“Eight. We could do ten or twelve easily—we have to turn down business all the time—but Uncle Jimmie is afraid we’ll get too big, and he won’t be able to manage it.”

“Are you embarrassed about what you do for a living, Nic?”

They were in Amarillo traffic now and Nic didn’t look at her. Abby saw the slight clenching of her jaw, though.

“Sometimes, yes. It’s not a very exciting life. I mean, I have a business degree. Shouldn’t I be doing something with it?”

“Do you want to?”

“No. I’m happy there. I love it, actually. And I know I can put my degree to use someday. The business will be mine eventually. It’s just in the meantime, there are so many things I’d change, so many ways we could grow, but Uncle Jimmie is set in his ways. He’s content with the way things are. And so I guess I have to be too.”

“But?” she prompted.

“Well, like I said, it’s the very opposite of glamorous.”

“Oh? And being stuck inside an office all day is?”

“It’s more acceptable.”

“Ah. So we’re talking dating now and not passing muster with my mother.” She smiled at that. “Because I think my mother will be intrigued by your job. She’ll probably hit you up on tips for growing flowers. But for dating, it’s not acceptable?”

“I don’t date, remember. But I was thinking of you. Someone like me is probably the last person on earth you’d go out with.”

“Why? You’re very attractive.”

Nic blushed at her words and Abby was surprised. Nic obviously knew she was attractive. She was arrogant and conceited that way, she reminded herself. Although today, during their drive, there’d been no sign of that arrogant and conceited person she’d met back in Dallas.

“I don’t date. But I do go out occasionally. I don’t have a problem meeting women. But once they find out what I do for a living, things change. It no longer matters what I look like. I think it’s because, in the back of their mind, they’re picturing having to introduce me to their friends.”

“And what? You won’t measure up?”

“Right. Not quite good enough. Not that I care. I don’t normally stick around long enough to get introduced to friends anyway.”

She felt a tiny twinge of guilt. When she’d first seen Nic—with her dirty knees—hadn’t she indicated to Sharon that Nic wasn’t good enough? She certainly wasn’t her type, she’d said. Nic had dirty knees and worked in the dirt. No, not her type at all. How arrogant of her, though.