Greg’s level of distraction was high enough that he wasn’t sure who was more relieved by Ralph Baxter’s call about the halibut, him or Vincent. He hadn’t dropped or damaged any more boards, but he’d knocked himself to the ground twice by catching his foot on the sawhorses. And he’d spent twenty minutes trying to round up the box of screws he’d knocked onto the garage floor. They were stainless steel, so he couldn’t even use a magnet to gather them back up out of the sawdust. The sharp points pricked like blackberry thorns as he scrabbled about in search of them.
And every stupid-a*s thing Greg did, his best friend had just rubbed it in more.
“Give me a break, Vincent. I don’t even know who Jessica Baxter is anymore.”
“Oh, like you knew so much then. But you’ve been pining after her pret
