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certainly been that.
    “Goodbye, Peyton,” she said. “I’m glad you’re—” What? she asked herself. Finally, because she knew too long a hesitation would make her look insincere, she finished, “Doing well. I’m glad you’re doing well.”
    “Yeah, doing well,” he muttered. “I’m sure as hell that.”
    The comment was curious. He sounded kind of sarcastic, but why would he think otherwise? He had everything he’d striven to achieve. Before she could say another word, however, the door closed with a soft click. And then, as he had been sixteen years ago, Peyton was gone.
    And he hadn’t said goodbye.

Three
    I t wasn’t often that Ava heard a man’s voice in Talk of the Town. So when it became clear that the rich baritone coming from beyond her office door didn’t belong to anyone delivering mail or freight, her concentration was pulled from next month’s employee schedule to the sales floor instead. Particularly when she recognized the man’s voice as Peyton’s.
    No sooner did recognition dawn, however, than Lucy, one of her full-time salesclerks, poked her dark head through the office door. “There’s a man out here looking for you, Ava,” she said, adjusting her little black glasses. “A Mr. Moss? He seemed surprised when I told him you were here.” She lowered her voice as she added, “He was kind of fishing for your phone number. Which of course I would never give out.” She smiled and lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “You might want to come out and talk to him. He’s pretty yummy.”
    Ava sighed inwardly. Clearly, Peyton hadn’t lost his ability to go from zero to sixty on the charm scale in two seconds flat.
    What was he doing here? Five days had passed since their exchange in her apartment, not one of which had ended without her thinking about all the things she wished she’d said to him. She’d always promised herself—and karma—that if she ever ran into any of her former classmates from Emerson whom she had mistreated as a teenager, she would apologize and do whatever it took to make amends. It figured that when fate finally threw one of her former victims into her path, it would start with the biggie.
    So why hadn’t she tried to make amends on Saturday? Why hadn’t she apologized? Why had she instead let him think she was still the same vain, shallow, snotty girl she’d been in high school?
    Okay, here was a second chance to put things to right, she told herself. Even if she wasn’t sure how to make up for her past behavior, the least she could do was apologize.
    “Actually, Lucy, why don’t you show him into the office instead?”
    Lucy’s surprise was obvious. Ava never let anyone but employees see the working parts of the boutique. The public areas of the store were plush and opulent, furnished with gilded Louis Quatorze tables and velvet upholstered chairs, baroque chandeliers and Aubusson carpets—reproductions, of course, but all designed to promote the same air of sumptuousness the designer clothes afforded her clients. The back rooms were functional and basic. Her office was small and cluttered, the computer and printer the only things that could be called state-of-the-art. The floor was concrete, the walls were cinder block, the ceiling was foam board and nothing was pretty.
    Lucy’s head disappeared from the door, but her voice trailed behind her. “You can go back to the office. It’s right through there.”
    Ava swiped a hand over the form-fitting jaguar-print dress she had donned that morning—something new from Yves Saint Laurent she’d wanted to test for comfort and wearability. She had just tucked a stray strand of auburn back into her French twist when Peyton appeared in the doorway, dwarfing the already tiny space.
    He looked even better than he had the last time she saw him. His hair was deliciously wind tossed, and his whiskey-colored eyes were clearer. He’d substituted the rumpled suit of Saturday morning with faded jeans and a