“Seriously, what’s the best hotel?Andwhere is it?”
“Thereare only two.TheWarmMotel, andTheSpringsB&B.Cockroacheshave been known to checkoutofTheWarmMotel.”Sheputs a finger to her lips and looks me up and down, deep in thought. “Butactually, hmm.”
“Okay.TheSpringsB&Bit is.”
“Well, there is aPark’N’Sleepon the highway outside town.Youmight like that better.It’snice and, you know, generic, faceless, bland, corporate, soulless—”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.Iget the gist.”Imake the windup gesture. “I’vestayed there before.Ithurt my back.Where’sthe non-cockroachyB&B?”
“SeetheTheMoodyRoosterPubover there?”Shepoints toward a half-timbered building farther down the street. “Directlybehind it.”
“Great, thanks.”
So, we’re done here.Butmy feet haven’t moved.Norhave my eyes.They’restill glued to the delightful face before me.Howcan the human equivalent of a sharp stone in your shoe be so hard to walk away from?
Shetips her head to one side. “Anythingelse?”
Igrab two placards sitting on the sidewalk next to me and look from one to the other.
“Carefulyou don’t go without ‘BanTheBarn’ or ‘ShowYellowBarnTheRedLight.’”
Sheleans between the front seats and reaches back to slide open the side door.Thebib of her overalls stretches to the side, revealing the full curve of a perfect handful of a breast under herT-shirt.
“Youcan drop them in there on top of the rest.”Sheplops back into her seat. “Ifyou’d like to be helpful.”
There’sa chance she caught me checking out her boob.Oh, well.Whocares?Itoss in the signs and dust off my hands.
NowIhave to leave.Ican’t stand here bantering with this feisty produce seller for the rest of the evening.Thoughit definitely wouldn’t be the worst way to spend a couple of hours.
Thedoor makes a satisfyingthunkasIslam it shut.
“Thanks,” she says, pulling on a boot.
“Ah-ha.”Ipoint at her socks. “Goats.”
Sheflops back in the seat and sighs. “Yup.Goats.”
“That’snot so bad.Whywould you be embarrassed to have goats on your feet?”
“Ididn’t want to have to explain my socks to you.Wehave goats.Mymom adores them.Makessoap from their milk.Isell it at the shop.”Sherolls her head across the headrest to look at me. “Goatsare kind of a thing at my house.”
“Maybethat’s nothing to be ashamed of.Anyway,Ihope the rest of your evening is protest-free.”
Shepulls on the other boot, then turns the key in the ignition.“Mytime will only be protest-free once the council has refused you permission to open your monstrosity.”
Thetop half of her body crawls across the passenger seat to grab the door and pull it shut, closing me out.Thenshe yanks on her seat belt and chugs away without a backward glance.
Asthe bus passes me, the rear doors come into view for the first time.Paintedacross them are the words, “Warning:DeliciousOnBoard!”
* * *
“So, you stopped to chat to the young lady on the way into the meetingandon the way out?”Georgesays, asIget into the back seat of my waiting car.
“Oh, stop it.Thisis the business stage of my life, remember?Notthe relationship stage.Andeven if it were,Icouldn’t have a relationship with the one woman hellbent on crushing that business.”
Georgetwists to look over his shoulder at me. “Ithink that’s what you like about her.”
“Ican assure you,Idon’t likeanythingabout her.”Iam a little buzzed after our interaction, like my spirits have been lifted.Butthat must be from the fun of the fight, the joy of toying with someone who thinks they can beat me whenIknow for sure they can’t.Notfrom anythingGeorgeis talking about.
