That left her to consider what question he might be asking of her father. She was still trying to wrestle with the concepts of relationship and love.
If Vern hit her dad with the M-word question, she’d hit Vern with a wrench for real.
A brief flash of pink caught her eye. She was too slow to grab her panties. They blew out the open doorway and began fluttering down toward the houses below.
“So, Mr. Conroy.” He, Denise, and her father had met at the glass-door entrance to the museum. The old helo, now parked out front, would fit right in the collection here.
“Dale.” He was a graying man in his fifties, though he looked older. Still in good shape though.
“Thanks.” Vern tried not to feel daunted by the combination of him being Denise’s father and the museum’s curator which was a seriousl
