Page 13 of Nothing Less than Magic
“A few miles from here on my family’s farm.” He joins me at the table and snags a cookie from the bag.
“What kind of farm?”
“It used to be a goat farm. Now it’s just where I live.”
“And do you have a family?”
“Yep. A one-hundred-and-twenty-pound Great Pyrenees.”
“Why don’t you ever bring him . . . or her?”
“Not everyone likes dogs.”
I may be in that camp. But I don’t know, because I’ve never owned a dog . . . or a cat. Growing up, Uncle Sylvester didn’t allow us to have pets. Not because he was an ogre, it just wasn’t practical in a high-rise apartment in Century City. And when I went out on my own, the opportunity for a pet never arose.
“So no wife, huh?”
“No wife. Why? You interested?”
I laugh. “Would it disappoint you to hear that I’m not?”
He grabs his heart. “I guess I’ll have to muddle along without you, then.”
I laugh again. “How did you become a handyman?”
“I didn’t. I’m a biophysicist.”
I start to say, yeah, good one, but something tells me not to. “Wait, you’re not joking, are you?”
He shakes his head. “Nope, not joking. We biophysicists are humorless. I’ll prove it to you. What’s the fastest way to determine the sex of a chromosome?”
I shrug.
“Pull down its genes.” He waits for a laugh, and when he doesn’t get one, says, “See what I mean?”
“That was actually kind of funny.” I lock eyes with him, because I’m still not sure if he’s pulling my leg. “Are you out of work, then?”
“Out of work? Oh, no. I’m on sabbatical to write a book.”
“Then why are you fixing my roof?”
“Have you ever written a book about plant-based biofuels?” He hitches his brows, then pops a second cookie in his mouth.
“Can’t say I have. Boring stuff, huh?”
“Not boring, the opposite of boring. Try mind-blowing. So mind-blowing that sometimes my brain needs a rest.”
“So you swing a hammer?”
“I swing a hammer.”
“Never once while writing one of my books have I felt the need to swing a hammer,” I say.
“It’s a process. It doesn’t necessarily work for everyone.”
“Or maybe I’m doing it wrong. Maybe you’re onto something.”
“Could be.” He steals a glance out the window, where the rain seems to have let up. “Let me see what I can do about that dock of yours.”
