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Howwashe picturing her, anyway? What if he was disappointed when he met her? He obviously liked her because he was still talking to her, but what if he didn’t find her attractive? She wasn’t hideous or anything, but she wasn’t anything special either.
Maybe it was time they exchanged photographs. Then, if he wanted to, he could politely run away.
But then she remembered that Google was fully capable of doing an image search, and it would only take him seconds to figure out who she was. Not only was her headshot on the FWS website, but a few local papers were covering the western Blake toad story as well. Her mother had sent her screenshots of the articles, so she knew that at least one of them had included her picture.
“No,” she wrote, “I’m not hanging on by my fingertips. Nothing like that.”
“Good. But I’m still sorry that you’re under pressure. That’s not healthy.”
He was right. It wasn’t.
“Good news, though. Something happened last night that made me think things might be looking up.”
“Might be?” he sent back quickly.
“Yeah,” she wrote and then hesitated. How was she supposed to explain that her fate depended on a poop test? “There was a development, but I won’t know how it affects me for a while.”
“How long?”
“I’m not sure. I had hoped it would only take a few hours, but I was just told that it could take a few days.” Which was absolutely ridiculous. This toad was a big enough deal to shut down hunting season, but it wasn’t a big enough deal to pay a few extra hours of lab overtime?
“That stinks.”
She snickered like a boy in fifth grade. Wolfgang had made a funny poop pun without even realizing it.
“How was your night?” she sent.
“Pretty uneventful, compared to yours, though I am also working with a guy right now who’s kind of a jerk. And last night I finally lost my cool and told him to shut up.”
Wow, so Wolfgang really was the kind of guy who would stand at the top of her triangle. Good to know.
Her phone pinged again. “It occurred to me that this might get me into trouble, but I actually think my client appreciated it.”
His client? She stared at that interesting word. Just what kind of business was this guy in, and why wouldn’t he tell her more about it? Before she could ask, though, she got distracted by his next message.
“Anyway, he was quiet for the rest of the night, so that was good. Let’s forget work. We are off the clock. Let’s talk about something pleasant.”
“Okay, what?”
He sent an emoji of a thinking face, and she giggled.
He wrote, “Tell me about a favorite childhood memory.”
Well, he was really digging deep. “Okay, give me a second. I want a good one.”
“Take your time.”
A memory popped into her head. It wasn’t exactly afavorite, but itwasan entertaining one, so she started typing, “I think I was about five or six years old, and my grandfather took me fishing. It was a very long walk back to the campsite, and we were almost there when something tickled my cheek. I reached up and wiped my face, and when I brought my hand down, there was a fish eyeball stuck to it.” She hit send and then started typing again, but before she got far, Wolfgang sent, “That’s pretty gross.”
Yes, yes, it was. “I was horrified. I had been walking for miles with a fish eyeball stuck to my cheek. I yelled, and my grandfather turned back to see what was wrong. And you know what he said?”
“No idea,” Wolfgang said, “but the suspense is real.”
She laughed. “He said, and I quote, ‘Wow, that fish really wanted to keep an eye on you.’ And then he laughed so hard that he threw his back out, and I had to help him hobble the rest of the way back to the campsite. It might not be my favorite memory, but I think that’s the one that’s most vivid.”
