Key of Valor
Page 20
“Because—”
“Yeah, calculators make it easy.” Brad spoke casually over Zoe’s heat, and traced a finger over Simon’s work-sheet. “These are probably too tough for you to figure out by yourself.”
“No, they’re not.”
“I don’t know. Look pretty tough to me. You’ve got to add this three and three-quarters to the two and five-eighths. Heavy stuff.”
“You just have to change the quarters to eighths, that’s all. Like this.” Simon grabbed the pencil and, clamping his tongue in his teeth, did the conversion. “So, see, now you can add up the six-eighths and the five-eighths, then you take it down again to one and three-eighths, plus the whole number jazz. So altogether you get six and three-eighths. See, the answer’s six and three-eighths.”
“Ha. How about that?”
“Was that a trick?” Simon asked suspiciously.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He ruffled Simon’s hair. “Do the last one, smart guy.”
“Man.”
Zoe watched Brad lean over her son’s shoulder, felt her system start to slide toward melting when he looked up, smiled into her eyes.
No, she was afraid he wasn’t just a man, not just a friend who’d dropped by for dinner.
“Done!” Simon slapped his book closed. “Do I get parole, warden?”
“You’re out of the slammer for now. Go ahead and put your books away, and wash up for dinner.” Zoe poured two glasses of wine as Simon bolted out of the room. “You’re good with stubborn little boys.”
“It probably helps that I used to be one.” He took the glass from her. “He’s quick with numbers.”
“Yes, he is. He does really well in school. He just hates homework.”
“He’s supposed to, isn’t he? What are you wearing?”
“I . . .” Off center again, she looked down at her navy blue sweater.
“Not the clothes, the perfume. You always smell fabulous, and never quite the same.”
“I’m trying out a lot of different products. Soaps and creams and . . .” Catching the gleam in his eye, she lifted her wine to her lips before he could lean in and take them with his own. “Scents.”
“It’s funny. A lot of women have a favorite scent, like a signature. And it can haunt a man. You make a man wonder what it’ll be today, so he can’t stop thinking about you.”
She’d have backed up, but there wasn’t enough room in the kitchen to do so without making it obvious. “I don’t wear scents for men.”
“I know. That only makes it more seductive.”
He caught her panicked glance toward the doorway when they heard Simon coming back. Casually, Brad moved aside and let Zoe turn back to the stove.
“Are we going to eat now?” Simon demanded.
“Just putting the spaghetti in. Go ahead and sit down. We’ll start on the salad.”
She set a pretty table, Brad thought. Colorful plates, festive bowls, linens in a cheerful pattern. There were candles burning, and since Simon made no comment about them, Brad concluded they weren’t unusual at the McCourt table.
He thought she was relaxing into it, by degrees. The boy was responsible for most of that, of course. He was full of chatter, questions, comments, all of which he managed to get out even though he ate like a stevedore.
Not that Brad could blame him. Simon’s mother made a hell of a plate of spaghetti.
He had a second helping himself.
“I like your pictures in the living room,” Brad said to Zoe.
“The postcards? I collect them from people I know who go places.”
“We make the frames,” Simon put in. “Mom has a miter box. Maybe one day we’ll go places, and we’ll send people postcards. Right, Mom?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know.” She twirled pasta absently around her fork. “Somewhere.”
“We’re going to Italy one day, and eat spaghetti over there.” Grinning, Simon stuffed more in his mouth.
“They don’t make it any better than your mom does.”
“You been over there and stuff?”
“Yeah. The picture you have of the bridge in Florence? I’ve stood there.”
“Is it really cool?” Simon wanted to know.
“It’s really cool.”
“They’ve got a place over there that’s got water for streets.”
“Venice, Simon,” Zoe reminded him. “They’re canals. Have you been to Venice?” she asked Brad.
“Yes. It’s beautiful. You go everywhere in boats,” he told Simon. “Or you walk. They have water taxis and water buses.”
“Get out!”
“Really. There aren’t any cars in Venice, and no roads for them. I’ve got some pictures somewhere. I’ll dig them out and show them to you.”
He shifted his attention back to Zoe. “How’s the work progressing?”
“Dana’s bookshelves came in today. We dropped everything to set them up. It was a real moment for us. And the windows came in.” She cleared her throat. “I want to thank you for arranging the installation. It was very generous of you.”
“Uh-huh. Did you get my note?”
She twirled the last of her pasta on her fork. “Yes. Despite that, it was generous of you.”
He had to laugh. “Think about it this way. Indulgence has brought considerable business into HomeMakers over the last couple of weeks. This was our way of thanking you for your patronage. So, did they get all the windows in?”
“I imagine you know the answer to that already.” He was a man, she was sure, who knew that whatever he ordered done was done.
He acknowledged that with a tip of his glass. “The crew said they looked good—and that they got cookies and coffee out of the deal.”
Amused, she looked down at his plate. “Looks like you got two helpings of spaghetti out of it.”
He grinned at her, and lifted the bottle to pour more wine into her glass.
“I’m stuffed,” Simon announced. “Can we go play a video game now? Me and Brad?”
“Sure.”
Simon popped up, and Brad noted that he took his dishes and set them on the counter by the sink.
“Yeah, calculators make it easy.” Brad spoke casually over Zoe’s heat, and traced a finger over Simon’s work-sheet. “These are probably too tough for you to figure out by yourself.”
“No, they’re not.”
“I don’t know. Look pretty tough to me. You’ve got to add this three and three-quarters to the two and five-eighths. Heavy stuff.”
“You just have to change the quarters to eighths, that’s all. Like this.” Simon grabbed the pencil and, clamping his tongue in his teeth, did the conversion. “So, see, now you can add up the six-eighths and the five-eighths, then you take it down again to one and three-eighths, plus the whole number jazz. So altogether you get six and three-eighths. See, the answer’s six and three-eighths.”
“Ha. How about that?”
“Was that a trick?” Simon asked suspiciously.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He ruffled Simon’s hair. “Do the last one, smart guy.”
“Man.”
Zoe watched Brad lean over her son’s shoulder, felt her system start to slide toward melting when he looked up, smiled into her eyes.
No, she was afraid he wasn’t just a man, not just a friend who’d dropped by for dinner.
“Done!” Simon slapped his book closed. “Do I get parole, warden?”
“You’re out of the slammer for now. Go ahead and put your books away, and wash up for dinner.” Zoe poured two glasses of wine as Simon bolted out of the room. “You’re good with stubborn little boys.”
“It probably helps that I used to be one.” He took the glass from her. “He’s quick with numbers.”
“Yes, he is. He does really well in school. He just hates homework.”
“He’s supposed to, isn’t he? What are you wearing?”
“I . . .” Off center again, she looked down at her navy blue sweater.
“Not the clothes, the perfume. You always smell fabulous, and never quite the same.”
“I’m trying out a lot of different products. Soaps and creams and . . .” Catching the gleam in his eye, she lifted her wine to her lips before he could lean in and take them with his own. “Scents.”
“It’s funny. A lot of women have a favorite scent, like a signature. And it can haunt a man. You make a man wonder what it’ll be today, so he can’t stop thinking about you.”
She’d have backed up, but there wasn’t enough room in the kitchen to do so without making it obvious. “I don’t wear scents for men.”
“I know. That only makes it more seductive.”
He caught her panicked glance toward the doorway when they heard Simon coming back. Casually, Brad moved aside and let Zoe turn back to the stove.
“Are we going to eat now?” Simon demanded.
“Just putting the spaghetti in. Go ahead and sit down. We’ll start on the salad.”
She set a pretty table, Brad thought. Colorful plates, festive bowls, linens in a cheerful pattern. There were candles burning, and since Simon made no comment about them, Brad concluded they weren’t unusual at the McCourt table.
He thought she was relaxing into it, by degrees. The boy was responsible for most of that, of course. He was full of chatter, questions, comments, all of which he managed to get out even though he ate like a stevedore.
Not that Brad could blame him. Simon’s mother made a hell of a plate of spaghetti.
He had a second helping himself.
“I like your pictures in the living room,” Brad said to Zoe.
“The postcards? I collect them from people I know who go places.”
“We make the frames,” Simon put in. “Mom has a miter box. Maybe one day we’ll go places, and we’ll send people postcards. Right, Mom?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know.” She twirled pasta absently around her fork. “Somewhere.”
“We’re going to Italy one day, and eat spaghetti over there.” Grinning, Simon stuffed more in his mouth.
“They don’t make it any better than your mom does.”
“You been over there and stuff?”
“Yeah. The picture you have of the bridge in Florence? I’ve stood there.”
“Is it really cool?” Simon wanted to know.
“It’s really cool.”
“They’ve got a place over there that’s got water for streets.”
“Venice, Simon,” Zoe reminded him. “They’re canals. Have you been to Venice?” she asked Brad.
“Yes. It’s beautiful. You go everywhere in boats,” he told Simon. “Or you walk. They have water taxis and water buses.”
“Get out!”
“Really. There aren’t any cars in Venice, and no roads for them. I’ve got some pictures somewhere. I’ll dig them out and show them to you.”
He shifted his attention back to Zoe. “How’s the work progressing?”
“Dana’s bookshelves came in today. We dropped everything to set them up. It was a real moment for us. And the windows came in.” She cleared her throat. “I want to thank you for arranging the installation. It was very generous of you.”
“Uh-huh. Did you get my note?”
She twirled the last of her pasta on her fork. “Yes. Despite that, it was generous of you.”
He had to laugh. “Think about it this way. Indulgence has brought considerable business into HomeMakers over the last couple of weeks. This was our way of thanking you for your patronage. So, did they get all the windows in?”
“I imagine you know the answer to that already.” He was a man, she was sure, who knew that whatever he ordered done was done.
He acknowledged that with a tip of his glass. “The crew said they looked good—and that they got cookies and coffee out of the deal.”
Amused, she looked down at his plate. “Looks like you got two helpings of spaghetti out of it.”
He grinned at her, and lifted the bottle to pour more wine into her glass.
“I’m stuffed,” Simon announced. “Can we go play a video game now? Me and Brad?”
“Sure.”
Simon popped up, and Brad noted that he took his dishes and set them on the counter by the sink.
