His smile falters. “About that…” He averts his eyes. “I dunno. Maybe it’s time I go for something longer-term.”
“Really? Okay. Give me a second.” I turn to my computer to navigate through the interface and widen the date parameters of my earlier search. While I wait for the sluggish results to populate, I say, “You never told me how the job at the mall worked out.”
“You were right about the hat,” he replies. “But I was told I wore it well.” After I laugh and chide him for not bothering to take a single selfie, he continues, “Also, I learnt that people have some odd sentiments engraved on mementos. And they engrave odd items, as well. For example…” He leans forward. “One bloke brought in a toaster. A toaster! And he had me etch”—he assumes a scarily good redneck accent—“‘Luann, You melt my butter. Love always, Bubba.’”
“You’re making that up.”
He rests his hand against his chest. “I suppose you wouldn’t believe me, since you don’t believe in romance.”
He may look completely guileless, but he’s an amazing liar, especially in the interest of getting a laugh. He’s fooled me countless times with funny stories that have wound up being utter fabrications, told merely for comedic effect. And that’s fine. I don’t mind being part of the punchline.
“It was a nice toaster,” he adds seriously. “Four slots.”
I whistle. “Bubba knows how to toast a girl’s bread.”
Colin stifles another cough brought on by laughter. “To answer your question seriously, though, about the job, it worked out well.”
“Excellent. Now, about your new prospects…” Before printing anything this time, I describe some of the full-time jobs that meet his scheduling requirements and match his skills sets. He surprises me by going with appointment taker and greeter at a hair salon that caters to a slightly ‘mature’ clientele.
“It’ll be nice to have Sundays and Mondays off. And free haircuts,” he defends his choice.
I’m not here to judge, and he’s more than qualified for the post, so I print and sign the referral, then hand it over to him. “There you go. Now, more important stuff. Your trip! How was it? The pictures you sent made me jealous.”
He blows his nose. Smiling mildly, he answers, “Yeah. It was nice. Better than I expected.”
“That wouldn’t be too hard, considering.”
His smile turns sheepish. “I suppose I presumed a bit much and expected the worst, but Mum and Dad were happy to see me, and when they saw for themselves, face-to-face, that I’m okay, they relaxed a bit.”
“That’s good. They can’t help but worry about you, all the way over here, alone.”
“I’m hardly alone.” He crosses his arms over his chest and sits as far back in his chair as he can and keep all four legs on the floor. “Anyway, what’s new in your world?” he asks, obviously finished with the basic recap of his overseas trip.
I flap my lips. “Absolutely nothing. The Chiefs made it to the playoffs; that’s my major source of joy right now.”
“That’s American football right?” he feigns ignorance.
My rolling eyes give him his answer and seem to amuse him. He clicks his tongue. “Is it me, or are you uncharacteristically uptight today, Lady Maura? You were putting on a good show at first, but I can tell something’s bothering you.”
Checking the clock to make sure we’re not keeping my next appointment waiting, I debate mentioning the problem that landed in my lap this morning. Saying it out loud may make it seem like less of a big deal, though, so I begin, “There is something bumming me out.”
He leans forward. “Do tell!”
I nibble at the chapped skin on my bottom lip. “I’ve been put in charge of the fall job fair.”
“Oh, I say!”
“It’s not funny!” I snap, struggling not to smile at his smug amusement at my predicament.
He scratches his temple. “But it is, because a responsibility that large is a bloody nightmare for you.”
“Still not seeing the ‘funny’ here.”
“I can tell you’re having kittens about it, but you know what? You can handle it. You’ll be brilliant. Plus, that’s ages from now. Late September?”
“Yes. It’s going to be a cluster-bomb of the highest order. I have no idea where to begin,” I moan, my stomach knotting more tightly.
“Give it a theme, to make it fun. Make a list of what you need to do. Take it one step at a time.”
“Listen to you. Mr. Large and In-Charge.”
“I’d be bricking myself if this was something I had to do,” he admits with a laugh. “But since it’s not my problem, I find it easy to detach and tell you what you need to do.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“Any time. Who’s organized these fairs in the past? Who’s doing the spring one? I seem to remember you hold these to-dos more than once a year.”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “Yeah. Arnold’s doing the spring one, as usual. But he’s retiring, the jerk. The powers that be decided I would be the perfect person to take up the baton.”
“Have they only recently met you?”
“Hey! I’m a good employee. I guess I’ve been too good lately.”
He hums something that could be taken as agreement or dissent, so I choose to interpret it positively.
“I’m shadowing Arnold this time around, for the spring fair, so he can show me what needs to be done, and when. Supposedly, I’ll be good to go after that.”
“Free food. That always brings them in droves,” he suggests. “And perhaps a raffle.”
“I don’t want to think about it, much less talk about it.”
“Then in the few precious minutes we have left together today, let’s discuss something more promising, shall we?” His eyes sparkle. Or are they watering from his cold? “I seem to remember a certain footballer asked for your digits at that Christmas party. Whatever came of that?”
I struggle to maintain a passive expression when I say, “We don’t call them
