“We are not,” Claire said, distracted. “What do you think of Fred staying with Evanelle?”

“I think it’s sad that he and James are having problems.” Sydney shrugged. “But Evanelle seems to like having him there.”

“Hmm.”

A few minutes and another walk-by from the sheriff later, Sydney nudged Claire. “In case you haven’t noticed, Tyler keeps looking at you.”

Claire snuck a glance, then groaned. “Damn. You had to go and make eye contact. Now he’s coming over.”

“Oh, heaven forbid.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the only one who’s being stared down. You’ve got one too.” Claire indicated a canopy across the green with HOPKINS DAIRY written on it. There was a handsome man there, blond and lean and tan, scooping ice cream out of electric ice-cream makers to put on paper cones. He was solid, as if made to withstand wind. He kept looking over to the Waverley table.

“Does he think we need some ice cream? Maybe we look hot.”

“That’s Henry Hopkins,” Claire said.

“Henry!” From a distance Sydney couldn’t make out his features, but now that she thought about it, there was something familiar about his hair, his deliberate movements. “I’d almost forgotten him.”

“I didn’t realize you knew him.” Claire started to stand, but Sydney caught her arm. “Let go. I forgot something in the van.”

“You didn’t forget anything. You’re trying to avoid Tyler. And, yes, I knew Henry. We were…friends, I guess. In elementary school. We grew apart after that.”

“Why?” Claire asked, tugging against Sydney’s hand, her eyes darting to Tyler as he got closer.

“Because I was a blind ass in high school,” Sydney said.

“You were not.”

“Was so.”

“Were not.”

“Hello, ladies. Need a referee?”

Sydney released Claire’s arm now that her work was done. “Hi, Tyler.”

“Claire, your hair,” Tyler said, and Claire’s hand went to her hair self-consciously. She was wearing the white headband Evanelle had given her, which made her look as young and innocent as she pretended not to be. “It’s beautiful. I had a dream…I dreamed your hair was like this once. I’m sorry, there was really no way for that not to sound stupid.” He laughed, then rubbed his hands together. “So, everyone keeps telling me I need to drink some of the Waverleys’ honeysuckle wine. Either it’s a town tradition, or everyone is in on this Claire-trying-to-make-me-not-interested-in-her game.”

“What?”

“Sydney told me what you were trying to do with the dishes you were giving me.”

Claire turned to Sydney, who tried to look sheepish but felt otherwise unrepentant.

“Honeysuckle wine helps you see in the dark,” Claire said stiffly. “Have it or don’t have it. Walk into a tree when it gets dark. Fall over a curb. I don’t care.”