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’ Sergio commented. ‘Really. Where does he live?’ Smeralda asked. ‘About a mile and half down the beach but on the same street.’ Sergio explained. ‘So tell me about yourself, Sergio. My Rachel can be a bit closed mouthed at times.’ ‘My brother and I own a clothing design business. He is the real talent behind all of our clothing designs. I am the bean counter. I take care of all the pesky details that he doesn’t want to deal with.’ ‘There’s nothing wrong with that. We need both types to make this world go around.’ she said with a laugh. ‘Can I walk you to your door, Ms Smerelda?’ he asked as he turned his truck off. ‘Of course. Why don’t you come in for a cup of espresso? I know you didn’t get yours at the cafe and I’d be more than happy to make you a cup.’ Smeralda offered. ‘You know I would love a cup.’ Sergio replied. It would give him a chance to find out more about the woman that had captured his attention from the moment she had pulled him over. He followed Smerelda as she led. .. jealousy is such a bad trait, not righteous at all. But they all weren't appalled. I heard Teenage Daughter Amish asking if there was somewhere she could change her "bloomers." I wasn't wearing bloomers, but my thong needed replacing like the original Darren on "Bewitched." The first clue was then located in an envelope, on a messy desk. I read aloud:"The more you take, the more you leave behind?" Everyone stood around looking to me for a solution like I was Paul Lynde on "Hollywood Squares." Elementary," I retorted in my best Benedict Cumberbatch dialect. The answer is (Wait for it!)... footprints. At which point we went en masse to the next room, following a very visible set of footprints through generic cat food, the loud crunching making conversation impossible, so I resorted to sign language. While looking at Cyn, I spread my index and middle fingers wide then let my tongue slither between them enticingly. The international language. Mom Amish watched, screamed, "Mein Gott,".
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“Sorry, man, I know what that can be like,” I told Roc. “My uncle made me dig fencepost holes all one summer. The capper was he had a tractor implement for the job, but chose child labor instead.”“Between Dad and Mr. Bauer, they had Johan, Milo and me working like dogs for almost a week,” Roc complained.“It had to be done,” Mr. Pearson pointed out.“I know, Dad, but digging out stumps is hard work,” Roc complained.“We had a couple we couldn’t seem to get out. I remembered that I had some old dynamite lying around.”“Who has old dynamite? And where did you get it in the first place? Isn’t that illegal?” I asked in rapid-fire fashion.“All good questions and the illegal part was why I thought we might want to use it up,” Mr. Pearson admitted.“It had been around for years. I told him it wasn’t stable,” Mrs. Pearson said, sounding satisfied.“Anyway ... we decided to try it out, and it worked like a dream. One of the stumps flew about ten feet into the air.”“You would have loved it,” Roc said.

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