Meghan went to the office not expecting to be meeting anyone today, but Baxter, turmoiled, insisted. His indecision involved countertops.

“Sorry for the blue jeans,” Meghan confessed as she showed him in.

“Perfectly perfect,” Baxter responded. “You look lovely in blue jeans.”

They settled the matter of countertops in minutes, and Baxter, grateful, asked if he could treat her to lunch. “That new place on Fourth Street. I know the owner.”

“I don’t know if I’m dressed for it,” Meghan said.

“Jeans are fine, trust me,” Baxter said.

“But what about the shoes?”

“I was wondering about that,” Baxter said.

“Yeah, I couldn’t decide.”

“So you wore one of each,” Baxter said. “I love the pink. I love the yellow, too. They’re delicious.”

“Delicious?”

“Well, yeah. I could eat them all up. The yellow is like sunshine. Like a creamy banana. Like a perfect pear. Juicy. With just the right hint of citrus. Mmm.”

“What about the pink?” Meghan asked.

“Ah, the pink,” Baxter mused. “Like an innocent flower. Girlish, you know. But more than that.”

“How much more?”

Baxter lowered his eyes for a moment. “Pussy,” he whispered. “Pure pussy.”

“Really?”

Baxter nodded. “I can practically taste it.”

Meghan returned Baxter’s nod. “Unfortunately, if you tasted it today, it would be pure iron.”

Baxter blushed.

“But I do have a couple of other pink parts,” Meghan offered.

Baxter accepted with enthusiasm.