Perfect Summer by Katie Graykowski Page B

hand slid in his pants pocket, but his right fiddled with the button on his suit jacket. Fidgeting. So he was better on the phone than face-to-face. Had he been a shy kid who’d covered it with a brilliant smile and lots of swagger? Charm was his fallback defense, it wasn’t meant for her specifically. She just happened to be in the line of fire.
    “They came in once a week and gave a talk about what they did for a living.” She held a hand up. “You don’t have to. I’d prefer to keep it informal. Our last mentor was the Risk Management Officer for a manufacturing company. He came Thursdays at ten thirty and bored us for an hour with statistics of on-the-job accidents.”
    “Sounds stimulating.”
    “It was. Apparently Mr. Sales was somewhat of a celebrity in risk management circles.” Summer rolled her eyes as the toupee-wearing, teeth-sucking ferret of a man who’d called her sweetie and stared at her breasts came to mind. “Ever notice how your home shredder has a picture of a necktie with a line through it on the warning label? Mr. Sales was shredding a company memo when his tie got caught. He claimed to have had a near-death experience.”
    Too bad the tie had been a clip-on or Summer wouldn’t have needed the industrial-strength air fresheners to banish the stench of Old Spice and cigars that was Mr. Sales.
    Summer sucked in a deep, lemony, male-scented breath. This was more like it. “The kids love you, and you smell nice. You’re already ahead of the game.”
    “Do I need to prepare a speech every week?” Clint’s eyes only got as far as her mouth. He wouldn’t look her in the eye because he was too embarrassed.
    Summer wanted to pat him on the head and tell the shy little boy it was going to be okay. “Tell you what. You show up once a week for a couple of hours, and we’ll call it even. If you want to speak, you can; if not, don’t. Are Mondays good for you?”
    “Yes.” He nodded. “I’d prefer the morning. Nine?”
    “Works for me.” She glanced at her watch. “I don’t know your schedule, but it’s lunchtime. After that, I have a free period. My next class starts at one. You’re welcome to go get some lunch and come back, or if you have other commitments, we’ll see you next week.”
    She wasn’t dismissing him, but if he wanted a way out, this was it.
    “Do you have plans?”
    “For what?” She picked up her facedown copy of Romeo and Juliet , tucked in the envelope from her Dillard’s bill to mark her page, and closed the book.
    His brow scrunched up, and his eyes squinted like he couldn’t believe she was missing the obvious. “Lunch.”
    “Yes. I’m making a sandwich.” Opening the right top drawer of her desk, she pulled out the latest addition to her personal library. “And starting this.”
    Summer grinned as she held up her copy of Clint Grayson—Prince of the Gridiron . “I’m sure it’ll be a page-turner. I can’t wait.”
    “Make me a sandwich too, and I’ll give you the CliffsNotes.” Another genuine smile started at his eyes and worked its way down. “Want me to begin at the beginning?”
    “Why not?” She was getting through to him. Shyness gone. It was progress.
    He laughed. “My mother swore I was conceived on the ninth hole at Pebble Beach. My father had double bogeyed the last three holes, so she felt the need to console him.”
    “I hope for both their sakes the chilly wind usually ripping off the Pacific was calm that day.”
    Clint raised an eyebrow. She didn’t know him well enough to know if that meant he was impressed or skeptical.
    She stepped in front of him. “I have a feeling this is going to take a while. Follow me into the office, and I’ll see what I can do about a sandwich.”
    She led the way into her small office and would’ve opened the door, but he pushed it open first.
    “Have a seat.” Squeezing between the sofa and desk, she stepped to the refrigerator and opened the door. Pulling out various plastic bags, jars,