“Maybe I can help. I’m good at time management. You can tell me what you do every day, and I’ll tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

“I don’t know—”

“For instance, what time do you get up in the morning?”

“I get up at five.”

Steve took that under consideration. The last time he saw five o’clock was four years ago when there was a fire in the basement of his apartment building. “Why do you get up so early?”

“I deliver papers. It takes me two hours to go through my route. It’s a terrific job for people still in school because you get it over with first thing in the morning.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then after the papers are delivered I go home and change into my crossing-guard uniform—”

Steve blinked. “You’re a crossing guard, too?”

“Only in the morning. Last year a little girl was hurt in my neighborhood because they didn’t have enough crossing guards to cover all the busy intersections.”

“So you volunteered,” Steve said.

“It’s really fun. The kids are great. During the regular school year I work at the high school and then at eight o’clock I go over to Elm and Center streets to cross the grade-school kids. Summer school is only in session at the high school right now, so I’m done at eight o’clock.”

“Gee, what do you do with all that spare time?”

“I used to jog for an hour and then get to work on school stuff, but now that I’m the traffic reporter I’ll have to leave for the station at somewhere around eight-fifteen to eight-thirty.”

She held her hand up. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that the traffic job will be too much for me to handle with all my other commitments, but you’re wrong. You see, it actually will make things much easier for me. I used to wait tables during dinner and moonlight as a cab driver. I think I can give up those jobs now.”

“Cab driver?”

“Actually, I’m terrible. I get lost all the time. Traffic reporting is a snap compared to cab driving.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You have any other jobs?”

“No. Well, yes, if you count the internship?”

“What internship?”

“It’s part of my doctorate program. I do some recreational counseling at a nursing home.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

It had been more statement than question, and it took her by surprise. “No. How’d you know that?”

“Lucky guess.”

Her eyes widened when the waitress brought what looked like a taco mountain and plunked it down in front of her. “So what do you think?” she asked. “What am I doing wrong?”

“You’re overcommitted.”

She scooped up a glob of refried beans and taco sauce with a piece of tostado shell. “I’ve been thinking of giving up the paper route.”