The Setup by Marie Ferrarella

immediate area. Driving through the country, he’d encountered towns that had less people than were crammed in here tonight. “This isn’t exactly the reading room of the Boston Public Library.”
    She’d noticed his slightly pained expression when she turned toward him. He hadn’t said a single word in the past forty-five minutes. Not about any of the paintings nor the people who wanted to discuss them.
    “What’s the matter, Jefferson? I thought you liked art.” His application had said that he enjoyed, among other things, modern art and stimulating conversation. The performance event they were attending offered both, and yet the man looked as uncomfortable and out of place as a shepherd at a presidential inaugural ball.
    “I like art,” he told her mildly, not adding that some of the things he’d seen tonight did not come under that heading as far as he was concerned. “I just don’t like arguing about it.”
    She was leading him somewhere again, he thought. But where? At least that pompous windbag wasn’t following, he noted. The man with the bad toupee was still holding court at the last grouping.
    Sylvie seemed to have a destination. This time, she was drawing him over to one end of the gallery where several other couples were dancing—if you could call it that, Jefferson thought. From what he could ascertain, the couples were more or less hanging on to one another in one spot, occasionally moving their feet as if to keep time in case anyone was paying attention.
    In his book, that wasn’t dancing, but at least the music was slower now, without that relentless beat.
    “Not arguing, exchanging opinions,” Sylviecountered as she turned around to face him. “Dance with me?”
    She’d obviously taken the answer to her earlier question to be yes, he thought. Maybe dancing was something Emily and Blake had listed as one of his interests on the application. Either way, he felt more at home here than he had standing in front of those paintings.
    Jefferson slipped his arm around her waist and tucked her hand beneath his, bringing it up against his chest. He began to sway with the music. Her hips shadowed his, moving with the rhythm. He found it almost primal. Something within him came to attention and then went on red alert.
    Sylvie smiled up at him. “I can feel your heart beating,” she murmured.
    “Good, that means I’m still alive.” He guided her past one of the couples. “Nothing kills a party faster than a dead guest.”
    She laughed, and he could feel the sound rippling up through his chest. “You know, you’re nothing like your application.”
    He could readily believe that. Emily was nothing if not creative. He should have thought of that before going along with her plan, he realized. “That could be because my application was written by a sixteen-year-old.”
    Sylvie cocked her head. Most men wouldn’t have been secure enough to admit that. “Your inner child?” she guessed.
    “My inner daughter,” he corrected, “and I sayinner because she’s probably going to be grounded for the rest of her life when I get back.”
    Well, there was something that hadn’t been covered on the dating service’s application, she thought, surprised. “You have a daughter.”
    He couldn’t tell by her expression if that bothered her, or if she was just asking to make sure she’d heard him. “Yes, I do. Her name’s Emily.”
    Sylvie wondered what else hadn’t been put on his form. He didn’t look like the type who cheated, but she’d learned that looks could be deceiving. One of the men she’d been involved with had had a wife and family he’d conveniently forgotten to mention until she’d all but stumbled across them in the park.
    “Do you have a wife to go with your daughter?”
    A sadness stirred inside him. It always did when he thought about his life without Donna. “Had.”
    “Oh.” She heard the sadness in his voice. Was he still in love with the woman? Pining after her? “I’m