Secrets in a Small Town by Kimberly Van Meter

even thought about auditioning but I couldn’t fathom spending that much time without being able to shower.”
    He openly appraised her, crooking a short grin. Yeah, he couldn’t quite see that, either. “You’re not much of a camper, eh?”
    “Owen, my entire childhood felt like camping. I prefer my lifestyle with all the conveniences of modern technology like a dishwasher, washing machine, toaster oven…”
    “Toaster oven?”
    “Yes. I prefer English muffins in the toaster oven as opposed to the toaster because the toaster always burns the edges and a toaster oven crisps everything perfectly.”
    “You’re a very precise woman, you know that?”
    “You’re not the first to tell me that,” she acknowledged. “Which do you prefer?”
    “I like whatever is hot and easy.” He hadn’t meant to sound dirty but by the way her cheeks bloomed and her eyes widened, he knew that’s the way she’d heard it. He knew he ought to clarify but he kind of liked the way she got all flustered at the idea. What could he say? He had a bit of a bad boy in him.
    They reached the truck and made the drive back to town. Owen returned her to her parked vehicle and before she climbed out, she pinned him with her steady stare—the one he was quickly learning meant she was in ruthless-reporter mode—and insisted on nailing down a date for the interview. Before he could offer a word, she threw down a few rules. “It can’t be somewhere in the woods like today and it can’t be at a bar or something like that. I need someplace quiet so outside noise doesn’t get in the way of the recording.”
    “Recording?”
    “Of course. I wouldn’t want to simply rely on memory for something this important. You don’t mind, do you?”
    “Would it matter if I did?”
    “Not really, but it seems courtesy to ask. Besides, it’s for your own protection, as well. This way, you’ll know that you’re being accurately represented.”
    An alarm bell trilled in his head. “Whoa…wait a minute. What do you mean by represented? I thought you just wanted to hear my side? Are you writing about this?” She hesitated and he took that to mean yes. He swore, then shook his head. “No. I don’t care what you uncover. I don’t want my family’s name thrown around in the media again.”
    “Owen, be reasonable. How else are you supposed to clear your father’s name? By word of mouth?”
    She had a point but he didn’t care. She didn’t know what it was like to be talked about every time she turned around over something as awful as the Red Meadow incident. “No.”
    “We made a deal,” she reminded him, her mouth tightening. “And you’re backing out.”
    “I agreed to talk. Nothing more.”
    She chewed her cheek in thought and that plainly calculating look in her eyes made him leery but she relented with a deliberate shrug, saying, “So serious. What’s to write about? It’s ancient history. I’m just curious. For my own sake.”
    “Don’t you have anything better to do with your free time?” he asked, finding her exploration into past history for fun, just a bit odd.
    She offered an enigmatic smile. “We all have our quirks.”
    “Yeah, I guess we do,” he agreed, even though he smelled a pile of something steamy. However, aside from the local rag, he couldn’t imagine who else would be interested in Dayton’s little embarrassment, so he felt marginally safe in letting down his guard. “Fine. But I better not find this interview on the internet somewhere.”
    “My we think highly of ourselves,” she teased. “Why would I post an audio file on the internet? Boring. This is just for me. I promise.”
    He supposed he could live with that. “Since you have so many rules, why don’t you suggest where we should meet.”
    She brightened. “Excellent idea. How about right here?”
    “My home?” he asked.
    “Yes. You live alone, right?”
    “At the moment.” He enjoyed the subtle flash of a scowl that crossed her features for