mean, it sucks, picturing you beautiful people bumping uglies, but I appreciate you trying to get me with Bryce. I really do.”

“He misses you.”

“Whatever.”

“I mean, don’t give up hope.”

“I already have. Hope sucks.” Paulie sighed again. “Think Lucas will forgive you?”

“I can’t really picture that right now.” She lay on the bed, too. Paulie took her hand and squeezed it, then handed her the box of tissues.

She didn’t deserve a friend like Paulie. But man, she sure would like to.

“Paulie?” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“I’m so sorry about sixth grade. I wish I’d done better by you.”

Paulie was quiet for a long minute. “Well, no one else had the guts. I mean, yeah, I hated you for a while. But I watched you. You’ve always been really nice.”