Crew chief Perry Noble approached, pulling a pen out of his shirt pocket.

“Applied Mathematics at State,” Dean said to Crystal, while Perry signed the packing slip for the custom parts.

“He doesn’t look like a nerd to me,” she noted, thinking Larry looked a lot more like a businessman than a mathematician.

He appeared urbane and classy, with dark, neatly trimmed hair. He had intelligent eyes and a serious, square chin, and he wore a gray, pinstripe dress shirt and a maroon tie, with charcoal slacks and a pair of black loafers. Even without a suit jacket, he could probably stroll into any boardroom in America and look right at home.

Dean chuckled. “Get him talking about string theory, and you’ll see just how nerdy he is.”

“That’s unlikely,” said Crystal, accepting a copy of the signed packing slip from Perry. “I can barely understand trigonometry.”

“Only thing I need to understand is acceleration,” joked Dean.

“And chronology,” his wife Patsy put in, joining the conversation. “Hi there, Crystal.”

“She thinks I’m getting old,” Dean said, frowning at Patsy.

“You’re getting older every year,” she pointed out.

“Mathematically correct,” Crystal agreed.

As one of the veteran NASCAR drivers, Dean’s age was a matter of public interest. Fans and commentators alike were fond of speculating about his possible retirement. His brother Larry looked to be in his early forties. Maybe ten or so years older than Crystal. Not such a big difference. He was definitely nowhere near retirement.

Then she gave herself a little shake. What did the difference in their ages matter? She’d barely been introduced to the man. He’d offered to carry her box, not take her out on Saturday night. She was getting way ahead of herself.