Part 6 (1/2)
”That'd be great. We'll meet next week in my office. But I'll see you in an hour or so, Frankie.”
As she hung up the phone, she played the conversation over and over again, searching for clues in the man's intonation and diction. But it was like reading tea leaves, she supposed. Useless and agitating.
Across the room, she saw the simple black picture frame that held the photo of her family. It was still laying facedown after Nate had picked it off the shelf. She went over and righted it, her thumb brus.h.i.+ng over the image of her father.
Joy put her head through the door. ”Frankie? Stu needs a check.”
She blinked.
”Are you okay?” Joy started across the office but Frankie went back to her desk.
”Yes, fine. Tell Stu I'll help him unload.”
”Oh, that's done.” Frankie frowned while Joy nodded over her shoulder. ”Nate took care of it.”
Frankie grabbed the checkbook and one of the inventory receipt forms she'd created and went into the kitchen.
Stu and Nate were leaning back against the kitchen counter, both with their arms crossed in front of their chests. Their heads were facing out into the room, which made sense because Stu generally preferred not to make eye contact. Nate was nodding. They were chewing the cud, she realized.
This was a surprise because Stu didn't curry well to strangers and he never seemed to say more than two words at a time.
”Hi, Stu,” she said. ”How much do we owe you?”
Stu took off his John Deere hat and looked at it. ”Think a hundred'll cover it.”
She wrote out the check, gave him the following week's order and thanked him.
”Good talking to you,” Nate said.
”Yup.” Stu lifted his hand as he left.
”Nice old coot,” Nate remarked as the screen door slapped shut.
Bracing herself, she went into the walk-in, unsure whether she'd find a disorganized jungle or not. Fortunately, Nate's organizational skills were as good as his penmans.h.i.+p. The lettuce was in one corner, standing up on a plastic tray. The heads of broccoli, cauliflower and cabbage were on another shelf in milk crates. Root vegetables on the floor in a bin. Pretty much where she would have put everything.
She started making notations on her clipboard when Nate's voice came from behind her shoulder.
”Checking my work?” he said dryly as he reached over her shoulder for some celery.
Stepping out of the way of his arm, she tugged at the collar of her s.h.i.+rt and tightened her lips. The walk-in suddenly felt like a sauna, which meant either the compressor had finally died or she was having a hot flash.
She hid a grin. At least she could call a HVAC guy if there was a mechanical problem with the refrigerator. If her libido was acting up, she might be in trouble. She doubted there was an estrogen repairman in the Yellow Pages.
”What's all this?” he asked, coming close again.
She looked down at what she'd been writing, determined not to fixate on how his biceps were straining his T-s.h.i.+rt's short sleeves.
”An inventory system I developed.” When he didn't leave, she tipped the paper his way and stepped back. ”It's a really helpful method of determining our food costs and measuring our prices.”
She was surprised when he took the clipboard and thumbed through the pages with interest. ”This is good.”
”I enter everything in the computer and can pull up Excel spreadsheets of our inventory consumption, staff costs, debt financing, income. Anything that comes in or goes out the door, I have by month. Year. I can project trends, track performance.” Aware she was babbling, she reached for her work and he let her take it.
”Where did you go to B-school?”
”I didn't.”
His eyebrows rose. ”You came up with this all by yourself?”
”I just figured out what I needed to know to make the right decisions. I wish the trends were better, of course. But I feel more in control if I know what's going on.”
He looked at her, studying her thoughtfully.
”Did you need something else from the walk-in?” she asked.
His smile was lazy.
”Not right now.” He nodded at the clipboard. ”That's really good work.”
She looked down again, trying to convince herself that the respect in his voice didn't matter to her at all. But as she started counting the broccoli again, she began to smile.
”Hey, Frankie?”
She glanced up.
”What do you have around here for a nightlife?”
It was an unexpected question and kicked up an image of him on the prowl for women. He'd probably go for the kind who wore short skirts and belly s.h.i.+rts and could lay a man out flat with a pyrotechnic smile. Which meant she lost on all accounts. The only expression she had that could get a man's attention was the one she made when she was angry. And as for her wardrobe, the closest she had to anything tight was an old pair of stockings.
She pushed aside an odd disappointment. It was none of her d.a.m.n business what his type was. And there was nothing wrong with loose clothes, either. She didn't like things that chaffed or had to be removed with a crowbar. And thongs were nothing more than wedgies you had to pay for the privilege of getting. Which was nuts.
Nate c.o.c.ked an eyebrow, waiting for her answer.
She shrugged. ”We've only got fireflies and shooting stars here at White Caps, but there is a bar in town. Somehow, though, I imagine you'd prefer something more exciting than what the Stop, Drop and Roll offers.”
”That's the name of the bar?”
”It's owned by a volunteer fireman.”
He smiled. ”Well, I think what you have here will do just fine.”
She shot him a skeptical look, refusing to read into his words. ”Coming from New York City, I'm sure you'll want something with more of an edge.”
”That depends on who I'm with. Sometimes quiet is better.” His eyes moved down to her lips and his grin disappeared. ”Sometimes, two people only need the night.”
A moment later he turned away, leaving her staring after him.
Her fingers went to her mouth and she wondered whether you could be kissed without actually being kissed.
After he'd looked at her like that, she'd have to say yes.