A date with Jack the Ripper. “Ah . . . well . . . I never thought about it.”
“Tell you what. How about you do something wild and crazy today and give it a try? Come with me. I promise not to sabotage you and your gem geekydom. You’ll be safe with me.”
“Lighten up, Andie. I can’t find even a hint of humor in you.”
“Oh my!” Aunt Weeby says. “I don’t know what’d be more fun today. I love flea marketing, but refereeing these two could also be a barrel of fun.”
And I traded ulcers for this? “I’m outta here.” And outta my mind.
Max holds the door, and as I head for his SUV, he calls out, “Have a great time, ladies. I’ll take good care of her.”
My suspicion-o-meter starts beeping like a trash truck in reverse.
We get into his car and buckle up. “I’ll have you know I’m a perfectly capable adult, Max Matthews. There’s not gonna be any of that ‘taking care of Andie’ going on.”
“Let me worry about that.”
Fear waves hello, but then my conscience pipes in: Try more prayer.
I give it another whirl.
We drive away in silence—a sticky, icky silence. What’s the deal with this guy?
After a few minutes, he says, “I’ve been playing around with an idea. Are you willing to listen?”
“I’m your captive audience, but that doesn’t mean I’ll take the bait.”
“Fair enough. Why don’t you check out the bag in the backseat?”
I give it a glance. The brown paper sack looks innocent enough. Will it blow up when I open it?
A peek at Max gains me nothing. Nothing but the reminder of how close we are. And that answers my question. I doubt he’d have a bomb in the bag. He doesn’t strike me as suicidal.
When I open the sack, I’m stumped. It contains nothing suspicious, just strange. I spread out on my lap a pair of plastic Groucho Marx glasses, a hot-pink ruler, an eight-inch-square blackboard, and an apple.
“What’s all this?”
“Where’s that sense of humor you told me about?”
“Right where it’s always been, but that doesn’t mean I get your shopping habits.”
“Let me spell it out for you. The reason you hate me is because I’m not gem savvy—”
“Wait! Wait, wait, wait. I don’t hate you. I just don’t think you’re the right man for the job.”
“All I want is for you to give me a chance—even though I’d much rather be selling sports equipment. That’s what this is all about,
“Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“Whatever happened to your old folks’ course in rocks?” “You’re never going to think I know anything unless you’re the one who does the teaching. So how about it? If you know as much about gems as you say you do, then go ahead and share. Teach me what you think I need to know.”
Talk about being between a rock and a hard place—pun totally intended. I don’t want to spend any more time with Max than I have to. He’s too attractive, even with all his flaws. Then there’s that coincidence that might not be so much coincidence.
I mean, really. What could be worse than— No. I’m not going there. Not while we’re in his car.
And maybe not.
On the other hand, Max does have a point. If he’s innocent, and if I’m going to be stuck with him, I would want to make sure he gets his facts straight. So maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all. “I guess we can give it a try. But if it doesn’t work out, then you’re off to sell sports junk.”
He lets out a sigh that tells me he hadn’t been sure of my answer. And he’d been sweating the wait for my decision. Why would he want to spend so much time with me, if he feels I hate him? Especially, if all he wants to do is sell sports stuff. I don’t do sports.
Suspicious, don’t you think?
I slant him a glance and notice his smile, no smirk in sight. In spite of everything and with no effort on his part, his easy good looks hit me in a way I don’t really want to be hit. At least, not by him, and especially not now that Peggy’s got me to thinking.
