“I don’t know,” he finally answered.

“Now that is a refreshing bit of candor on your part. Since we’re being so honest now, tell me, why are you being so pissy about Zach?”

Wesley’s eyes widened. Nora bit her bottom lip as she waited for his answer.

“You like him.”

“I do like him.” She took another deep drink of the wine and set the glass down again. “But we’ve just met and we’re not fucking. Not even I work that fast.”

At that Wesley gave a grim chuckle and looked up at the ceiling.

“I couldn’t care less if you were fucking him.”

“My God, did you just say ‘fuck’? You’re a good, clean Methodist. You don’t swear.”

“You have no idea what I do.”

“I do know what you do. I know you sleep with your bedroom door unlocked,” Nora retorted. “Expecting company?”

“I know you stand in my door at night and watch me sleep. Expecting an invitation?”

Now it was Nora’s eyes that widened. But she recovered herself quickly.

“You’re pretty good at this game,” she said, nodding her approval. “For a beginner.”

“I told you. I’m not gonna play with you.”

“Too bad. I think you’d like the prize.” Nora went for the next button on his jeans, but Wesley grabbed her by the wrist to stop her.

“Harder,” she instructed. Wesley let her go as if her skin had burned him.

“I thought so. Go,” she said, dropping her hands to her sides. Wesley took a step back, his palm pressed into his stomach. “Go do your homework, kid.”

She picked up her nearly forgotten wineglass and lifted it to her lips. But before she could drink, Wesley took the glass from her.

He held the glass in his subtly shaking hand before raising it and drinking. Finished, he lowered the glass and set it next to her on the table. He left the kitchen without another word.

Nora picked up the glass and stared inside.

He’d drained it to the dregs.

Nora set the glass back down and turned to follow Wesley. She hated when they fought even though it was almost always her fault.

Wesley would be fine, she told herself. He needed a little toughening up anyway. She’d never forget the first day she saw him. She walked into his classroom at Yorke, and the first thing she’d noticed was a pair of big brown eyes looking at her like he’d never seen anything like her before. And the minute he opened his mouth and those soft Southern syllables came out, she knew this kid was going to be no end of trouble. She’d made all her students talk about their favorite story. Wesley had said his favorite was O. Henry’s The Gift of the Magi—the story of the wife who sold her hair to buy her husband a watch chain and the husband who sold his watch to buy his wife combs for her hair. Nora had called it a horror story. Wesley had objected and called it a love story. The debate had continued even after the class ended. Two people who give up their most precious possessions for love and end up with nothing—that’s a love story? she’d demanded. Wesley had argued that they still had each other. She’d laughed and told him he might see things a little differently when he was her age.