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“What about a nursery a few years down the line?”
“Yeah, I reckon that could work. Expand the garden, get a polytunnel down for growing flowers.”
“Not that kind of nursery, you doofus.”
His brow wrinkles and then his eyes widen. “Oh, I see.”
“For someone so smart, you can be pretty dumb at times.”
“Careful now. I punish sass as much as I punish cussing.”
“I’ll bear that in mind. Now, are you coming in or what?”
“Can I smoke in the house?”
“You can choose. Cigar out here on your own or coffee inside with me. What’s it to be?”
He stubs the cigar out on the ground. “As long as it’s not that instant shit.”
“I have a machine.”
“I have a mole on my ass. What’s your point?”
“A coffee machine.”
“Gotcha.”
I walk inside and he follows me, my shadow, my protector, my guardian.
We go into the kitchen and I make us a couple of drinks. When I turn around, he’s looking at the rest of my mail. “Lot of bills in here,” he says, tapping the envelopes. “Final notices, that kind of thing.”
“Yeah, I’m not great with money. You might have noticed.”
“I’ve got an accountant who can probably help you out.”
“That could be helpful.”
“I’ll get him to put a million in your account. Tide you over for a while, won’t it?”
“Sorry, what?” I almost drop the coffee. He notices, grabbing both mugs out of my hands and putting them down on the counter.
“Did I not mention? I’m obscenely fucking rich.”
“No, you did not mention that.”
“Didn’t want to think you were only with me for the money.”
“Well, I am now. Are you serious?”
“How good a garden can you build for a million bucks?”
“Good enough for the Pope to shit in.”
His brow wrinkles. “I thought he only took a shit in the woods.”
“That’s bears.”
“Bears shit in woods? Whatever next, Pope is Catholic?”
