Long Summer Nights by Kathleen O'Reilly

poisoned.”
    Jenn began to smile. “Now I see. That’s a good story.”
    “Willoughby’s ancestry disagrees.”
    “No one likes skeletons. But thank you for telling me.”
    “You know, the courthouse is supposed to be haunted with his ghost.”
    “Really?”
    He laughed. “Nah. That’s just marketing.”
    “See, you country folks can learn the big bad ways, too.”
    They danced a couple of dances, and she got some more material, but eventually Stewart noticed her lack ofinterest and moved on to a twentysomething with a low-cut blouse. At least somebody was getting lucky tonight, she thought, chatting up the bartender, Anisha, who was an Indian girl with some really good jokes, earning extra money on the weekend. Jenn spent some time complaining about men in general, when she sighted the very cause of her complaint.
    Aaron. Did wonders never cease? He was sitting at a table in the shadows, alone, no surprise there, drinking a can of what looked to be diet soda. She would have pegged him for a Scotch drinker, not zero calories, no caffeine, but since she would have bet her last dollar he wouldn’t have shown up at a dance, her inductive reasoning wasn’t as sharp as it usually was.
    Or maybe he came to see her?
    Tonight he was dressed in funeral black, looking very spiffy except for the trademarked scowl on his face. The black shirt looked vaguely European, accentuating his rangy build, and his hair had been combed in an orderly fashion. She had a devious urge to go over and mess it up, just because it seemed out of place.
    However, there were many schools of thought in relationship management which instructed the female to stay aloof and not look so needy.
    On the other hand, Aaron seemed not to be a believer in those schools—or any schools of relationship management—and Jenn had always sucked at school anyway.
    Trying not to look too desperate, she sauntered over, sat down across from him, and wiggled her fingers in a provocative wave.
    “Thank you for the towels,” she started off.
    “What towels?” he asked, playing innocent, a novel role for Aaron. But—no surprise at all—he didn’t do it well.
    “Do not be coy with me. I know you left them. Take credit for something good. You deserve it.”
    “You’re welcome,” he said, sounding surly instead of courteous, and then sat silent and even surlier.
    It was a good thing that perseverance was Jenn’s middle name. Actually it was Prudence, but Jenn thought Perseverance suited her better, and she tried again. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I wouldn’t think that a quaint town dance is your idea of an exciting Friday night.”
    “I live to surprise you,” he answered, sounding more like himself.
    “How’s the writing coming along? Killed off any females lately?”
    “No. Why do you ask?”
    Jenn took a sip from her wine and shrugged. “Making polite conversation. There is no subversive motive.”
    “I usually assume the worst in people. I’m usually right.”
    “I would’ve assumed you wouldn’t get rid of a snake. I would be wrong. I wouldn’t have assumed you would put two very sumptuous towels on my doorstep. I would be wrong. Assumptions are dangerous things. Facts are what matters. You have to stick with the facts.”
    “I would assume you’re here to annoy me. Would I be wrong?”
    She sat back in her chair, studied the tension in his face, the caution in his eyes. He wasn’t happy, but he was here. “You’re very tricky.”
    “How so?”
    “You don’t really assume I’m here to annoy you. Actually, you assume I’m sitting here because I want to sleep with you again, but you don’t want to ask that, because that would imply that you care if I want to sleep with you again, and you don’t want me to know you care.”
    His mouth twisted in that oddly charming manner of his. She knew it was supposed to be sarcastic and forbidding, but it didn’t match the warm light in his eyes.
    “You’re on your fifth glass of