Page 65 of Baker

He twisted his glass of tea in a circle, watching it as it turned in his hand. “After you lost your job?”

I studied him as he studied his glass. “Yeah. Finding a job’s not as easy as you might think. A college education doesn’t guarantee anything.”

He glanced over his shoulder, and then looked at me. “What’s your favorite color?”

I let out a laugh. “Is this a trick question?”

He stroked his beard. “No.”

I laughed. Not because what he said was funny, but because it was contradictory to what he’d said only a week earlier. His expression changed to one of wonder. I caught my breath and explained. “You said a week or so ago that a person’s favorite color didn’t matter. What they detested mattered.”

He chuckled. “You’re perceptive.”

“If it wasn’t important to you, you wouldn’t have said it.” I raised my glass. “I pay attention.”

He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “What color furniture do you detest?”

“Yellow,” I blurted.

“Is that it?”

“Pretty much.”

His eyebrows raised. “Green?”

“I’m good with green.”

“Lime green?”

“If it was a fun piece of furniture, it’d be cool.”

“Tangerine?”

“Same answer.”

He studied his tea for a moment, and then met my gaze. “Red?”

I was seeing a different side of Baker, and I loved it. Simply talking about furniture with him was more fun than I’d had in a long time. “Look behind you,” I said with a laugh. “I saved the red couch. It’s my favorite piece. At least I didn’t lose it.”

He wiped the condensation off his glass of tea with his thumb until there was a small puddle on the countertop. As he played in it with his fingertip, he looked up. “The tea’s good.”

It seemed he felt out of place, and I wondered why he really stopped by. I doubted it was to discuss furniture colors.

“Why’d you stop by?” I asked. “What were you hoping to accomplish?”

He tilted his head to the side and grinned. “Have you always been so outspoken?”

I nodded eagerly. “Pretty much, yeah.”

He took a drink of tea, set the glass aside, and then swept the puddle away with the back of his hand. “I feel weird.”

“You came by to tell me you feel weird?”

“No. With you standing over there, and me sitting here.” He stood, but didn’t make eye contact with me. “There. That’s better.”

It wasn’t better. Something was bothering him. I didn’t feel that sex was our only common bond, and I hoped he felt the same way. I certainly didn’t want him to give up before we got started.

“Does not boning bother you?”