On A Night Like This (Callaways #1)

to change that," she said.
    "You should. I'd like to take you camping. I think you'd love it."
    "Why on earth would you think that? I'm a city girl."
    Aiden smiled. "Only one way to find out."
    As he ran his fingers through his damp air, she became very aware of how alone they were and how many hours there were before bedtime. She still didn't know where she was going to sleep, but she didn't want to think about that now. "Should we go out somewhere?"
    "Not much open around here on Sunday night after nine," he replied.
    "Right. I forgot it was Sunday. The days are all mixed up for me."
    Silence followed her words—a tense silence.
    "There is one bar that's probably open if you're up for beer and peanuts," he said.
    "Sounds great," she said with relief.
    "I'll put on my shoes."
    While Aiden finished dressing, she went into the bathroom and fixed herself up a little. Her eyes were nowhere near as red or swollen after her crying jag earlier that day, and with a little blush and some lip gloss, she felt immensely better. The pain of deception was still simmering right under the surface, but for the moment she was going to leave it there.
    A few minutes later they were on their way to a bar named Gil's.
    The bar was dimly lit, lots of western décor, and the music playing was country. They grabbed a table in the corner and ordered two beers from the waitress.
    The waitress gave Aiden a sexy smile and said, "Haven't seen you in here in a while."
    "Been away," he said.
    Her smile dimmed. "Heard the bad news about your friend. So sad."
    "Yeah, thanks."
    As the waitress left, Sara could see that the tension had returned to Aiden's face. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea," she said.
    "It doesn't matter. I had to come back sometime. It's kind of nice not to be here alone."
    "So did you and that waitress…"
    "No," he said with a shake of his head. "Never."
    "She's interested."
    "Well, I'm not."
    "Okay," she said, wondering why he was suddenly so snappy.
    A moment later, the waitress returned with their beers and a bowl of peanuts.
    Sara lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip. It tasted great. She'd never thought of herself as a beer drinker, at least not since college. Most of the parties she went to now involved wine or hard liquor. But the beer was nice, and she liked the warmth and friendly spirit of the bar. People seemed to know each other and care about each other. She was a long way from New York.
    "This isn't your usual kind of place, is it?" Aiden asked.
    "No, but I like it. It's a nice change of pace. I've been moving so fast for so long, this is the first time in a long time I've really slowed down. It's a dangerous feeling. Makes me wonder if I'll be able to rev myself up again for the seventy-hour work week."
    "What else do you do besides work?"
    "Nothing."
    "Come on. You must have some hobbies."
    "Occasionally, I go to the gym, but usually I consider the three-quarter mile walk between my apartment and work to be my exercise. Museums and theaters and nightclubs surround me, and I never go to any of them. I do like Central Park though. Sometimes, I'll take a walk through there on a Sunday, especially in the spring when the flowers are blooming."
    He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his gaze solely on her. She'd never had this much attention from Aiden, and she found it both pleasurable and a little unnerving.
    "I can see you in the park," he said. "You loved to garden with your mom. Don't you miss having some land of your own?"
    "Sometimes," she admitted. "I never thought New York would be forever. I always thought I'd go back to San Francisco."
    "You still can."
    "Maybe." She sipped her beer and listened to the music. The latest song was typical country, some woman yearning for some man she couldn't have. The story was poetic and emotional, heartfelt. "I like songs that are about something," she said aloud. "Country always tells a story."
    "Usually about some man who did some woman wrong," Aiden said dryly.
    She smiled. "I was just thinking the same thing."
    "At least my gender provides a lot of material for songwriters. But it's not all our fault, you know. Women can be very mysterious. They need to come with instructions."
    "As if that would matter. When's the last time you read instructions?" she challenged.
    He laughed. "Guilty. Your tongue is sharper than I remember. I like it."
    She did not want him talking about her tongue or letting his gaze rest on her lips, because it only reminded her