“You’re talented, know your way around tools?—”
“This better not be the opening for some cheesy pickup line about playing with yours,” I interjected.
“As if I’d be so crass. I admire people with a strong work ethic and those who are honest about who they are. There’s no artifice about you. You dress as you please. Speak your mind. It’s not something I get often, and I am finding it refreshing.”
“Sounds to me like you need to surround yourself with fewer sycophants.”
“The problem with having money is they’re impossible to avoid. But you really don’t care I’m rich.”
“Oh, I do, but in my case, it makes me want to avoid you.”
“So does that mean you won’t have dinner with me?”
I shook my head. “Nope. You and I are definitely not compatible, add in the fact you’re a client and it’s a triple no.”
“Guess I can’t complain about your honesty after complimenting it.” His wry reply. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
Actually, he’d intrigued my inner woman with his interest, but the practical side of me put the hammer down before anything happened. “I’ll make sure Keanu calls soon as I’ve got your last piece done.”
“Thank you. Have a good evening, Iolana.”
“You too, Mr. Jameson.”
He paused with his hand over the door. “Mr. Jameson is my father. Please call me Apollo.”
I bit my lip. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because every time I do, I picture an astronaut.”
He stood speechless for a moment before chuckling. “In that case, can you at least drop the Mr.”
“That I can do. Night, Jameson.”
I remained a moment in the shop, listening to the growl of his car engine, which quieted as he drove away. A part of me deflated that he’d so easily accepted my refusal. I mean, no, I didn’t want to date him, but I wouldn’t have minded if he’d tried a little bit harder to convince me.
If that made me a fickle woman, so be it. It had been nice to feel wanted for a second. How long since I’d last enjoyed that sensation? Too long. I really needed to start making time?—
“If you’re done mooning over the man, can we go inside and get a snack? Maybe more of those orange things.”
I blinked because the tiny squeaky voice sounded close. Like really close. As in by my ear.
“Um.” I must be going insane because no way did Tigger talk.
“Hello? Are you listening? I said I’m hungry.”
I snared the little lizard and placed him on the counter in front of me.
“I am not going crazy. Lizards don’t talk,” I muttered.
“You’re right, lizards don’t. You really need to stop insulting me like that.” Tigger crossed his arms, and his expression appeared annoyed.
“If you’re not a lizard, then what are you?”
“I haven’t discovered the word in your language yet. It would seem my kind aren’t common for your time.”
“This isn’t happening. I fell asleep after dinner,” I mumbled as I paced.
