"Yo~; HAVE A PROBLEM with intimacy, Laura."
Laura Kinkaide rolled her gaze to the stained ce fling.
"Stan, I need furniture wax, not a lecture on my defec-
tive psyche." As if Stan Stukowsky with his thirty-year
marriage had any idea what it was like to be single
these days.
Stan shook his bald head, clinking through cans and
tubes on cluttered, grimy shelves. "How long did--
what was his name--this one last?"
" I dated Peter for about three months." Laura tapped
her fingers on the goo-covered worktable. "Look, I just
ran in to get the wax. I do not have time for this conver-
sation. I m trying to get the Gibsons apartment finished
today."
" My gosh, three whole mo~ths." Stan s voice
sounded like a piece of steel goin~ough a cheese
grater. Giving up on that shelf, he [~6,nt to riffle through
the lower shelves.
She took a slow, deep breath, refusing to rise to Stan s
pop-psychology bait. The smells of paint, wax and an-
dent wood were as thick as the dust.
His muffled voice floated up to her. "How long did
you go out with the guy before him?"
She knew where this was going. "Twelve weeks."
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