I’m okay with being cute, honest. I shouldn’t complain. I recognize the fact that there’s a certain irony in it. On a good day, I can aspire to pretty.

Jen’s pretty on an ordinary day, and on a good day, she can aspire to gorgeous. She’s got that perfect Mediterranean coloring, with dark hair and olive skin, and she’s one of those girls who always look sort of glossy. When we were both teenagers, my mom said she looked like Phoebe Cates in Fast Times at Ridgemont High. I’d never heard of the movie, which shocked Mom, so she rented it from the library and we watched it together. We watched a lot of TV and videos together, Mom and I. Turns out it was a pretty good movie, and she was right.

Anyway.

Jen was having a good day, in part because the light was hitting her just so, and in part because she was flirting with a guy who obviously found her attractive, mirroring it right back at him. A guy I knew.

Oh, crap.

In a small town, practically everyone knows one another. When you combine the entire population of Pemkowet, East Pemkowet, and the outlying township, it’s only about three thousand people. Between the tourists, the cottagers, and the boat owners, that triples during the summer, but they don’t count in the same way people you went to high school with do.

I not only went to high school with Cody Fairfax, I worked with him at the Pemkowet Police Department, where he was the youngest patrol officer on the force and I was a part-time file clerk. Or at least that was what I’d started out as. I did a lot more behind the scenes, but that was mostly between me and the chief.

Unfortunately for me, I had a whopper of an unrequited crush on Cody Fairfax, who was currently lounging on a blanket at my best friend’s feet, propped on his elbows, legs crossed at the ankles. Unfortunately for him, I also knew exactly what kind of closet case he was. When it came to women, he had a reputation for being a player that he’d earned fair and square, but there was a reason behind it, and it wasn’t fear of commitment.

Cody was afraid of being found out.

Envy and anger, two of the Seven Deadlies. I could feel them coiling deliciously in my gut, wanting to rise and consume me. I had to be careful with that sort of thing, especially anger. When I lost control of my temper, things . . . happened. With an effort, I made myself envision the emotions as a glass filled with roiling liquid, and imagined myself emptying it slowly on the ground.

Bit by bit, my mood eased.

While the band tuned their instruments, I picked my way through the throng, unpacked my folding chair, and plunked it beside Jen’s.