Still, Jenny was flattered. Could it be she never noticed the way he looked at her, that he had been following her, not his brother? Not that Jenny put much stock in anything Liza Hull told her. Love wasn’t like that, was it? Just sitting there in a back drawer for all these years, like a shirt you’d never bothered to try on, but which was still there, neat and pressed and ready to wear at a moment’s notice. At any rate, he couldn’t possibly think she looked anything like she used to. Hadn’t he seen that her hair was much shorter, that there were lines around her eyes and across her forehead, that she was a woman and not the same headstrong girl she once had been?

“I heard you were in town. I met Stella, and I was going to call you at your mother’s, but I didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me. I thought you might hang up.”

Jenny laughed. Funny how Matt seemed so completely changed yet so thoroughly familiar. He’d always been worried and cautious, thinking about others, second-guessing himself. “Why? Because of that fight a million years ago on New Year’s Eve? Whatever happened, I’m sure Will deserved it.”

“Oh, he did.”

Matt’s face had grown moody at the mere mention of his brother. Stella had been right in her assessment, he was nothing like Will. He was thoughtful to a fault, carrying his regret around with him as though every mistake he’d ever made was lashed to his back.

“Well, it was years ago,” Jenny reminded Matt. He looked so adrift, Jenny had the urge to reach out to him, but instead she took a step back and nearly stumbled over the black granite monument.

Matt put out his arm to steady her. He had thought about Jenny Sparrow every single day since that New Year’s Eve when he last saw her. Now he supposed he was staring. He’d been staring that day he was on the ladder, trying to puzzle out if it really was her.

“Actually, I tried to call you,” Jenny told him, just to say something, just to stop him from staring. “But you were never home. I wanted to thank you for paying Henry Elliot’s fee and putting up the bail money.”

“Don’t forget the detective. I’m paying for that, too. Good old Will,” Matt said forlornly. “He can make a pauper out of anyone.”

“I’m well aware of that. Whatever you do, don’t lend him your truck. Not ever. Not if he tells you there’s a pile of gold over the border in New Hampshire, and all he has to do is pick it up and you’ll both be filthy rich. Although I don’t think even Will could do much damage to that old thing.”

Jenny nodded to Matt’s battered warrior of a pickup and they both laughed. Something very odd is going on here, Jenny thought. She felt that line of heat across her skin. The rain had started up again, but neither one had made a move to leave.

“Good old Will,” Matt said.

“Not that he killed anyone.”

It was probably the humidity that was making it difficult for Jenny to breathe. All this country air, the pollen, the dampness. She wished she had a paper bag to breathe into. She wished her nerves were steadier.

“We got a report from the detective that there were fingerprints in the victim’s apartment.” Why did he keep talking about his brother? God, was he his brother’s keeper, his apologist, his second-best? “But they weren’t Will’s.” Matt hadn’t spoken this much at one time for years, except to Mrs. Gibson. He finally shut up and drew a breath. “You smell like sugar,” he said, and immediately thought to himself, Idiot.

“First day of work. Over at Liza Hull’s Tea House.”

“Liza’s a great girl.” At the moment, Matt couldn’t quite remember who Liza Hull was. Had he always been so dumb in Jenny’s presence, startled into stupidity? “You must be tired. Do you need a ride?”

“Oh, no.” Jenny took another step backward. She tripped over the granite once more, but this time she salvaged her clumsiness by sitting down on the edge of the memorial. The granite was cold right through her clothes to her skin, but Jenny didn’t care. For some reason, she was burning up. “I’ll walk. It’s good exercise after being cooped up all day.”

Matt realized there was a scent other than sugar. Jenny Sparrow gave off the odor of lake water, the same seductive scent there had been that night when he and Will camped out on the Sparrows’ property, listening to the chorus of the peepers.

“I’ll be in touch if I hear any more news about Will’s case,” he told her.

That damned Will again. Couldn’t he leave his brother out of the conversation for a minute? What he really wanted was to kiss Jenny Sparrow, right here on the town green. It was what he thought about every single time he drove past, only now she was here, sitting on the edge of the memorial, looking up at him.