“You look disappointed,” I said. “I thought you’d be happy I finished quickly.” I gestured vaguely toward his computer. “Now you have more time for shopping. I mean, for your other projects.”
“I’m not disappointed. I’m bewildered,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “That was supposed to be two to three days of work. Minimum. How did you complete it in three hours?”
“It was a straightforward process,” I explained, as if Iwere discussing the weather instead of revealing that I found his supposedly mind-numbing task to be elementary. “Your database is remarkably clean, which definitely sped things up. And you explained the task very well.”
Something flickered across his face—was that pride?
Sam quickly recalibrated and said, “Verifying three thousand entries is not straightforward. That’s tedious torture designed to break the human spirit.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—I wasn’t aware you were trying to break me,” I said, crossing my arms.
He opened his mouth and closed it.
“I’m kidding,” I lied. “I’m actually surprised you didn’t automate the process, so I took the liberty of automating it for you. That’s why I finished so quickly.”
“I’m impressed you could do that, but I find manual verification more reliable,” he said, even though he didn’t sound convinced by his own excuse. “Automation can introduce unforeseen errors.”
“That can be true, but manual processes for larger projects actually introduce a higher probability of human error because of fatigue and attention drift,” I countered.
“You’re not wrong,” he admitted, looking impressed that I was speaking fluent Nerd again.
The silence that settled between us was different this time. Not the awkward pause of two socially incompetent people failing to communicate, but the quiet recognition of two freakishly similar minds.
I realized that my mission was significantly more complicated than expected because Sam Monroe was awalking contradiction, a logic puzzle wrapped in an enigma, encrypted with human compassion and impeccable skin.
Sam glanced at his computer screen again, his eyebrows knitting together as he studied my work. “Hold on—I see an error.”
“What? I seriously doubt that.” I leaned over his shoulder to get a better look. “Where?”
“Right here,” he said, tapping the monitor. “The location for the Centennial Founders’ Day Parade was listed as being on Elm Street. The parade route has always been on Main Street since its inception.”
“I disagree with your assessment,” I said. “Your policy states that location metadata shall reflect the event’s documented physical location. That was the year of the Great Flood, and the parade was rerouted to Elm Street because Main Street was closed for repairs. The location is correct.”
Sam turned to me, surprised. “You’re absolutely right. I was out of town that year and completely forgot. I stand corrected.” He turned back toward his monitor, then scrolled through more of my work. “Wow—you are amazing.”
I leaned closer to watch again, and this time, I caught the scent. My mind immediately kicked into diagnostic overdrive.
It wasn’t one of those overpowering designer fragrances that screamed, “Look at me.” This was more complex. Cedar and bergamot formed the base notes, I was almost sure of it, but there was something unexpected layered underneath. Sandalwood, maybe? No, it was somethingzingy, like citrus, and the formula was doing strange things to my ability to concentrate.
Or was it Sam and not the cologne?
No, that would be ridiculous.
The scent was subtle enough that you’d have to be close to really appreciate its intricacies. I drew another quick breath into my nostrils, practically mesmerized by the smell, but determined to decipher the remaining components.
“What are you doing?” Sam’s voice cracked slightly as he turned toward me, putting us face-to-face, mere inches apart.
We were so close I could map the storm-gray flecks in his blue eyes, and even count each pixel of panic flickering across his features.
The air between us seemed to compress.
My thoughts scattered like startled birds.
I was breathless for reasons I couldn’t name.
What in the world was going on with me?
“Sorry—I was just …” I stumbled backward, my cheeks blazing, as I desperately tried to put some respectable distance between us.
