them—seemed tangible.
“Youreally keep your place neat,” she said.
“Sloppy men are a stereotype perpetuated by television sitcoms. My grandmother made sure I had my clothes picked up and my bed made every morning before I left for school.”
He also took off his cap when he entered a room, she noticed. Without his funky cap, she had a good look at his hair and face. It was a nice face. And his blondish brown hair was thick and wavy.
“You’re right. That was a sexist comment. I’m a bit of a neat freak, but that was the only way to keep my stuff intact around three sisters.”
They were standing quite close. He smelled like dirt and fresh air and some deodorant with a macho name.
“The bathroom is over there.”
His tone was curt. She could tell he was upset about her poking her nose into his driving record. He probably thought she was some kind of kook, too. Why had she blabbed about her mother’s prophecies? She never discussed that sort of thing with outsiders. People rarely believed her so why bother? David had seemed just as skeptical as all the rest. “Thanks. I’ll only be a minute.”
She headed in the direction he pointed, but paused to glance into the tiny kitchen. An old-fashioned typewriter—the kind she vaguely remembered seeing at her grandparents’ house as a child—occupied one end of a painted wooden table. A half-empty juice glass and rumpled paper napkin sat at the other.
“I was in a hurry this morning,” he said, scooting past her to carry the glass to the sink. “Do you want a drink of water or anything?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
She quickly made use of the facilities. The tiny bathroom wastidier than the one at her house—her roommates weren’t big on neatness—and as impersonal as a motel’s. She washed her hands and returned.
David was standing by the front window, gazing toward where her car was parked. She used the time to look around his home. Three National Geographic magazines on a low table beside a recliner that was shrouded in a dark blue throw. Mismatched lamps. A lumpy-looking beige-and-rust plaid couch.
The only clues to the man himself were his plants. Four or five pots with clever arrangements. She walked to a gallon-size pot stuck in a rusted pail. The cactus was one she’d never seen before. Tall, slender arms with hooked barbs. “Cool plant.”
“Thanks.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“A couple of years.”
She started to ask why there weren’t any family photos on display, but she didn’t get the chance. “If you’re done, I need to get back to work,” he said, starting toward the door. “The nursery pays by check and I want to cash it at the bank before the drive-up window closes.”
The word bank reminded her of her own appointment. “You’re right. Let’s get those plants loaded.”
She opened the door and stepped onto the tiny porch. The house was old. Stick built with narrow siding and peeling paint. She had a sense that this entire area might have been a farm at one time, but she didn’t ask. He’d said he was renting and he probably didn’t care about the place’s past.
“Didn’t I hear you say you have a cat?”
He nodded. “Sorta. A stray that thinks he lives here.”
Liz had noticed an impressive stack of canned food on the counter. She was relieved to know that wasn’t David’s dinner.
“Myroommates’ cats came from a little girl with a box in front of the grocery store. I hadn’t really planned on getting pets before…well, so soon, but Lydia and Reezira adore them.”
They walked across the empty expanse to where his truck was parked half in, half out of the weathered shop she’d noticed when she drove in. The ground was baked hardpan, cracked and dusty. Miniature whirligigs blew up in the wake of their steps.
He wasn’t happy to have her there. She wasn’t normally so pushy, but she’d missed not seeing him this week. True, she wasn’t in the market for a boyfriend, but she liked
“Youreally keep your place neat,” she said.
“Sloppy men are a stereotype perpetuated by television sitcoms. My grandmother made sure I had my clothes picked up and my bed made every morning before I left for school.”
He also took off his cap when he entered a room, she noticed. Without his funky cap, she had a good look at his hair and face. It was a nice face. And his blondish brown hair was thick and wavy.
“You’re right. That was a sexist comment. I’m a bit of a neat freak, but that was the only way to keep my stuff intact around three sisters.”
They were standing quite close. He smelled like dirt and fresh air and some deodorant with a macho name.
“The bathroom is over there.”
His tone was curt. She could tell he was upset about her poking her nose into his driving record. He probably thought she was some kind of kook, too. Why had she blabbed about her mother’s prophecies? She never discussed that sort of thing with outsiders. People rarely believed her so why bother? David had seemed just as skeptical as all the rest. “Thanks. I’ll only be a minute.”
She headed in the direction he pointed, but paused to glance into the tiny kitchen. An old-fashioned typewriter—the kind she vaguely remembered seeing at her grandparents’ house as a child—occupied one end of a painted wooden table. A half-empty juice glass and rumpled paper napkin sat at the other.
“I was in a hurry this morning,” he said, scooting past her to carry the glass to the sink. “Do you want a drink of water or anything?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
She quickly made use of the facilities. The tiny bathroom wastidier than the one at her house—her roommates weren’t big on neatness—and as impersonal as a motel’s. She washed her hands and returned.
David was standing by the front window, gazing toward where her car was parked. She used the time to look around his home. Three National Geographic magazines on a low table beside a recliner that was shrouded in a dark blue throw. Mismatched lamps. A lumpy-looking beige-and-rust plaid couch.
The only clues to the man himself were his plants. Four or five pots with clever arrangements. She walked to a gallon-size pot stuck in a rusted pail. The cactus was one she’d never seen before. Tall, slender arms with hooked barbs. “Cool plant.”
“Thanks.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“A couple of years.”
She started to ask why there weren’t any family photos on display, but she didn’t get the chance. “If you’re done, I need to get back to work,” he said, starting toward the door. “The nursery pays by check and I want to cash it at the bank before the drive-up window closes.”
The word bank reminded her of her own appointment. “You’re right. Let’s get those plants loaded.”
She opened the door and stepped onto the tiny porch. The house was old. Stick built with narrow siding and peeling paint. She had a sense that this entire area might have been a farm at one time, but she didn’t ask. He’d said he was renting and he probably didn’t care about the place’s past.
“Didn’t I hear you say you have a cat?”
He nodded. “Sorta. A stray that thinks he lives here.”
Liz had noticed an impressive stack of canned food on the counter. She was relieved to know that wasn’t David’s dinner.
“Myroommates’ cats came from a little girl with a box in front of the grocery store. I hadn’t really planned on getting pets before…well, so soon, but Lydia and Reezira adore them.”
They walked across the empty expanse to where his truck was parked half in, half out of the weathered shop she’d noticed when she drove in. The ground was baked hardpan, cracked and dusty. Miniature whirligigs blew up in the wake of their steps.
He wasn’t happy to have her there. She wasn’t normally so pushy, but she’d missed not seeing him this week. True, she wasn’t in the market for a boyfriend, but she liked
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