Abby Road (8 page)

I stood beside him, arms folded. “Some nerve,” I observed.

This made him laugh harder.

My own lips started twitching, fighting back a building smile, as I watched him losing it in the middle of the footpath. “I’m
so
glad
my public humiliation made your day.” My attempt at a sarcastic sulk was pitiful; I was about to lose it myself.

“That might’ve been the funniest thing . . . I have ever seen.” He panted. “Looked like Bob was about to blow a gasket. That bawling kid, his mom glaring curses at you, and you crouched there . . . that panicked expression on . . .” He cackled again.

“Well, I . . .” But it was only a matter of seconds before I grabbed my stomach and squatted in the middle of the sidewalk, letting loose my own hysteria. We remained there, laughing and trying to speak for what felt like hours, until, through my tearing eyes, I saw Todd finally straighten.

“As your liberator,” he said, slightly calmer, “I insist you tell me exactly what just happened.”

I pushed my hair back and opened my mouth.

“And . . .”
he added before I got the chance to dodge the question, “don’t even
think
of leaving out a single gruesome detail, or . . .” When he laid one hand on my shoulder, I forgot about pretending to be aloof. “Or I’ll throw you back to the sharks without a thought.” He grinned, showing straight, white teeth.

That’s when I noticed the dimple on his left cheek. It was all I could think about while I begrudgingly conveyed the last ten minutes of my life as we started down the sidewalk. “So,” I said when I’d finished, attempting to talk about something besides his dimple, “were you at Modica to save the day or to pick up some red currant jam? Let me save you a trip back—they’re out.”

“I caught that much.” He extended his arm in front of me, forcing us to stop at a crosswalk. “Actually, Chandler’s on duty the rest of the day. I stopped in because I promised him lunch.” He shot a quick glance in my direction. “But I think that can wait for now.” He lifted one hand to shade his eyes from the sun as he scanned both ways for traffic.

“Who’s Chandler?”

“One of the local kids who helps out at the store.” He touched my elbow, leading us into the crosswalk. “Fearless kayaker. Since he turned eighteen last month, I let him lead all the tours.”

“You kayak, too?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered in a phony southern drawl, “but he’s not hitting the water today. I’m forcing him to stay indoors, while also making sure he works extra shifts to earn college tuition.” There was that dimple again. “He’s a great kid. I really should grab him lunch.” He gave me a look. “Think you could sneak back and snag a pastrami on rye?”

“I only steal jam from children. I thought that was clear.”

Todd turned his head to laugh.

Not until the bottoms of my sandals were filled with sand did I notice how far we’d walked. “Where are we?” I stopped in my tracks. “My sister’s bike. I left it in front of the market.” I made an automatic about-face to retrace our steps, but Todd didn’t follow.

When I turned back, he was still standing in place, his hands on his hips. His blue T-shirt sleeves were taut around his well-defined arms, and I could tell, even through his shirt, that his chest and abs were just as toned. I wondered if he was one of those guys who obsessively pumped iron, or if he was naturally built lean and mean like a professional soccer player.

“If you’re heading back to the Square,” he finally said conversationally, “I’ll go with you and grab Chandler a sandwich for later.” He took a step toward me. “You’ve eaten at Modica?”

“Not for ages, and never under threat of being scowled to death.”

He chuckled. “You’re funny.” But he said it like he was surprised by the fact. “You should try their tuna,” he continued. “I don’t eat it, but some call it ambrosia.”

“Why don’t you eat it, then?”

“No fish unless I catch it myself. A rule I have.”

“Tough guy,” I said, picturing him all macho on the bow of a boat, rough waves, pole clutched in his hands.

“So?” he said, wrenching me to the present. “Want some lunch?”

“Food?”

He laughed. “That’s usually how it works.”

I pushed out my bottom lip, taking a quick consensus of my inner condition. No signs of barfiness. No bile. All systems go. My hand patted my empty and suddenly ravenous stomach. “I haven’t had tuna in a long time. Ambrosia, you say?”

He nodded. “It’s my treat. I insist,” he tacked on, not actually giving me an opportunity to object. “It’s the least I can do for our town’s inexcusably shoddy treatment of a . . . visitor.”

I smiled. It felt good to be treated like a lady for a change.

“Lunch sounds great, actually. Thanks.” As we smiled at each other, I felt a weird kind of sizzle up the back of my neck. Well, not
that
weird. I knew exactly what it meant. “So, where to?” I asked, forcing myself to speak and not just pin him against the wall.

“Modica’s, of course.”

“What? Are you crazy?” I screeched. “I am
not
going back in there. Evil Santa will call the cops.”

“Who?”

“Evil Santa.”

Todd looked perplexed as he translated my description. “Oh. Well, Bob likes to bark, but I’m sure he’s forgotten the whole red currant scandal by now. I’m a very loyal customer.” His green eyes widened, kind of pleadingly. “So . . . ?”

“Well.” But it was no use. I was melting under his eager gaze. “Okay,” I finally relented. And with the plan settled, I bounced to his side.

“What should we talk about on the way?” he asked. “Weather? Politics? Your choice.”

“How much time do we have?”

He looked down at our slowly pacing feet and then up at the sun, pretending to gauge Galileo-style. He rubbed his chin. “Approximately seven point five minutes, at this rate.”

I tried not to crack up at what automatically popped into my head. “Anything?”

“No subject off limits.”

“Tell me, then,” I began, not missing a beat, “why did your last relationship end?”

This comment was me bypassing small talk and going right for the jugular. I was about as subtle as a southern hurricane. I believe Molly would’ve been proud.

Todd didn’t seem fazed, however. He merely slowed his pace. “Aha.” He faced me, looking both surprised and impressed. “You don’t mess around, do you?”

“So says Mister I-Catch-My-Own-Tuna.”

He chuckled and hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. A few people passed by on the footpath. I barely noticed them. “Okay.” He cleared his throat. “Well, there were a number of reasons why it ended. How elaborate would you like me to be?”

“Spare me anything I can use against you in court.”

“She was a safe bet. I was into safe bets at the time.” He shrugged. “But recently, I promised myself . . . well, let’s just say I don’t take safe bets anymore on anything. Ever.”

“Why?” I asked, surprised at his sternness.

One of his hands clutched the back of his neck and then went running up his head, scratching the top. When I’d spotted him yesterday at the bookstore, I’d zeroed in on his classic good looks. But now the lines of concentration etched into his face made him a different kind of handsome. More real. I could tell that Todd was someone with life experience and stories to tell. I couldn’t wait to hear them. He slowed his pace again and turned to look me in the eyes.

“What I want now in a relationship, Abby— No.” He shook his head, correcting himself. “Forget what I
want
. What I
know
I
must have
is a woman who takes my breath away.”

Okay
. . .

“And not just the figure of speech, but truly takes my breath away. Then we’re free-falling together. Spinning circles. Out of our minds.”

I stared at his face, feeling the need to swallow, but my throat seemed a bit paralyzed.

“I’m not naïve enough to expect that kind of intensity to last forever,” Todd continued. “But if nothing else, we all deserve at least
that
—to occasionally be knocked breathless by the one we love most, don’t you think?”

Honestly, I didn’t know what to think. I was too busy wondering how it would feel to be spinning freely through space, out of my mind, breathless. I made myself look down at the sidewalk, overly aware that I’d trip over my own feet if I let my mind continue its free fall.

Before I could steady myself, he went on. “Think of a first kiss, that moment immediately before lips touch, that hitch in your breath. Know what I mean?”

I nodded, and then I felt a similar inhale catch in my chest when Todd touched my arm to stop us on a corner.

“Comfortable nervousness,” he added, almost in a whisper. “Butterflies in your stomach. Christmas Eve as a kid. That’s how I want to feel when I’m with her. The purest kind of bliss.” After a beat, he looked away, squinting toward the street. “Basically, Abby, we broke up because we didn’t love each other anymore.” He glanced at me and cracked a smile. “I would elaborate further, but I think you’ve had enough.”

I looked down and saw that I’d been twisting and tugging at the neck of my tank top. It was wrinkled and stretched. How did I get so classy?

“You seem a little distracted,” Todd observed.

“No. I’m . . . just . . .”

He grinned.

“Oh, shut up.” I laughed, and we crossed the street.

Up ahead, my red cruiser was leaning against the glass window of Modica. Three other bikes were beside it now—one, a yellow tandem with pink fringe dangling from the handlebars.

“Well?” Todd asked when we stopped outside the door.

“Well, what?” I was stalling, of course.

He nodded toward the door in reply.

But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t move. “I can’t go in there,” I admitted quietly.

Todd gave me a look with those same melting-my-knees eyes. “Come on.”

Over his shoulder, I looked through the glass. Hardly any customers. No reason not to, I guess. Crap. My heart started to pound with adrenaline. I took in some deep breaths and shook out my hands like I was psyching myself up for the high jump.

Todd watched with a bit of a smirk, apparently amused by my fretting.

After another minute, he bent down to my ear, so close I could breathe in his lovely aftershave. Or was that his natural smell? “It’s okay,” he whispered, causing my heart to pound even more. “You’re with me this time, and I swear to you, I am safer than an armored car.” The nearness of his face made my mouth water. “But, please, first just promise me something.”

He pulled back and looked me in the eyes.

“What?” I whispered, thinking of about a hundred things I would have promised him at that moment.

“Don’t trip on your way in. You’ll embarrass me.”

He pulled the door wide open, spun me around, and pushed me in.

{chapter 6}

“HERE COMES THE SUN”

“B
ack already?” Bob asked. “Your little helper’s called twice looking for you.”

Ignoring my squeaks of protest, Todd muscled me toward the deli in the middle of the store. “Has he?” he said, pulling a BlackBerry out of his pocket and checking the face. “I’m getting his lunch now.” With his free hand, Todd positioned me in front of the deli glass.

Bob popped up behind the counter to assist us. “Pastrami on rye?” he asked Todd.

While those two discussed the economy or the tides or whatever, I found myself transfixed, ogling at the rows of fresh meats, cheeses, and salads on the other side of the glass. It was a regular Garden of Eden
al fresca
. Although my food allowances had changed during the last five years, my food
preferences
certainly had not. Anything greasy, sugary, salty, or fatty was a constant craving.

When I looked up, Todd was grinning at me, probably noticing my gluttonous expression. “Hungry much?”

“Yeahhh,” I gushed, throwing manners to the wind.

“Good.” He turned to Bob. “Give me roast beef with mustard on wheat, no cheese. And how is the tuna today?”

The proprietor didn’t have to think twice. “Best on the Gulf,” he bragged through fluffy whiskers, wiping his hands across the front of his red apron, “but we’re already out.”

Todd huffed and slid his gaze back to me. “Hmmm.” He squinted, studying my face, index finger tapping his chin.

Maybe he thinks he can detect my craving by staring at me hard enough. Yeesh, I certainly hope not. Talk about embarrassing . . .

“She’ll have smoked turkey with cheddar— No, scratch that,” Todd corrected, eyes still on me. “Swiss cheese, on a hard roll. Tomatoes, pickles, avocado . . . sprouts.”

Bob went to work, chopping, smothering, and smearing.