Page 5 of Meeting Up with the Mason

“Yeah, I got it.” I sighed. “I should have thought of that.”

“You took it for granite?”

“I’m going to hang up on you.” I stopped before a display of brick-like things that were actual stone. “So, bricks?”

Chip frowned as he studied his own pile of stones. “Bricks have a certain something to recommend them.”

“Like being affordable? I used the square footage calculator on the carved stone pieces featured on the front page of the Stone Depot website. We’re talking a hundred grand for two-hundred-sixty square feet.”

Chip said, “That means it’s not a sedimentary rock.”

I frowned at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Chip raised his eyebrows. “Sedimentary rock would beon shale.”

Another pun? I lowered the phone. “We’re never going to get through this, are we?”

Chip snickered. “Sorry. Well, if bricks don’t cost more than the house, that’s a tremendous advantage. Plus, I can line them up easier.”

Stopping in my tracks, I raised the phone again and stared right into it. “Wait—You?”

He nodded. “Didn’t I mention that?”

“No, the Eponymous Mr. A. J. MacElroy’s estimate didn’t say you would be installing anything. Aren’t you a history student?”

Chip shrugged. “Archaeology. And who better to deal with rocks?”

I teased, “Are you at least an Egyptologist?”

A couple turned toward me, eyebrows raised.

Chip said, “Egyptologists charge twice as much. You’re getting a cut rate because I only got as far as Ancient Mesopotamia before identifying my dissertation topic.”

I giggled. “Egyptologists would have subcontracted to you anyhow because it’s a pyramid scheme.”

“Also, shambling mummies bring down the property values. Oh, here.” He swiveled the camera back to the pavestones. “These are eleven by eight, and the cost isn’t so bad. Plus, because they’re rectangles, even a Ph.D. candidate can align them, unlike your slate chips with fossilized unicorn footprints.”

I wandered the stacks until I found the correct rocks. “Five colors to choose from! All with amazing names. Should I choose Sedona, or do I prefer Omaha?”

Chip said, “Stay away from Waterbury unless you want the delivery guys to come to a complete standstill en route to the door.” When I didn’t respond, he said, “I guess you wouldn’t get that. Sorry.”

“Is Waterbury, Massachusetts a terrible place to drive through?”

“Connecticut, and I have it on good authority to starve before stopping to eat in Waterbury.”

“New England’s equivalent of Macon.” I snickered. “You’ll be relieved to know there isn’t a Waterbury color, but if it’s that horrible, wouldn’t you want me to stand on it?”

“No.” And Chip said it with such finality that I laughed.

“Roanoke.” I picked up a reddish stone with black streaks. “It’s enough like brick that even if Aunt Sophie changes the color of the house, people will never think twice.”

“Perfect. I’ll place the order. You’ll score a bit of a discount because I’m getting the contractor rate.” Chip grinned. “Thanks for being a good sport.”

I met his gaze. The app must have been adjusting his eye position so he didn’t appear to be looking over the top of my head, and it must have been changing my own eyes ever so slightly as well. I knew I ought to look straight into the camera, but I didn’t want to stop looking at him.

He seemed both amused and worried. I said, “You aren’t sure you can get this done, are you?”

“My dad would ride in to the rescue if I made a complete hash of it.” Chip flinched. “I’ve assisted with these jobs before, but it’s my first time in charge. I probably won’t encase myself in paver sand.”

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