She tapped again and gave him the price per paver, before discount, after discount.
Impressed despite himself, he tapped the monitor. "You got a math nerd trapped in there?"
"Just the wonders of the twenty-first century. You'd find it quicker than counting on your fingers."
"I don't know. I've got pretty fast fingers." Drumming them on his thigh, he kept his gaze on her face.
"I need three white pine."
"For this same friend?"
"No." His grin flashed, fast and crooked. If she wanted to interpret "friend" as "lover," he couldn't see
any point in saying the pavers were for Mrs. Kingsley, his tenth-grade English teacher. "Pine's for a
client. Roland Guppy. Yes, like the fish. You've probably got him somewhere in your vast and
mysterious files. We did a job for him last fall."
Since there was a coffeemaker on the table against the wall, and the pot was half full, he got up, took a mug, and helped himself.
"Make yourself at home," Stella said dryly.
"Thanks. As it happens, I recommended white pine for a windbreak. He hemmed and hawed. Took him this long to decide to go for it. He called me at home yesterday. I said I'd pick them up and work him in."
"We need a different form."
He sampled the coffee. Not bad. "Somehow I knew that."
"Are the pavers all you're taking for personal use?"
"Probably. For today."
She hit Print, then brought up another form. "That's three white pine. What size?"
"We got some nice eight-foot ones."
"Balled and burlapped?"
"Yeah."
Tap, tap, tap, he thought, with wonder, and there you go. Woman had pretty fingers, he noted. Long
and tapered, with that glossy polish on them, the delicate pink of the inside of a rose petal.
She wore no rings.
"Anything else?"
He patted his pockets, eventually came up with a scrap of paper. "That's what I told him I could put
them in for."
She added the labor, totaled, then printed out three copies while he drank her coffee. "Sign or initial,"
she told him. "One copy for my files, one for yours, one for the client."
"Gotcha."
When he picked up the pen, Stella waved a hand. "Oh, wait, let me get that knife. Which vein did you plan to open?"
"Cute." He lifted his chin toward the door. "So's she."
"Hayley? Yeah, she is. And entirely too young for you."
"I wouldn't say entirely. Though I do prefer women with a little more..." He stopped, smiled again.
"We'll just say more, and stay alive."
"Wise."
"Your boys getting a hard time in school?"
"Excuse me?"
"Just considering what you said before. Yankee."
"Oh. A little, maybe, but for the most part the other kids find it interesting that they're from up north, lived near one of the Great Lakes. Both their teachers pulled up a map to show where they came from."
Her face softened as she spoke of it. "Thanks for asking."
"I like your kids."
He signed the forms and found himself amused when she groaned—actually groaned—watching him carelessly fold his and stuff them in his pocket.
"Next time could you wait until you're out of the office to do that? It hurts me."
"No problem." Maybe it was the different tone they were ending on, or maybe it was the way she'd softened up and smiled when she spoke of her children. Later, he might wonder what possessed him,
but for now, he went with impulse. "Ever been to Graceland?"
"No. I'm not a big Elvis fan."
"Ssh!" Widening his eyes, he looked toward the door. "Legally, you can't say that around here. You
could face fine and imprisonment, or depending on the jury, public flogging."