“Here goes,” I say, excited like a child. “If it took eight carpenters three hours to build a bench, how long will it take four carpenters?”
“One hour,” she says.
“Why?”
“Because eight carpenters are way too many for that task. Each will want to be a major contributor; they’ll keep distracting each other, and drawing the whole thing out to justify their recruitment.”
“Are you talking about MINDFUCH, or is it a general observation?”
“It’s a general observation,” she says. “But also MINDFUCH. The bottom line is fewer people will always work together better and finish a small task faster than a big, bloated team.”
I watch her lovely face illuminated by the flashlight.
She cocks her head. “Was that the right answer?”
“The right answer is, ‘It would take no time, because the bench was already built by the first eight carpenters.’ But, frankly, it sounds like a gimmick now. I prefer yours.”
Visibly pleased, she tucks her hair behind her ears.
“You’re smart, you know?” I say, feeling energized and invigorated. The future of Mount Evor depends on the success of this mission but all I can think about right now is a sharp-witted young woman in a green jersey dress.
She leans toward me, causing a tingling sensation in my chest. “OK, before you decide I’m too good for this world, you must know there’s a dark side to me.”
“I’m all ears.”
“In my late teens, I went through a phase.”
“Everybody does.”
“Mine involved criminal activity.”
I slant my body toward her. “Now you have my full attention.”
“My bestie at the time and I… We snatched things.”
“You mean stealing?”
“It was a game between us. We’d enter a supermarket, head to the makeup counter, and lift a lipstick or an eyeliner. The one who walked out empty-handed had to buy the other an ice cream.”
“Let me guess—you got caught.”
“Of course we did!” She bites her bottom lip and I forget how to breathe. “The worst day of my life… Well, no, second worst. Losing Gran was the worst. Anyway, I’m glad we did, because I came to my senses and never stole anything ever again.”
“Until today,” I prompt.
“We’re putting the fan back, right?” She shoots me a panicked look. “We take the key, glue the handle back together, and replace the fan in its display. That’s the plan, isn’t it? Because if it isn’t, I’m out!”
I touch her arm to reassure her. “I promise. We’ll put the fan back. I have no use for that impractical, anachronistic object.”
“That’s rich, coming from a guy that waxed lyrical about old cars all evening at Aunt Violette’s.”
“Classic cars,” I correct her. “And only the earlier part of the evening.”
The later part was spent kissing you.
Her fingertips touch her face, radiant in the soft glow of my flashlight. I move a little closer, hoping that our hands, or arms or legs would brush.
Now that I’ve gotten accustomed to the smell of this room, my nostrils pick up a new fragrance. I breathe in Lucie’s floral perfume. It’s nothing fancy, but when it combines with the natural scent of her skin, it makes my heart race.
