“Eight adults, eleven children.”
He shuddered. “Terrifying.”
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She laughed, then turned more serious and looked into her glass of wine as she ran her index finger around the rim. “Jasper told me that you’re divorced. Any children?”
“No.”
She said nothing for a time, then, in a lighter tone, “He also told me about your encounter last night.”
“Next time, I’ll phone ahead before I come prowling across your backyard. When Jasper came barging around that tree, I thought I was a goner.”
“The poor mouse was.”
“Yeah. He must’ve gone peacefully, though. Saved me from having to trap him. Or get a cat.”
She tilted her head and took him in from his hair to the scuffed toes of his shoes. “You don’t strike me as a cat person.”
“I’m not. But I’m not a mouse person, either.”
She smiled.
“Which are you?” he asked. “Cat person or dog person?”
“I’m fonder of dogs.”
“I haven’t seen one around.”
“Jasper is allergic.”
“Too bad.” He turned more toward her, tipped his head to one side, and gave her the same assessing treatment she’d given him. Nodding toward her glass of wine, he said, “Red over white?”
“Yes.”
“Tropical climes or cold?”
“I was brought up in Charleston.”
“Tropical then.”
“Right.”
“Star Wars or Star Trek?”
“Star Wars.”
He stroked his chin. “Let’s see, what else? I already know chocolate over vanilla. Land over sea.”
“My turn. I know very little about you, not even the basics. You don’t talk much about yourself.”
He spread his arms wide. “My life is an open book.” He glanced across the lawn toward the apartment. “So to speak.”
“Will your novel reveal aspects of you?”
“Undoubtedly. It’ll be subconscious, but some of me will probably sneak in there.”
“Then in order for me to know you better, I’ll have to read it.”