Kitabı oku: «Cutting Loose», sayfa 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Turns out Devlin isn’t a complete ass after all. Why does that seem worse somehow?

O KAY, THIS IS AWKWARD . Jane didn’t know about Devlin, but the laden silence as they removed their cartons from the take-home sacks and peeled wooden chopsticks out of their paper wrappings was uncomfortable as all get-out to her. She snapped the joint connecting the two sticks and opened her container, taking a peek at him. God knew she didn’t know what to say and he either suffered from the same problem or felt no need to fill the void, because several long, prickly minutes passed without either of them uttering a word.

She ate a few bites to give herself a reason for not talking. But the weighted silence gnawed at her. “Great dish, huh?”

Oh, brilliant, Kaplinski. She wanted to smack herself. Could she be more inane?

Devlin surprised her with a grin, however. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I love this stuff. I could eat it three times a day, four days running.” Shifting in his chair, he was all muscle in motion, his wide shoulders straining the seams of his black tee and the unbuttoned green-and-black flannel shirt he wore over it, the sinews of his forearms beneath his rolled-up sleeves bunching and releasing with the subtlest movement of his wrists. He settled in his seat and scooped up a couple more bites of his dinner.

A moment later he planted his chopsticks in his still half-full container and dabbed his mouth with a paper napkin. Then he caught her in the crosshairs of a seriously intense hazel-eyed gaze. “It must be pretty cool working in a museum. I’m sort of a museum junkie myself.”

A snort escaped her. “Sure you are.” Immediately, she wished the words unspoken. Oh, nicely done, Jane. Way to keep the truce going. But, c’mon. One look at that build, those reckless eyes, and she was pretty sure most people would excuse her for doubting museums were the kind of entertainment to draw a guy like this.

Particularly if they were the female half of the human race.

“No, I’m serious. It started years ago when I went to the Viking Ship Museum in Oslo.” Sliding his carton to one side and the salt and pepper shakers to the other, he leaned on his forearms, his long fingers splayed out on the tabletop and his eyes alight. “Have you ever been there? Seen the Gokstad and Oseberg ships?”

She shook her head, fascinated by the enthusiasm in his voice and the way his dark eyes lit up with it.

“They’re clinker-built oak Viking boats that were found in burial mounds on farms in Norway in the late eighteen and early nineteen hundreds. Both were built in the ninth century. Eight hundred thirty-something and eight-ninety I think it was, which just blows me away. If I could have, I’d have crawled over those babies from stem to stern to check out their construction up close. Because they may be more than eleven hundred years old, Jane, but the craftsmanship still rocks.”

He pushed back, shooting her a lightning-quick self-deprecating smile. “Anyhow, for a while after I discovered them, it was all boat museums all the time. Then I started branching out. I admit the kind of museums that mostly host paintings aren’t my thing.” The brawny shoulders she couldn’t seem to peel her gaze away from lifted in a careless shrug beneath worn flannel. “But show me stuff made by some highly skilled craftsman, and I’m all over it. Those ancient boats? Most of them were built by guys who had to make their own tools first. And the end product is a ship that’s still standing today. How cool is that?”

“Very cool.”

“Yeah. Now that’s an artist.” Pulling his container back in front of him, he scooped up another bite, chowed it down, then gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on. So, how about you? I’m guessing those painting-type museums are right up your alley, huh?”

“Oh, I like paintings well enough, especially if it’s a Renoir or something by one of the Pre-Raphaelite artists. But my true love will always be iconic objets d’art. ” Seeing his eyes go blank, she laughed. “Stuff,” she clarified. “Along the lines of what I’m cataloging now. Like you, I get off on the artistry of the craftsmen. Even the mass-produced items were made better back in the day.”

He was staring at her mouth with a sudden intentness, the chopsticks he’d been bringing to his lips suspended midair, and she faltered for a moment, wondering if a piece of bok choy had lodged between her teeth. Then she gave herself a mental shake. Short of fleeing to the restroom to check, there wasn’t a lot she could do about it if it had. So, drawing a quiet breath, she soldiered on.

“That’s how I ended up at the Met,” she said, and was relieved when he lifted his gaze and resumed eating. “It’s definitely my kind of museum. We host our share of shows featuring paintings, but most of our permanent collection falls under the history and culture umbrella, which tends to reflect areas of the human experience. Of our eleven permanent exhibits, only two are paintings. And if I ever get my act together and sort out all Miss Agnes’s stuff I’ll be adding exhibits twelve and thirteen to the nonpainting side.”

“I’ve never been to the Metropolitan. But it sounds more like a Smithsonian-type museum or something?”

“We definitely lean more in that direction than we do, say, toward the Louvre.” She grinned again. “Which, I gotta be honest, I’d kill to see in person.”

He shoved back from the table suddenly, his chair screeching across the linoleum as he surged to his feet. “I’m gonna go get a glass of water. You want a refill on your Diet Coke?”

Smile fading, she blinked up at him, thrown by the abruptness of his action. “Um, okay. Sure.” She handed him her glass but her brows knit over her nose as she watched him weave through the crowded tables and chairs. Am I boring you, bub?

Okay, so that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Not that anybody wanted to be considered boring, but, really, the guy was turning out to be not nearly the ass she’d expected him to be-and, face it, when she’d agreed to let him join her for dinner she had sort of been counting on that aspect of his personality to help keep him at arm’s length. Because she couldn’t lie; he seriously lit her fire.

She sure didn’t need that. It was atypical as hell, and she didn’t get it. But she was nobody’s fool-and while having the hots for a man might be a rare phenomenon for her, she couldn’t ignore how she felt.

She merely needed to find a way to work around it.

Past it.

Through it.

Whatever it took to put it behind her. It was just…

She hadn’t been prepared for him to be so likeable, hadn’t anticipated they might actually have anything in common. And learning differently was sure not helping to tamp down this fire.

She snapped erect. So, what the hey-all the more reason to embrace your blandness in his eyes. Hey, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d used her ability to blend into the woodwork to her advantage. It wouldn’t even be the tenth. Growing up all but invisible in her own home and lacking the curb appeal of her best friends, she had learned young to employ her over-lookability-particularly when it came to the opposite sex.

And if she’d sometimes gone beyond merely making use of it, and had, in fact, actively courted it? Well, big deal. Because except for that brief romance with Eric Lestat during her junior year in college, her chameleon-blending-into-its-environment factor had stood her in good stead. If she’d been half as smart at the time as she’d thought she was, in fact, she would have clung to it then, too. But she’d been enamored of Eric’s pale poet’s hands, dazzled by his high, intelligent forehead.

It was an established fact in her family that the passion gene had passed her by-and in truth she gave thanks for it. As the unwilling observer of her parents’ near-daily passion play, she’d known young that it was a dangerous, twisted emotion she would do well to eschew. So her relationship with Eric had been longer on the cerebral than it’d been on the sexual. And for a short while she’d been happy.

Until Eric had gone and changed the rules on her.

But that was all water over the dam and irrelevant to today. Except perhaps to note that she didn’t give a good G-D what Devlin thought of her.

She picked up her purse. It was time to call it a night.

But before she could close the take-home carton containing her remaining dinner, Devlin returned. And if he did find her boring, he sure had a funny way of showing it. Because the first thing he said as he handed her the refilled glass was, “So, how did you get interested in the curator business?” Setting his water glass down, he hooked his chair with his foot and scooted it back up to the table. Then he seated himself and gazed at her with bright interest.

She studied him for a second, trying to judge his sincerity and wondering in a fit of unwelcome honesty how, if she lacked the lust gene, he was able to make her feel so damn…warm.

So edgy.

Itchy.

Then, shrugging the question aside, she said slowly, “I was twelve when I started spending time with Miss Agnes. She was different from any other adult I’d ever met.”

The corner of Devlin’s mouth ticked up in a slightly cynical half smile. “How’s that?” he asked dryly. “Did she call you Grasshopper and pepper you with wise advice? Give you long, profound pep talks?”

Her own lips curled up at the memory of the woman she’d come to love so dearly. “No, that wasn’t her style-her influence was a more subtle thing. I think it was the way she turned up at all the events that were important to us and how she made her faith in us clear. Poppy was the only one used to that sort of attention from a grown-up. It’s funny that she and Ava and I have never really discussed this-” since they talked about everything else under the sun “-but I think we each got something different from her. Something that was geared to our individual needs.”

Planting his chin in his palm, he looked at her. “And what was it for you?”

“The fact that she really listened when I had something to say. That she looked at me and saw me. She was a refuge from my home life. I could breathe around her.”

He gazed at her thoughtfully and she went very still. Had she said too much? Revealed something she shouldn’t? She didn’t usually mention that refuge thing, not being a spill-your-guts kinda woman. Well, she talked to Ava and Poppy, of course. But she wasn’t exactly known for telling all to a man she hardly knew and wasn’t even sure she liked, and she scrambled to cover her tracks.

“Agnes taught me an appreciation for her treasures. And the fact that she never minded me messing around with them was just the mustard on my bologna. She encouraged me to lose myself for hours on end, simply enjoying their beauty and the skill with which they were constructed.”

Of course he had to home right in on the part she’d just as soon he ignore. “Babe,” he said, giving her a single nod. “Trust me, I get the need to escape from home.”

“You do?” She braced herself.

“Sure. You’ve met some of my family. Multiply that by about twenty, because the little you’ve seen so far is just the tip of the iceberg. There’s an entire platoon of Kavanaghs, and growing up everyone from the checkers at the local Safeway to every teacher I ever had knew them. They knew my brothers and sisters, both those who had come before me and those who came after. They knew my parents-knew my aunts, my uncles and my cousins. You couldn’t get away with a damn thing in the neighborhood because everyone saw you coming, they saw you going and they knew exactly who to report you to. There wasn’t a lick of privacy to be had.”

She stared at him. “And that was a bad thing?” It sounded comforting to her, all those people concerned about your welfare, interested in what was going on in your day.

“Hell, yeah. I was smothered. You must have suffered something similar yourself.”

“Huh?”

“Being an only child. Tell me that wasn’t constant attention of another sort.”

She stopped herself from laughing in his face, but just barely. Aside from when her folks had felt the need of an audience for their theatrics, parental attention had been in short supply in her house. Mike and Dorrie had a passion for each other that was always front and center. They fought hugely and made up extravagantly. Rarely, however, had that ardor spilled over onto her. Devlin had felt smothered by all the attention he’d received? She’d been so lonesome sometimes she’d just wanted to curl up and cry.

Luckily, she’d had Poppy and Ava to keep her from diving head-first into the pity pool. Over and over again they’d saved her from her parents’ lunacy, from being the odd one out in her own home, and Jane considered them her true family. So had Miss Agnes been.

“So am I right?” he inquired, cutting into her thoughts.

She gazed at him across the table. His bright hair glinted with exotic fire beneath the lights and his eyes were narrowed with amusement as he looked back at her.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he demanded. “Your folks probably saw your potential early and hounded you to death to live up to their idea of it.”

Not. Oh, man, so not. But she wasn’t about to admit the way it really was-not to someone who’d had an army of people doting on his every move.

Instead she gave him a small smile.

“Wow. That’s downright uncanny. You’re obviously a student of human nature. But hey, you don’t need me to tell you that. I bet you hear it all the time.” She looked at her watch. “Oh, man, look at the time. I’m sorry, I’ve gotta run.” She had to get out of here, had to get out of here, had to-

She closed up her carton and stuffed it in its sack. Pulled on her coat.

Then met his gaze once more. “Well. This has been, um, nice. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

Like when hell froze over.

CHAPTER SIX

I woke up in a cold sweat this morning, my heart pounding and my mouth dry. What have we been thinking?

M AN . J ANE WATCHED Devlin walk away. She really, really needed a break from that man. Not that they were arguing any longer. In fact ever since their chance meeting at the noodle shop several days ago, the two of them had been acting superpolite with each other. Very grown-up.

“That man has a seriously nice butt,” Ava observed from her spot in the living room window seat, a rain-lashed view of the Space Needle and Lake Union glowing in night-lit splendor behind her.

“No foolin’.” Poppy turned her head sideways, checking out the flex of his muscular rear from a different angle as he headed for the open staircase across the hall. “It looks good no matter which way you look at it. Yum-my.”

“Very biteable,” Jane contributed. And that was her problem in a nutshell. For all that they were being so civilized and professional and all, she just couldn’t seem to drag her libido out of the equation.

Realizing the room had gone silent and her friends were staring at her, she blinked her way back to the matter at hand. “What?”

“You said it was biteable,” Ava said wonderingly.

“Well, it is. I mean, isn’t that basically the same thing you two were just saying?”

“Sure, but that’s Ava and me,” Poppy said. “You never notice that kind of stuff.”

She huffed a laugh. “Of course I do. Just because I don’t act on my observations or yak it to death doesn’t mean I’m blind. C’mon. There’s probably not a woman alive wouldn’t notice buns that fine.” Which was perhaps a mistake to mention, considering the sudden speculation on Poppy’s face.

She changed the subject. “Listen, I asked you guys to meet me here this evening for a reason.”

“Aside from a yen to see our pretty faces and wallow in our sweet dispositions, you mean?” Ava fluttered her eyelashes.

“Goes without saying. In addition to that, though, I’ve got a concern I need to talk to you about.”

In the manner that made them such steadfast friends, they gave her their immediate, undivided attention.

“Last night I awoke from a sound sleep to practically a full-blown panic attack.” Her hands got clammy just thinking about it. “Do you guys have any idea how valuable all the stuff in this house is?”

“Well…duh,” Poppy said at the same time Ava said, “It’s kind of hard not to, Janie.”

“You’re both looking at me like I’ve grown a second head, but I’ve got a valid concern here. We’re in agreement that Miss Agnes’s collections constitute a small fortune, right?”

Both women nodded.

“So you must know that we need to do everything we can to protect them. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me right away, but I doubt the burglar alarms in this place have been upgraded since Miss A did it back in ’85. And can you imagine how much the technology has changed since we were seven?” She looked from one friend to the other. “It’s way beyond time it was upgraded-and the sooner the better, if my nervous system has any say in the matter.”

“Sounds like a huge expense,” Poppy commented mildly.

“But a necessary one.”

“With this remodel we’ve got a shitload of other expenditures coming up, as well.”

“Yes, we do. But we also have a shitload to lose if we’re ever robbed-and most of it potential income that can be used to finance the work we’re having done.” She touched Poppy’s arm. “Look, I freely admit I’m already starting to obsess over my responsibilities to the Met and, by extension, to the faith Miss Agnes put in me to do a good job for them. It’s just-when the will was first read it seemed like there was plenty of time to get the collections in order for the winter exhibit. But probate took longer than I expected and suddenly it doesn’t seem all that long after all, and it’s not like the collections are all in one place just waiting for me to start cataloging them.

“I know I’m probably borrowing trouble, worrying about what would happen to them if we experienced a break-in, but at the same time…Oh, shit, I’m babbling, aren’t I?” She drew a deep breath and blew it out. Then she gave both her friends a level look. “Sorry. Still, if something should happen, it will affect all three of us, not just me.”

“We’re insured, right?” Poppy asked.

“Yes. But that’s kind of a catch-22 because I doubt it covers everything, considering no one has ever cataloged the contents of this place.”

“I wonder why Miss A. never had that done?”

“Probably for the same reason she didn’t upgrade her alarm system beyond that one time. I think she was more into finding and acquiring stuff she loved than she was into being the owner of anything so formal as a ’collection,’” Ava said. “But Jane’s got a valid point. The insurance policy probably put a standard blanket value on the contents of the house.”

“And unless Miss Agnes made special provisions for her collections,” Jane added, “that would only cover a fraction of what she accumulated over the years. In fact, that’s something else we need to look into-checking out the current policy and setting up our own. I don’t even know if we’re covered at this point.”

Poppy pulled a small tablet out of her voluminous shoulder bag, rooted around until she located a pen, then scribbled herself a note. “I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks. What really scares me is the thought of having the stuff she spent years acquiring just disappear into the ether so some drug addict can feed his habit.”

“Lot of responsibility being a home owner,” Poppy observed.

“Along with the good stuff comes the not so much,” Ava agreed. “Still, we walked into this, if not fully prepared, at least with our eyes wide-open. So I vote we bite the bullet and get the alarm system replaced.”

“Me, too.” Jane looked over at their blond friend. “Poppy?”

The first thing they had done when they discovered Miss Agnes had left the bulk of her worldly possessions to them was agree that they didn’t want to abide by majority rules. Unless they could unanimously agree on an acquisition, they’d decided, it would remain unpurchased.

“Okay.” Poppy gave a decisive nod. “I’m in. But I don’t know jack about burglar alarms and neither do you two. So how will we know what’s a good one and what’s just flushing our money down the loo?”

The attenuated screech of a board being ripped from its mooring, then the thud of it hitting the floor, sounded overhead and they all glanced up at the ceiling. Then they looked at one another.

And laughed. “So speak the gods,” Poppy said. Sticking her head out the salon door, she hollered Devlin’s name.

“That’s one of the things we like best about you, Pop,” Ava murmured dryly as she rose from the window seat to join her. “Your unremitting refinement.”

“Oh, screw refinement,” Poppy said as Dev responded from upstairs. She yelled a request for him to come down for a minute, then turned back to her friend. “He’s a carpenter. I’m guessing the big R’s not as important to him as it is to, oh, say…you.”

Jane would have preferred not to involve Devlin at all, but she knew Poppy was right-they didn’t know the first thing about what constituted a decent alarm system. A contractor was much more likely to.

He strolled into the room a few moments later. “Just can’t get enough of me, can you, ladies?”

“It must be your biteable butt,” Poppy said.

His black brows rose toward his Irish-setter-red hairline. “Say what?”

“Jane didn’t mention that’s what she thinks your butt is-OW! Jesus, Ava.” Sinking down on the love seat behind her, the lissome blonde propped her left foot on her right knee and gingerly massaged her instep where her friend had trod.

“Oops, sorry,” Ava said serenely. “That was very clumsy of me.”

Jane barely heard. Scorching currents sparked through her veins like a downed power line when Devlin’s gaze locked with hers.

It was awfully stuffy in here all of a sudden, wasn’t it?

Oh, get a grip, Kaplinski. She squared her shoulders and tilted up her chin, for she knew exactly what her problem was-and it didn’t have a thing to do with the number of degrees on the thermostat. Dammit, this was the very reason she’d been trying to keep her distance. It was this precise chemistry that scared her spitless.

Blowing out a breath, she deliberately broke their gaze and took a large mental step back. “You’ll have to excuse Poppy’s babbling,” she said and-hallelujah!-actually sounded composed. “She’s easily sidetracked. The reason she called you down here is so we can pick your brain about alarm systems.”

He took a step in her direction, all hot eyes and masculine cool in his worn jeans, black tee and heavy work boots. “You think I have a biteable butt?”

Oh, daddy. But she wasn’t even going there, and in the same collected tones she said, “Absolutely. Now about our burglar alarm-”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. Stepped back and propped his shoulder against the doorjamb. “If you’re talking about the security system in this house, it blows. You need a new one.”

“Yes, we pretty much came to that conclusion on our own. Unfortunately, we don’t have the first idea what we should replace it with.”

“Since I’ve been out of the country for several years, I’m not exactly sure what’s considered best these days, either. Technology changes on a dime with this sort of thing. But let me check with Bren. He’ll know.”

He’d been out of the country? Where? Well, Oslo of course-he’d told her that much, but she’d assumed he’d been on vacation. “Several years” sounded like a whole different lifestyle, however, and she wanted to know what and why and where else. Determined, however, to maintain her professionalism, she bit back the questions crowding her tongue.

“You’ve been out of the country?” Poppy said. “Where? Why?”

It wasn’t for nothing that girl was one of her best buds.

“Everywhere, really,” he said. “Well, everywhere connected to an ocean. I’m a sailor.”

Which explained his fascination for boat museums.

“In the navy?” Ava asked.

“No. I sail yachts-mostly for private parties. I take their boats from point A where they left them to point B where they want to pick them up, or simply do the sailing for them so they won’t have to.” He shook his head. “You’d be amazed how many people buy the most gorgeous boats in the world-then don’t have the slightest interest in sailing them.”

She could picture him at the helm of a big sailboat. Far too easily, she could picture that, and her brow knitted. “So if you’re a sailor, what are you doing heading our construction project?”

“Babe.” He gave her a crooked smile that did dangerous things to her equilibrium. “I was born in this business and still pick up jobs between sailing gigs. I can money-back-guarantee you I won’t screw up your job. I know my way around a construction site maybe even better than I do an IACC yacht.” He met her gaze. “And that’s saying something.”

“He said modestly.”

“Yeah.” He pulled out his cell phone and called his brother. By the time he’d hung up a second time, not only had he gotten the name of Bren’s top pick for the job but had called the company for them and bargained until the firm agreed to install a top-of-the-line security system for fifteen hundred dollars below the original quote.

Ava and Poppy made a big fuss over him and it was all Jane could do not to join in. She knew just how she’d like to thank him, too, and the fact that her mind kept drifting in that direction shook her right down to the ground. Consequently, her thanks came out sounding all stiff and insincere. Well, she regretted that, but the last thing she needed to deal with right now was a case of run-amok hormones.

Like Devlin cared, anyway. He merely looked her over from head to toe, licked his lips, then bid them a good day.

The minute he left to go back to his teardown of the poorly added-on sunroom, Poppy rounded on her. “Jane Kaplinski, you slutty little she-devil. He’s your object de lust!”

“What?” Ava demanded, looking at their blond friend as if she’d lost her mind. “Don’t be ridiculous. Jane isn’t lusting after Devl-”

But something in her expression must have given her away, because Ava quit speaking midprotest and studied her closely. “Jane?”

“Fine, all right.” She threw herself down on the love seat. “I admit it, I’ve got the hots for Devlin Kavanagh. How awkward is that?”

“It’s surprising, considering I can’t remember the last time you had the hots for anyone,” Poppy said, sitting down beside her. “But I don’t see why it should be awkward at all. He’s obviously hot right back atcha.”

She snorted.

“No, Poppy’s right,” Ava said. “At first, when he moved in on you after Big Mouth here told him what you thought of his butt, I assumed he was just one of those guys who has to strike sparks off every woman he meets.”

“Which is probably the case.” She dug her shoulder into Poppy’s. “And thanks a heap, by the way.”

Ava ignored the byplay to shake her head. “I don’t think it is. Because when I think about it, I realize he’s never displayed a hint of that with either Poppy or me. He teases in a generic sort of way, but there’s no real heat to it.”

“There was definite heat with you,” Poppy agreed.

Her stomach clenched at the thought, but she shrugged it aside. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t have time for this.”

“Make the time,” Poppy said. “Sex is good for you-it releases endorphins and-”

“Will you give it a rest?” Jane interrupted, trying to nip Poppy’s let’s-get-Jane-laid campaign in the bud. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m nervous about getting the Met’s collections ready on time.”

“All the more reason to seek those all-comforting endorphins.” Poppy drew her knee up onto the love seat next to Jane and shifted to look her in the eye. “I’m telling you, that would do more to help relax you and make your work go easier than three assistants and a week at the spa.”

“My work would go easier if my good friend would quit trying to improve my sex life and lend me a hand instead.”

Poppy studied her a moment, then swept her cloud of curly hair behind her shoulders. “You’re going to ignore my brilliant advice, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

She blew out a disgusted breath, but merely said, “Fine. I’ll help with whatever you need.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’ll put in a voucher with the Met and you’ll draw a paycheck for your work.”

Poppy brightened. “Great. You know me-I can always use extra cash this time of year. I haven’t received the grant money yet for my new program with the kids and it will be a while before I see the advance for the card design I sold.”

“In that case,” Ava said, “I’ll take over researching our insurance situation.”

“Thanks, both of you. I’ll talk to Gordon Ives at work tomorrow, too. Maybe if I can clear the decks a little there, I’ll start making some headway here.”

A T THE MUSEUM the following day, she freed up some time from her schedule and went looking for Gordon.

When she failed to track him down in the exhibit rooms, the storage area or the staff room, she went up to the sixth floor where their offices were located. Approaching his at the far end of the hall, she saw through the slightly opened door that he was on the phone. She knocked softly on his doorjamb and leaned into his office, a room that was even smaller and more crowded than her own. Who would have thought that was possible?

His head jerked up and the quick glimpse she caught of his expression had her murmuring, “Sorry,” and straightening back into the hall. She got the impression of annoyance, yet the hunched shoulder he immediately put between her and the receiver looked closer to guilty.

Either way, it was clearly not a good time to be interrupting him.