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* * *
“Read any good books lately?” Michael asked as I reached up to a shelf above my head for some brochures.
“More likely to be reading these,” I said, showing him the sales leaflets before I shoved them in my briefcase.
He leaned against the shelf next to me, his suit jacket gone, his crisp white shirt almost blinding. His tie, today, was green.
I preferred the burgundy.
“What about movies, then? Surely you’ve been to the movies.”
“Nope. Busy, busy, busy.”
“You know what they say,” he said.
“All work and no play?” I guessed.
He shook his head, blue eyes intense and focused solely on me.
“No,” he said softly.
I held my breath.
“What do they say, then?” I eventually asked.
He smiled.
“Mincemeat doesn't hang on hooks,” he said.
I blinked.
“What?” I said, trying not to laugh out loud.
“Well, it’s true,” he said. “Have you ever tried it?”
“No!” I said, giving in to the laughter.
“What about the movies?” he asked. “Wanna go?”
My smile dimmed, and I turned back to my leaflets.
“I fly down to Christchurch tomorrow. Better get an early night.”
“OK,” he said. “Next time.”
* * *
Ireached into the back of the stationery cupboard and found a pen that should have been made of gold.
“Wow,” Michael said from behind me. “You actually found one. Gail only hands those out to people she likes.”
“Gail stocks this?” I asked.
“She’s in charge of office supplies.” He leaned down and whispered. “And she guards them with her life.”
I smiled.
“You should hide that,” he said, nodding towards the pen.
