..” she replied, her voice full of doubt. “What kind of work can you do?”“Um ... I’m still figuring that out. Basic stuff, for sure. Cutting... organizing, cleaning, stuff like that. Yard work. Clearing out piles that kids haven’t gotten around to taking care of.”She seemed on the verge of rolling her eyes, but she kept it to just a grin.“Anything more,” I finished, “I’d have to look at it.”“What about painting?”“Oh, I’ve done some, yeah. I painted a dance studio in town last year. But I’m no. When he smiled at me, crinkling the corners of his bright blue eyes, my heart flip flopped in my chest.We engaged in small talk. How was my flight? How was my hotel? Gradually, the casual banter gave way to the familiarity we used in chatting over the Internet. I never missed an opportunity to touch him. His hand, his arm, his knee. The feel of his flesh, solid and warm under my fingers made me feel hot inside.I longed to unzip his jeans and slide my hand inside. The urge was almost. More

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