‘Just.’ She waved her spoon around. ‘You know.’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘I mean, I guess you havesomeof the physical characteristics.’
‘Such as?’
‘Size.’
‘Size?’
‘And roughness.’
‘Roughness?’
‘Yeah. Like you spend a lot of time out in the elements.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘Let me see if I’ve got this right. I look like I spend a lot of time outdoors, but I don’t look like you imagined a man who works outdoors would look?’
‘Uh…’ She squinted at the ceiling. ‘Something like that.’
‘You realize that makes no sense?’
‘It makes sense in my head.’
‘How could that possibly make sense in your head?’
‘It just does.’
I stared at her.
‘Fine,’ she blurted. ‘You’re just more good-looking than I thought you’d be. Happy now?’
I grinned. ‘Very.’
‘Don’t get a big head or anything.’
‘Oh, don’t worry. I won’t. I’m just a modest, humble, salt-of-the-ocean lobsterman.’
‘Hey.’ She gestured towards her bowl, clearly keen to change the subject. ‘Maybe you caught one oftheselobsters.’
I glanced down at my bowl. ‘I suppose it’s possible.’
‘How long have you been a… what did you call yourself? A lobsterman? Lobster fisherman?’
‘I usually just call myself Jonah.’
‘You know what I mean. The technical term.’
‘If you want to get technical, it’s lobsterman.’
‘So how long have you been a lobsterman?’
I used bread to mop up the last bits of stew sauce in my bowl. ‘A while.’
‘Is it dangerous?’
‘It can be. You see this scar?’ I leaned forward and held out my arm, pointing to a small jagged red mark, no more than half an inch long.
