The town we live in is small, so it only takes me ten minutes to get to Checkmate from my place outside town. And it only takes two minutes to get from Checkmate to Abigail’s shop. Three streets over and ample parking out front, I take up two spots, and climb out with an odd thrumming to my pulse.
I don’t get nervous. Ever.
But I’m here to see Abigail, and because of my conspicuous ride, she’ll already know I’m here. She’s had twenty seconds to run away, or to prepare a speech about crass pricks.
Both options suck, but I’d prefer the second. Watching her sputter her way through an angry speech is legions better than not seeing her at all.
I climb out and drop the keys into my pocket. I’m walking in wearing work attire today – camo pants, thigh holsters, dark shirt, and combat boots. She’s seen me in a suit, and she’s seen me in jeans. Now she’ll see me the way my friends see me, but I know my firearms probably won’t go over well.
“I’m not leaving them in my glovebox. Fuck that shit.”
I step through the front door and scowl when the bell above announces my arrival. The chick I spoke to yesterday looks up and grins. She’s working with a potted plant at the front counter, but then Abigail steps through from the back and stops on a skid when our eyes meet. Hers widen, and the blue and green send me off kilter, just like they have every other time I’ve seen her.
I mean, who the fuck has two different colored eyes?
I want it to be annoying, I want to make out that it’s a vanity choice and stupid, which in itself is stupid, but all I can do now and every time I see her is stare for a moment and let myself adjust.
She wears her matronly blouse again, and blue jeans that at least fit her a little better today – though nothing will ever fit her as well as that gown did at the wedding. She carries a heavy stack of flowers. They look ready for a bouquet. No thorns, no dangling leaves, no browned petals. They’re long-stemmed, the stems are straight, and the flowers at the end are perfectly rounded and neat.
“Spencer?” Her voice quivers. It’s barely there, but my body is so fucking attuned to her every move, I’d know if she sprouted a new freckle overnight.
She didn’t.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m just gonna go out the back and…” Nadia looks between me and Abigail. “Well, mind my own business and all that. You know where to find me.”
“Nadia, no–” Abigail reaches out for her friend, but the other woman slips out of the room and leaves us standing in silence but for the radio that plays from the speakers in the corners.
“Um…”
She turns back and places the stack of flowers on the counter. Folding her arms, she shields herself from me. She always covers up. But not the way other women do; Abigail covers herself with bad posture and folded arms, where other women cake on makeup and bad attitudes. Abigail’s face is bare today, back to the innocent I met two weeks ago. But she’s not innocent. I’ve already touched her. I’ve already tasted her.
“Can I help you?” she finally asks.
“I’m looking for flowers.” I clear my throat and take a step forward.Romance. You gotta romance her.Why? I have no fuckin’ idea.“I need something new for Jessie.”
“You brought flowers to her just yesterday. That bunch will still be fresh.”
“I know.” I continue forward, though slowly, to give her a chance to back up.
Ever since she stared into my eyes at the hospital and begged me to walk away, I’ve found myself wanting to grant her wishes. All of them. For as long as she stares at me like that and begs.
“But she had two babies, and still needs to shi–” I pause. “Uh… poop. I was gonna head up there later, so I thought a new bouquet would cheer her up.”
“Um… okay. If you’re being extra generous, maybe get her a candy bar too. Two of them, since her sister will take one.”
“Mm,” I grunt. “Laine’s got an attitude problem.”
“Really?” She studies me as I come closer. “She seemed nice. Quiet, but kind.”
“She is kind.” I stop when my toes touch the front of the counter. I’ll let her keep that space for now, but I lean onto my elbows and encroach as much as I can. “She’s actually a sweetheart. But she’s got attitude.”
“You don’t like women with attitude?” Her eyes dart over my face, watching me as though I’m a wild animal in the forest. She’s not sure if I’m friend or foe.
“I actually kinda love women with attitude. I guess it just depends on how and where they use it.”
“Are you and Laine… uh… did you ever…”