Rosie headed for the bedroom. He'd called her Red, but then every man who ever spent more than ten minutes in the company of her hair usually did. Normally, she hated it. His using it should have irritated her. It didn't. Get a grip, Rosaleen, the man drove all the way out here in a monsoon looking for his dumb smart phone. There was no hope for him.
* * *
About an hour later, when Rosie got up—much improved—Kent was still there. So was Jonesy. They were sitting at her kitchen table, looking at each other as if they'd discovered a new candy—and were just now finalizing the distribution system. Rosie's heart slipped silently into her socks. She knew they'd like each other. Economically speaking, they were a perfect pairing. Like the Dow Jones and Warren Buffet.
"Better?" Kent asked, getting up when she stepped into the room.
Rosie breathed deeply. Her sinuses had unclogged at last, and her voice was back to normal.
"Much. Thanks. I added a cold tablet to your mom's cure-all. I'm almost human." She tugged at the brace. "Or should I say humanoid."
"Won't be long before it's off, Rosaleen," Jonesy said, sipping her coffee and looking back and forth between her and Kent.
"No, not long." Rosie didn't sit. Instead, she ran a finger along the edge of the table. "I take it introductions aren't necessary."
They nodded and smiled at each other. "Now you've got company, I'll head back to work." He walked over to Rosie, took her by the shoulders, and kissed her cheek, whispering, "Take care of yourself."
She swallowed, scarcely able to breathe. Her cheek was hot where his mouth had lingered. "I will." Was that thin, reedy voice truly hers? She cleared her throat.
"When do you expect to have the manual complete?" He shrugged into his jacket and headed for the door.
"I don't know yet. I need to have another look at it. I'll let you know."
He nodded, and for a moment it looked as though he were going to say something, then he smiled at Jonesy who'd come up behind them. "Nice meeting you, Jonesy."
With that, he was gone.
When the door closed behind him, Rosie went to the window, pushed the curtain aside, and watched him sprint through the rain to his car. He moved well, she thought, quick and fluid. Kent Summerton was a man in a hurry.
"Earth to Rosie. Earth to Rosie."
Rosie settled her gaze on Jonesy and blinked. "Sorry. Wool-gathering. What did you say?"
"I said who is that?"
Rosie headed for the kitchen and Jonesy followed her like a goose in formation. "I though you introduced yourselves."
"We did. I know his name, what he does, but that's it. I need more, Rosie. Much, much more."
"Like what?" She poured herself coffee.
"Like, for starters, how did you meet him?"
"Through Cyrano, Inc." Rosie could have bitten off her tongue.
"He's one of the dating-impaired. I don't believe it."
"It's a long story." And Rosie wasn't about to tell it. Not only would she have to field a barrage of I-told-you-so's from Jonesy; she'd be violating Kent's confidence.
"So what's my accounting crisis of the week?" Rosie asked, deciding her best course was a change of subject.
Jonesy ignored her. "You're infatuated."
Jonesy didn't believe in love, so Rosie guessed this was the best description she could come up with. "Nope. I'm in lust. Nothing more and nothing less."
"So?"
"So, what?"
"So, this is great news. This is what you want. Right?"
"I want lust?"
"It's the usual jumping-off point."
"Not for me."
"Rosaleen, are you crazy? The man's spectacular. He's a partner in a thriving business—in a growth sector of the economy—has a solid work ethic, owns his own home, and has well-laid plans for his future."
Rosie's mouth fell open. "You got all that in twenty minutes?"
"Just tell me. What can possibly be wrong?"
"Not a thing. He's perfect—for you, Jonesy. Go for it."
"Are you serious?" Her eyes narrowed in speculation.
"No, I'm not. Touch him and you're dead meat."
Jonesy smirked. "I thought so."
Rosie turned her
* * *
About an hour later, when Rosie got up—much improved—Kent was still there. So was Jonesy. They were sitting at her kitchen table, looking at each other as if they'd discovered a new candy—and were just now finalizing the distribution system. Rosie's heart slipped silently into her socks. She knew they'd like each other. Economically speaking, they were a perfect pairing. Like the Dow Jones and Warren Buffet.
"Better?" Kent asked, getting up when she stepped into the room.
Rosie breathed deeply. Her sinuses had unclogged at last, and her voice was back to normal.
"Much. Thanks. I added a cold tablet to your mom's cure-all. I'm almost human." She tugged at the brace. "Or should I say humanoid."
"Won't be long before it's off, Rosaleen," Jonesy said, sipping her coffee and looking back and forth between her and Kent.
"No, not long." Rosie didn't sit. Instead, she ran a finger along the edge of the table. "I take it introductions aren't necessary."
They nodded and smiled at each other. "Now you've got company, I'll head back to work." He walked over to Rosie, took her by the shoulders, and kissed her cheek, whispering, "Take care of yourself."
She swallowed, scarcely able to breathe. Her cheek was hot where his mouth had lingered. "I will." Was that thin, reedy voice truly hers? She cleared her throat.
"When do you expect to have the manual complete?" He shrugged into his jacket and headed for the door.
"I don't know yet. I need to have another look at it. I'll let you know."
He nodded, and for a moment it looked as though he were going to say something, then he smiled at Jonesy who'd come up behind them. "Nice meeting you, Jonesy."
With that, he was gone.
When the door closed behind him, Rosie went to the window, pushed the curtain aside, and watched him sprint through the rain to his car. He moved well, she thought, quick and fluid. Kent Summerton was a man in a hurry.
"Earth to Rosie. Earth to Rosie."
Rosie settled her gaze on Jonesy and blinked. "Sorry. Wool-gathering. What did you say?"
"I said who is that?"
Rosie headed for the kitchen and Jonesy followed her like a goose in formation. "I though you introduced yourselves."
"We did. I know his name, what he does, but that's it. I need more, Rosie. Much, much more."
"Like what?" She poured herself coffee.
"Like, for starters, how did you meet him?"
"Through Cyrano, Inc." Rosie could have bitten off her tongue.
"He's one of the dating-impaired. I don't believe it."
"It's a long story." And Rosie wasn't about to tell it. Not only would she have to field a barrage of I-told-you-so's from Jonesy; she'd be violating Kent's confidence.
"So what's my accounting crisis of the week?" Rosie asked, deciding her best course was a change of subject.
Jonesy ignored her. "You're infatuated."
Jonesy didn't believe in love, so Rosie guessed this was the best description she could come up with. "Nope. I'm in lust. Nothing more and nothing less."
"So?"
"So, what?"
"So, this is great news. This is what you want. Right?"
"I want lust?"
"It's the usual jumping-off point."
"Not for me."
"Rosaleen, are you crazy? The man's spectacular. He's a partner in a thriving business—in a growth sector of the economy—has a solid work ethic, owns his own home, and has well-laid plans for his future."
Rosie's mouth fell open. "You got all that in twenty minutes?"
"Just tell me. What can possibly be wrong?"
"Not a thing. He's perfect—for you, Jonesy. Go for it."
"Are you serious?" Her eyes narrowed in speculation.
"No, I'm not. Touch him and you're dead meat."
Jonesy smirked. "I thought so."
Rosie turned her
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