"This," Ollie said in a grim tone, "is why institutional memory isso important."
Tiffany blinked toward him, while Steve, despite his obvious distress, ended up chuckling. "You really are such an accountant, Ol."
"An accountant?" Tiffany asked faintly. She had never considered finding an accountant attractive, before. She hadn't even considered it as a remote possibility. Accounting was so…
Well, it was critical, actually. Vitally important, particularly to small businesses like her own. But it wasn't veryexciting. The idea that an accountant could possibly be as staggeringly gorgeous as Oliver Campbell was outside the realm of consideration, except maybe in that one Ben Affleck movie. Although she wasn't really clear on whether he was actually an accountant, honestly.
"Fully qualified," Ollie said to her, almost apologetically. "It's not the most exciting profession, I know, but it keeps a lot of the world moving."
"No, yeah, no, I was just thinking that," Tiffany said with a nod. "But, aah,man. Look. I'd have to look it up to be sure but I'm pretty sure in New York a verbal contract is legally binding,so we…we gotta go talk to the town clerk. Mr. West.Crap, this is gonna mess up my whole schedule."
"I'm sure we can work something out," Ollie said for the fourth or fifth time. "These things just take some discussion. People are often willing to compromise."
Despite her frustration, Tiffany couldn't help chuckling. "You're kind of a peacemaker, aren't you?"
"Oh, but you should have seen him when we were kids," Steve said brightly. "He'd pick a fight with a bar stool."
"No way!" Tiffany grinned at Ollie, who cringed and shook his head.
"Oh yeah, you did. We didn't spend much time together," Steve admitted to Tiffany as he rose from his chair. "My aunt moved to Australia before I was born, fell in love, got married, the whole thing. We went to visit a couple times, and you guys came to visit us once, right? And yeah, Ollie would get in a fight with a butterfly. Belligerent little kid. My older brother sat on him once to calm him down."
"He broke my rib," Ollie pointed out.
"He wouldn't have had to bounce if you'd stayed still!" Steve went to pay for their lemonades, which Tiffany only realized as he put a ten on the counter. She yelped a protest, but he waved it off. "Ollie can pay me back, but I bet he doesn't have any American money yet."
"I have a credit card," Oliver said stiffly. He followed Steve out the door, though, and held it for Tiffany again, which she couldn't help feeling was rather charming.
"Thanks." Tiffany had no idea where they were going, so she and Ollie just followed Steve, who veered left on the business porches' boardwalk, heading toward the far end of the square. Tiffany glanced over her shoulder quickly, orienting herself: the town's big old stone church was behind them. The way they were going led toward an old-fashioned-looking court or city hallbuilding, built of wood and looking its years, but in a good way. A huge clock sat on the wall at the top of the wooden building, dead even with the church's bell and like half a mile apart from one another, thanks to the ridiculously large town square.
It seemed, Tiffany thought, very deliberate. It was as if somebody had laid out the town square with a purposeful sense of balance. She rather liked that.
But since it was at least a three minute walk to the wooden building, she searched for something to say, because the silence seemed awkward. "So, accounting, huh? How come accounting?
"It's calm. It'scalming. Numbers come together the way they're supposed to, and if they don't, it's easy to know a mistake was made somewhere. Finding it is like a zen practice." Ollie audibly hesitated. "Steve's not wrong. I was an aggro kid."
Before he could continue, Tiffany raised both hands, palm out. "'Aggro?'"
Ollie blinked. "Ah. Aggressive?"
"Oh! Okay. Right. That makes sense. We'd say 'scrappy' or something."
He gave her a dubious grin and echoed, "'Scrappy,'" obediently. "So I was ascrappykid—no, I'm sorry, that sounds all wrong, I was aggro—and I needed something that would let me focus and relax."
Tiffany laughed. "I donotfind numbers calming, but I get what you mean. I get that from driving the heavy equipment, especially on a big simple project where it's just moving a lot of dirt, packing it down, getting it ready for the pour or whatever's coming next. I get in the zone and all I'm thinking about is the job. It's soothing. ADHD?"
Ollie looked startled, then chuckled. "No, just a, uh. Cantankerous soul, I guess." His gaze went briefly distant, allowing Tiffany a moment to admire his amazing jawline and stellar cheekbones. The round glasses he wore weren't reallyflattering at all, and she wondered why a guy who looked like that would hide his bushel behind a basket. "Yeah," he said after a moment, still smiling. "Averycantankerous soul. But it can't stand up to making numbers line up and do their job."
"Well, if I needed an accountant, I'd hire you," Tiffany said a bit rashly.
Ollie glanced down at her, pale eyes bright behind those silly glasses. "Oh, no, I wouldn't want you to do that."
A peculiar crushing sensation surrounded Tiffany's heart. "Oh. Sure, I mean, no, obviously, you live in Australia, for one thing the tax laws are probably completely different…"
"No—I mean, yes, but—no, I meant?—"
"Charlee is going tokillme," Steve muttered again as he jogged down the steps at the end of the business row.
Ollie caught his breath, clearly meaning to say something else to Tiffany, but instead groaned and lifted his voice a little. "She won't, Steve. It's not your fault. I told you, institutional knowledge…" By then they were across the street, Steve striding into the city hall ahead of them. Itwasthe city hall: a wood-burned carved sign planted in the small lawn in front of it said so with painted letters.
