Crossing Abby Road (4 page)

This was a stretch, but why not be big about it?

“Surely?”

Why did everyone think I shouldn’t be okay? We broke up six months ago, and just because I’d never cried into a six-pack about it or locked myself in a room playing sad Taylor Swift on repeat didn’t mean I hadn’t dealt with it.

“Completely,” I confirmed. “If Sophie wants to marry the frickin’ president, I shouldn’t care. I
don’t
care. And sorry, I have to go.”

“Okay, darling.” Mom’s voice had a lilt to it. “Call me tonight?”

Oh, jeez. Now she was hovering. I was going to kill my sisters. “Yes, ma’am.
Arrivederci
.”

I lowered my phone and stared across the town square. My parents were too much, and could be way too involved, but I knew how lucky I was.

The empty sidewalk was beginning to fill in with shoppers, bright awning tents, and tourists stopping into Modica’s for a snack on their way to the beach. I leaned back against the bench and took in a breath. I loved the smells and sounds that came with living so close to the water: the salt in the air, the crash of the waves, and the pull of the tides.

Chandler was probably starving to death, and if I wanted time to grab him lunch before last-minute prepping for my meeting, I needed to get a move on. As I was about to slide my phone into my pocket, I noticed there were still two waiting voicemails.

I tapped the button to pull up the missed calls.

It was Sophie. I shook my head and stared up at the sky, almost wanting to laugh. Yeah, okay, sure. On a day like today, why the hell not? I let the first message play.

Chapter Four

“Don’t Get Around Much Anymore”

“Todd, it’s me. I know we just spoke last night, but could you call, please? It’s about eight thirty. We really need to talk.”

It wasn’t like the sound of my ex’s voice made me want to punch a brick wall, but frankly, I was all talked out. The second voicemail had come in twenty minutes after the first.

“Babe,” Sophie said. “Please call me. I…I think I made a mistake.” She paused to sniffle. She sounded sad, clearly upset. “I mean, I
know
we made a mistake. This is all just wrong. Come back to New York. I’m not engaged anymore. Come home, babe.”

What the hell was up with today? Were the planets aligned in a weird, cosmic Karmic pattern? Should I be playing the lottery? Or should I buy life insurance? Was the universe sending me good luck or bad luck?

1) I’d met an amazingly hot girl: Good luck. Just picturing Abby again made me smile.

2) She was an untouchable celebrity: Bad luck.

3) Except for award shows and YouTube, I would never see her again: Good luck. No, wait. Bad?

4) Sophie wanted to get back together: Bad luck. Right? Shit. How could I doubt that?

5) In a few hours, the most important business meeting I’d ever had would transpire. It could change the direction of my life: Good luck. Or bad—if I didn’t get the loan for some reason. Though Dad said I had it in the bag, and I trusted him.

Owning two stores was going to be a shitload more work and responsibility, but wasn’t that life? The extra stress would be worth it in the end when my two stores were an even bigger success. Then maybe three stores. Why stop there?

The universe was just trying to screw with me today, throw me off my game. Well, I was smarter than the universe, because I didn’t believe in Karma or fate or luck or anything that didn’t revolve around hard, ass-breaking work and smart planning.

I slapped my hands on my thighs, stood, and finished my jog across the lawn toward Modica’s Market.

When I pushed open the glass door, the tiny grocery store was surprisingly empty. But then I spotted Bob, the owner, with a group of people gathered in a corner. I was curious about what was going on, but not enough to actually check it out.

Until I heard a voice…laughing…with a very distinctive neurotic tremor behind it.

“Ha ha, I’m sure you’ll win!”

Just like an hour ago, I saw her head first, the back of it this time, halfway covered by the blue baseball cap. She was kneeling on the floor, in the middle of a conversation with Marie DuBois’s kid. Was she signing an autograph or posing for pictures?

Didn’t look like it.

The kid was huffing and whining, and his face was puffy and streaked with tears. Normally, our mayor was all about the welcoming of strangers and tourists, but the shade she was throwing at Abby while towering over her with her hands on her hips, I couldn’t even guess what I’d walked in on.

Bob was standing over Abby, too, looking defensive. No, he was pissed off.

“So, I, you know, the jam,” Abby said, gesturing with her hands as wildly as either of my sisters might. “If you see any more sitting around, right? Na-ha-ha.”

Okay. What the hell was going on? Nobody moved, not noticing me two feet away. It was then that I tasted tension in the air, caught the acute hostility in the eyes of everyone glaring at Abby. No, she wasn’t being mobbed by screaming fans, but something was definitely wrong.

The hair at the back of my neck stood to attention, and from out of nowhere, that protective instinct from before propelled me forward.

“Trouble, Bob?” I asked calmly, taking off my sunglasses and hooking them on the front of my shirt. I was speaking to him but my eyes were fixed on the blonde crouched on the floor, visually assessing that she was okay.

Hearing my voice, Abby flinched but didn’t turn around. Her shoulders tensed up, then relaxed, then flinched again. I couldn’t imagine what her expression looked like.

“No trouble yet,” Bob said, smoothing down his gray beard and red apron. “But she needs to leave before I call the sheriff.”

So she wasn’t in imminent danger, after all. Huh. My Spidey senses were all screwed up today. But still, she did need rescuing of some kind, and I was never above swooping in to be a superhero when a hot damsel needed me. So I nodded at Bob, gestured at the back of Abby’s head, and mouthed, “I got this.”

I took another second to assess the situation. Whatever was going on obviously had to do with the jar of jam the DuBois kid was clutching as big crocodile tears streamed down his cheeks. He was a well-documented brat and most likely he’d had a tantrum in the middle of the store at Abby’s expense.

When I glanced down at her, she’d lifted her face to me, eyes wide, eyebrows arched high, and her lips apart. Another new expression: forced innocence.

Both the mayor and Bob were bent out of shape, and it looked like Abby needed to be pulled out of this semi-hostile environment, at the very least. Though my training wasn’t in rescue and extraction, it wasn’t beneath me.

“I’ll remove her for you,” I said, sounding like a bouncer.

Bob nodded and took Marie DuBois by the elbow. “Thank you,” he said, escorting the mayor and her son away.

Abby was gazing up at me, looking confused and embarrassed and…shit…looking like the sexiest damn thing on two legs. To stop myself from smiling—didn’t want Bob to think I wasn’t taking this seriously—I forced my mouth into a frown and extended a hand to help Abby up.

“Thanks,” she said, looking even more dazed. “I don’t know what just happened. I swear, I was—”

“Stealing candy from a baby?” I said in a low voice. “Abby, that’s so cliché.”

“I wasn’t stealing from him.” She sounded mortified. “Just get me out of here. Far away, please.”

Copy that, sweetheart.

Without another word, I held open the door for her and we walked side by side away from Modica’s. The farther we moved, the faster Abby’s pace became, like she was speed-walking for a gold medal. She bumped against my shoulder and I glanced at her just as she was glancing up at me.

A second later, she stopped in her tracks, braced her hands on her knees, dropped her head, and burst into sobs. Shit. Maybe she wasn’t just phobic about crowds and people, but was actually having a nervous breakdown right in front of me. I had friends battling PTSD, but a crying chick was way above my pay grade.

She exhaled another loud sob, which should’ve made me peace out—no drama for this guy—but I actually took a step toward her, my heart softening, scrambling for something I could do to help. Damn my superhero complex.

Just as I reached out and touched her shoulder, she tilted her face toward me. Yeah, she had tears streaming down her cheeks, but she wasn’t crying. The girl was laughing her ass off.

“Are you”—I squeezed her shoulder—“okay?”

“Holy
shit
.” She let her mouth fall open in a gasp, the corners turning up in an almost Joker smile, like she was happily shocked. “Can you even believe that just happened?”

My mouth was open, too. Speechless.

“I’ve been thrown into some whacked-out scenes, but I never expected that. The kid seemed so cute and quiet and— Serious shitballs.” She bent in half, laughing again.

I didn’t think she was certifiably hysterical, she was just…flat-ass amused, her face scrunched up, giggling like a little girl as she wrapped her arms around her stomach.

And then I was laughing. I couldn’t stop myself—her mood was contagious, or maybe I was a little hysterical with relief. Without thinking, my hand on her shoulder was pulling her in, and her head was on my chest, right under my chin, and my arms were around her. By then, I didn’t know which of us was laughing harder, but I had to hold her against me, like it was a necessary part of the experience.

My laughter faded out before hers, though her shoulders were still shaking, and the vibration of her silent laugh reverberated against my chest. Her shampoo was definitely tropical, coconuts mixed with something sweet. My eyes were closed as I breathed it in, my hands sliding across her back. She shifted against my chest.

And then I stopped. And opened my eyes. What the hell was I doing?

Abby had gone completely still. Was she even breathing? I think we both realized where we were, where she was. Encircled by my arms, and pretty damn tightly.

I didn’t move at first, and she hadn’t moved at all. Her arms were still wrapped around her stomach, holding in her most recent giggle. It wasn’t like I was hitting on her, it was just…I didn’t know, a knee-jerk reaction. I hadn’t meant to do it, but it was like the douche Bruno Mars in me said I’d had no choice.

Her body was warm, and she felt so good against me, causing my heart to pound hard. But I needed to let go of her, literally, step away and apologize for…whatever this was. After a few more seconds, kind of memorizing how comfortably she fit under my chin first, I dropped my arms and stepped back.

Abby was looking down at the space on the sandy footpath between us. I looked there, too. It seemed appropriate.

Damn, I was stupid. And impulsive—always had been. But I’d never grabbed a stranger—even a smoking hot one—off the street in broad daylight and hauled her into a one-sided bear hug. Then again, Abby hadn’t pulled away. And she wasn’t backing away now. Interesting.

Our movements in sync again, we looked up from the footpath at the same time. Her gray eyes were slow to connect to mine, but they did. And still, she didn’t bolt. The air around me felt warm and electric, and I could still smell her coconut-scented hair, feel her in my arms.

“So, anyway,” Abby said, then cleared her throat. “I guess I won’t be invited back to Modica’s anytime soon.” She wiped her cheeks that were still dewy with tears.

I chuckled, feeling on the verge of being tongue-tied again, like I’d been when we’d first met. I couldn’t let that happen now. I didn’t do awkward. “As your liberator,” I said, sliding my hands in my pockets, “I insist you tell me exactly what happened back there.”

She uncrossed her arms and tossed the ends of her hair over one shoulder, her mouth opening to answer. I could see the lie brewing in her eyes, so I cut in.

“And don’t even
think
of leaving out a single gruesome detail, or”—I put a hand on her shoulder again, lightly, just testing the waters—“I’ll throw you back to the sharks without a thought.” Her shoulder flinched only the tiniest bit under my hand, but that was it. Hell if I knew if it was a good flinch or a bad flinch, though the fact that she hadn’t shoved me back must’ve been a good sign. “Explain,” I added.

“Um, I wanted some red currant jam.”

I tilted my head and slid my hand off her arm. “Huh?”

“At the store.” She nodded behind us. “There was only one jar on the shelf and the little boy wanted it, too. But I didn’t know that and when I grabbed it first, he, like, flipped out and started wailing. Seriously…” She lowered her voice and leaned toward me. “I’ve never heard anything so loud or insane. And believe me, I know loud and insane.” The roll of her eyes made me want to laugh.

“So you took the jam, the kid was crying—”

“Wailing,” she corrected. “Like a horny werewolf on steroids.”

This did make me laugh. “Okay, so then what happened?” I asked, as we both started to walk again.

“Well, of course I offered it to him because, ya know, I’m a giver.”

“So generous. If you gave it to him, then why was everyone so pissed off?”

“Oh, well, something else happened.” She rubbed her nose. “I’m still not sure what exactly, but there was definitely a…a miscommunication.”

“Miscommunication,” I repeated, deadpan.

“Right. A…glitch in the natural order of information transfer.”

I ran a fist over my mouth. She was funny—fast and witty. The appeal almost overshadowed her looks.

“They thought I was trying to finesse it back.”

“Ha!” I pointed at her. “You
were
stealing candy from a baby.”

Abby laughed and knocked her shoulder against mine. The score was currently two shoulder bumps for her, two shoulder squeezes for me, and I guess that extended handshake back at my store was a tie—we’d split those points. But the sneak-attack hug had been all mine. I was in the lead.

“Are you gonna let me finish?” she said.

“Finish.”

Another nose rub. “Well, okay, so that’s pretty much the end of the story. I wanted the jam, so did the kid, then all hell broke loose. You heard him say he was about to call the sheriff.”

“Fascinating tale. How is it not on CNN?”

She snorted this time and knocked my shoulder again. Was she trying to take the lead? Make the touch-score a closer race? But no, it wasn’t just a shoulder knock, she grabbed my arm afterward. The quick touch of her hand caused heat to spread through my chest like a mushroom cloud. She was definitely narrowing the score.

“So what about you?” she asked. “Were you at Modica’s just 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—
Whoa
, hold up.” We’d come to 30A, and Abby didn’t notice she was about to step off the curb and in front of a car, forcing me to do the old “stop short” move, cutting her across the chest with my arm. The touch of her body against my skin shot another hot rush through my blood. Was that a point for me or for her?

Hell, man, judging by where my extended limb hit, it was at least ten points for me.

I pulled my arm back, my palm still tingling from contact. To keep it from going in for another accidental boob graze, I used it as a sun visor as I scanned up the two-lane road.