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“As we know, it can be. Imagine it combined with alcohol.”
“We might need to take a poll at the hospital to see how many injuries come in with dance moves.”
“I’m sure more than you realize,” she said. “But most are too embarrassed to admit it.”
“But not you?” he asked.
“Why lie? It serves no purpose.”
“I always thought that,” he said.
He’d been lied to enough in his life by women.
“Since you’ve got no life and it’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon and you reminded your brother to give me pain pills for the night, I’d like to offer to make dinner for you. If you’re interested in seeing me in something more than my painting rags. I’m not sure if I’m more embarrassed over that than my injury.”
“Dinner sounds great,” he said. “Anything I can bring?”
“Just an appetite and a list of anything you don’t like or can’t eat. Actually, I’d prefer to have that before in case I need to go to the store.”
“Don’t go out of your way,” he said. “I’m not fussy and have no food allergies. I eat anything I don’t have to cook. And I don’t cook much so that is kind of an answer for you.”
“I’ll text you my address,” she said. “Tell me the time. I didn’t even ask if you had to work tonight.”
“I’m off for a few days,” he said.
“Even better,” she said. “How about four? We can chat a little while I cook.”
“Perfect,” he said.
She hung up on him after that. Not that he wanted to sit on the phone and talk, but he would have if this didn’t fall into his lap as neatly as it had.
He couldn’t remember the last time something like that happened to him.
At thirty-seven years old, he was trying to find something his brother, sister and cousins all had.
It seemed hopeless.
Yet this was one of those chance things that happened on this island.
Fate.
Maybe it was his time.
Or he could be wishing for more than he had, which he’d done a lot in his life.
He had less than two hours so he’d do his laundry and anything else that had to get done in the house, then he’d hit the liquor store.
He found her house easily enough but hadn’t expected her to be up at the top of a cliff. Though the research he’d done on her while he was killing time told him she was a bit of a free bird.
There wasn’t much on her parents or anything more than she went to an Ivy League college and was from Rhode Island.
The small blue craftsman house with the bright yellow door seemed to fit her. He didn’t see her with a traditional colonial or a modern home either.
She’d be one that appreciated hand-crafted details, being an artist.
She seemed to be one hell of an artist too. He’d seen she’d had pieces listed in galleries all over the US and more online and in her studio.
The most expensive priced piece he’d seen was ten thousand dollars. In his family, that wasn’t much, but there were plenty ofother pieces that you had to inquire about, meaning they were much higher.
