He was early; no one was
there.
Ten minutes later, Jacky drove up. She got out of a red Toyota truck
and waved one hand. "I've got the key," she said. "Did you get anything
done?"
"Yeah, a start," Oliver said. He installed the software while she made
a pot of coffee.
"Coffee's on," she said, carrying a cup for herself. "Mugs are in the
cupboard above the sink." Oliver decided against a joke about a woman's
role in the office. He walked down the hall and poured his own. He
looked at his hiking boots, light colored jeans, and dark plaid shirt.
It was Saturday, for God sake. Every day was Saturday for Oliver as far
as clothes were concerned. What difference did it make? Jacky was
wearing tan jeans and a denim jacket, open over a mahogany colored
jersey. She was a big woman. His eyes were at the level of her
collarbone. Her jacket would swing back easily. Stop it, he told
himself.
She objected to his mailing list screens. "Cluttered," she said. She
was right. He explained that he had jammed everything in as a
beginning, so that they could see what they were working with. She was
clear about what she wanted. Forty-five minutes later, they were back
outside.
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