Crossing Abby Road Read online

  No, not burying…hiding.

  From over my shoulder, I caught sight of what had set her off. Two joggers coming straight at us. I didn’t recognize them, and my muscles clenched, understanding her motivation to hide her face.

  I was just beginning to slacken my taut muscles when she readjusted herself against me, nuzzling in. Double dammy-damn-damn. She felt so good on me, against me, I almost couldn’t breathe.

  “Those runners?” she said, though her voice was muffled against my shirt. “Are they past us?”

  I vaguely remembered something about runners, but my chin was resting on the top of her head now, and my arms were around her.

  Runners? Oh, right. “Not quite,” I finally replied, catching sight of the joggers as they trotted past, oblivious to us; we looked like any other couple on the beach trying to get busy. I ran a hand down Abby’s back, not nearly ready to let her go. “Not…quite.”

  I felt her exhale, sinking into me, cozying into my chest. Holding her didn’t feel just good anymore, it felt right. Every time.

  “Hey,” I said, dipping my chin, coming dangerously close to touching my mouth to her hair. “I have a question for you this time.”

  “Shoot.”

  I ran my other hand down her back. “You kind of mentioned it earlier, but are you really in town for only today?”

  After I spoke, I held my breath. So much hung on her answer. Would she be here for a week? Was she catching a midnight flight to L.A. or London or wherever? Was she thinking of buying a house in my neighborhood? Stranger things had happened, yet I couldn’t let my mind go there, even hypothetically.

  “That’s a good question, actually,” she finally said. A moment later, she pulled her head off my chest. I instantly felt the coldness of her absence. This was her place, where she should be, her head on my chest. Before looking at me, her eyes focused onto the wet spot on my shirt, where her hair and skin had dampened my clothes.

  “Sorry,” she said, running a light hand over my T-shirt. “That was way out of line again.” Her voice was riddled with so much regret and embarrassment; there was zero reason for that, either. Even if she’d drenched me with a fire hose, it would’ve been totally worth it.

  “It’s okay, I get it,” I said, wanting to cup her cheek and guide her back against me. But we didn’t have an excuse now. And anyway, Abby was shifting her weight, climbing off my lap. Damn. “I’ll do better at concealing you next time,” I added, wanting her to know I was here to protect her if she needed. Or if putting my arms around her again was what she needed. I’d do that, no questions.

  But she was back on her own rock.

  I forced myself to smile—which wasn’t too hard, because yeah, she was blushing again. “So? How long?”

  “Well, the whole band’s on break ‘til September. It’s our first summer off.”

  Summer off? My heart gave a few hard, hopeful beats. “Where are you staying now?”

  “With my sister in Seagrove Beach, couple miles from Seaside. She really wants me to stay the whole summer, but…”

  “For someone on vacation, you don’t seem very excited.” Actually, the way she talked about it, it sounded more like she was dreading the whole thing.

  “Vacation.” She scoffed under her breath. “Like I even know what that is. I can never fully unplug, and with everything happening in L.A., it’d just be easier to be there.”

  “Oh, it’s a work thing. So it’s not that you can’t stay, it’s that you don’t want to.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?” she said. “I know that makes me sound like a workaholic, and maybe I am, but I have a hard time hanging around one place. We just wrapped a sixty-two-city tour. On and off, I’ve been away from home for almost two years straight. You’d think that’d turn me into a homebody when I’m not touring, but it’s the exact opposite.”

  I didn’t quite get that, because whenever my father moved us, the last thing I wanted to do was leave again. Something about Abby was wired differently, or maybe it was her current circumstances that I still didn’t grasp.

  “Well, if you ask me,” I offered matter-of-factly, “I think you should stay here.”

  Abby’s foot dragged over the sand and brushed against mine. “Why is that, Todd?”

  It was a simple question, but the answer had layers of complications. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t wary at the prospect of complications.

  I dipped my chin, knowing if I continued to allow her to look at me that way, I’d be forced to pull her onto my lap to finish whatever we’d started, joggers and beach cops be damned.

  Instead of going deep, I leaned back and bumped my shoulder against hers. “Why?” I said, meeting her eyes. “Because I think it might be fun rescuing you from sharks all summer.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Fly Me to the Moon”

  Under the late afternoon sun, the beach population had doubled, though because of the red flags whipping in the wind, it was still fairly sparse, especially since this was a residential strip of the beach. Plus, our little circle of rocks gave extra protection from curious eyes, but not from the Florida heat. I didn’t know about Abby, but I could use some water.

  My house was right behind us, one hundred steps away, but it seemed supremely lame to admit that now. Besides, keeping up the façade that we’d been sneaking around was kinda hot. Then I thought of those two bottles of water we’d had with lunch, and how long ago that had been.

  Thanks to my time as a sniper, my body was trained to not need food or water or any other creature comforts for a pretty long time. I sometimes forgot about that when I was with other people.

  “Before it gets too windy,” I said, rolling up on my knees, “I’m going to throw the rest of our trash away.” I gestured to the receptacle can a few houses down. It was near a footpath that led directly to the alley behind one of the beachside restaurants. There was a back entrance known only to locals.

  “I’ll help,” Abby said, like I knew she would.

  When we made it up to the trash cans, I quickly eyed the footpath. No one was there. “Do you want some water or anything?” I asked, already heading in that direction, hoping she’d follow. She did. It was only a few turns past the boardwalk we’d come down until the footpath split. “See that door there,” I said, pointing up the right side of the path. “That’s the employee entrance to Bud & Alley’s. The restrooms are always really clean.” I paused, not knowing what else to say about it. “Um, why don’t I grab some waters at the store and meet you back here?”

  A look of relief crossed Abby’s face. “Great idea,” she said. “Can I wear these?” She slid into my flip-flops. They were huge on her, but she probably didn’t want to take three hours to tie up her complicated sandals.

  “They look great on you.”

  She grinned. “Back in five minutes?”

  I smiled. “Meet you right here.”

  We broke apart, but I didn’t leave yet, keeping my eye on Abby as she ran down the sandy trail toward the big blue building. Without a hitch, she pulled open the back entrance door and disappeared.

  On the other side of Bud & Alley’s was a taco van. The owner was a buddy of mine and he passed me two bottles of water through the window. As I was walking back to the spot where we’d separated, I remembered those missed called and voicemails. I probably had a few minutes before Abby returned, so I pulled out my phone and listened.

  She must’ve been calling from someone else’s phone, because Sophie’s voice came through, pleading me to call again. I groaned inside my throat but backed a few steps off the footpath and called her back.

  It got through one whole ring. “Todd!”

  “Hey.”

  “Thank you for calling,” Sophie said.

  “Sure. What’s going on?” I asked, even though her voicemails had made it pretty clear. She was scared and lonely—which wasn’t my problem anymore. But contrary to what she’d accused me of six months ago, I was not an unfeeling cyborg
.

  “Didn’t you get my messages?”

  I gazed down the footpath, wishing Abby would appear so I’d have an excuse to hang up. “I did. All four of them.”

  “So…does this mean you’re coming home?”

  I honestly couldn’t say the possibility hadn’t crossed my mind at one time. Going back to New York would be easy, and I knew it would make my sisters happy, too. But I’d never wanted an easy life. Choosing not to expand my store didn’t automatically make everything a breeze, but I was finally doing what made me happy, and I was thriving here. Everything here was what I wanted.

  “No.” I made sure my answer was clear. “Sophie, no, I’m not—”

  “What? But, babe, why? I’m not with Lance anymore, and I need you. I love you, you belong here, we belong together.” Her words were slurred. Tipsy at four thirty on a Tuesday. That was what Sophie had turned into. “We made a mistake.”

  “No, we didn’t.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You moved on and so did I.”

  “You…what do you mean? You moved on?”

  That was rich. She was the one who’d been engaged until sometime in the last few hours.

  “But I…I said I need you here.”

  My sisters called Sophie high maintenance. It was strange, though. This was the most helpless she’d ever sounded. Even when we were together and she needed me, she never asked for help, never allowed me to give any of myself to help make what was wrong even a little better.

  Wasn’t that a huge part of being in love? Helping each other? Being there? Even just listening?

  “Are you… You’re with someone?” Sophie’s voice was soft and full of tears, and probably a pitcher of frozen margaritas. I hoped she was at home and not out drinking alone. But that was the extent of my concern. “Are you?” She sniveled again. “Are you with someone, Todd?”

  “Yes,” I replied. Technically, this was true—I was “with” Abby for the day. But I’d known what Sophie had meant, and I wasn’t about to get into a battle of semantics with my drunk ex.

  “I’m sorry you’re having a bad day,” I said, “but I have to go. Pour yourself one more drink, eat a handful of pretzels, then call a cab to take you home. Can you remember all that?”

  She sniffed. “Okay.”

  “Good girl.”

  “You’re so sweet.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Now don’t call me again. You’re going to be fine, Soph. I’m hanging up now, okay?”

  “’Kay.”

  I waited until I heard her hang up before I slid my cell into my pocket. The thought of falling in love again, of building something strong with someone new seemed so far off. Sophie wasn’t who I wanted to be with. I didn’t know if Abby was who I wanted, either, but there was the possibility of her. The possibility of something huge and great and completely explosive. Someone who took my breath away.

  But even though Abby was here today, we came from completely different worlds. And I never allowed that particular, enormous complication to leave my mind.

  I stepped back onto the footpath, and just like the sweetest summer breeze, Abby came strolling around the corner.

  “Hey,” she said brightly. Her hair and clothes had been dry for a while. She looked all wrinkled and sandy and like a big old sexy mess. The chilliest, most low-maintenance chick I’d ever seen. And she was probably a gazillionaire.

  “Hey,” I said, not able to stop the smile from smearing across my face. “Everything go okay?”

  “Yep. One of the dishwashers saw me but I pretended I didn’t speak English. In and out, baby.”

  I laughed. “Nice work.”

  We walked back to our Stonehenge, both of us sitting on the sand under the partial shade of one of the rocks. “So, I’ve been trying to plan my summer,” Abby said.

  “Oh, yeah?” I handed her one of the waters. “Your summer here?”

  “Maybe, but”—she broke off to laugh—“I can’t believe I’m actually saying this out loud.” She drained half the bottle then started burying her hands in the sand. “Just so you know, I’ve been at my sister’s house for two days, and I’m already climbing the walls—that’s just how I’m wired. So yes, I was planning on flying back to L.A. tomorrow. That was this morning, though.” She shrugged and pulled at her hair. “For the last few hours, I’ve been…semi-reconsidering.”

  “Semi?” I repeated.

  “Yeah, like big-time semi. Anyway, I haven’t given much thought about what being away from L.A. for so long will really mean.”

  “Think aloud.” I pressed my back against the rock, taking a sitting position. “Maybe I can help.”

  “Yeah, right.” She exhaled one of her musical laughs. “With no ulterior motive, of course.”

  “Well, I’m pretty good at talking either side of an issue, but for this, I’ll just listen.”

  I obviously had no business advising Abigail Kelly on what she should do for the next three months. But if Abby—the amazingly pretty girl with the crazy-sexy body covered in sand—wanted my opinion, I was sure as hell going to give it.

  “There’ll be conference calls with Max and the team,” she began. “Weekly at the very least.”

  That didn’t sound bad.

  “They’ll send out music for me to work on.”

  Hot damn…hearing her sing. Where do I sign up?

  She ran a hand through her hair. Despite being soaked in salt water then air dried, it was back to looking like she’d just stepped out of a video shoot.

  “And thanks to you and your key lime pie, my diet’s already shot to hell.”

  I smiled and nudged her shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

  “The press will find out at some point, so they’ll start popping up, but hopefully not a lot of them will bother coming all the way down here.”

  Press? Meaning, media? Cameras and reporters? There hadn’t been anything like that in Seaside since the filming of The Truman Show. The locals still talked about it. Though that wasn’t what bothered me.

  If she was here, I’d be with her, and the idea of dodging freaking paparazzi every time we hung out together wasn’t something I ever wanted to deal with. Another complication.

  Abby scooched up to the rock beside me. She was worrying her bottom lip, looking deep in thought. “I might get a movie script,” she added, sifting sand through her fingers. “Max would love that. He wants me to break into legitimate acting.”

  Max again. Why did hearing the guy’s name grind on my last nerve? “Really?” I said. “Is that what you want?”

  She didn’t reply. It wasn’t a difficult question, but she seemed thrown by it, like it shouldn’t matter what she wanted. “Um, I guess,” she finally said. “It’s part of Max’s career plan for me. I’ll never get the part, though. It’s for the new Bond girl. Max would probably love for me to have surgery first.”

  “Surgery on what?” Did the next Bond girl need two heads and an extra arm? What kind of 007 movie was this?

  Again, Abby was slow to answer. She’d been digging holes in the sand at her sides—they were a good six inches deep. At my question, though, she froze in place.

  “What kind of surgery, Abby?”

  Finally unfreezing, she exhaled a dark, humorless laugh under her breath. “What kind of surgery do you think someone like me would need to be a halfway-believable Bond girl?”

  I had no idea what she was talking about, but from the tone of her voice, I’d missed something glaringly obvious.

  She was staring forward at the blue water. “Because now, I mean, right now I obviously don’t have the body for it.” Her eyes slid to me first, then lowered, not to the sand, but to the front of her shirt. Her cheeks flamed red.

  My stomach dropped. If she meant what I thought she’d meant, that was complete bullshit.

  “I’m not particularly…” she hesitated, “I mean, I don’t wanna have to—”

  “That’s ludicrous,” I cut in. She could not be serious. Plastic surgery? A boob job
or augmentation or whatever the hell it was called? I’d heard some alien crap today, but this was it. “You don’t need anything like that.”

  Finally, she looked at me. I hadn’t gotten her back to smiling yet, but at least she wasn’t still talking about…that.

  “From what I’ve seen of you,” I added, trying not to look at the exact location of her purple bra, “you’re already very nearly too perfect.”

  The almost smile that was teetering on her lips disappeared, and her face went ashen. I had two loud sisters who tended to way overshare, so I was fairly in touch with the philosophy of negative body issues that plagued a lot of women. It wasn’t surprising that Abby faced the same thing. It was probably worse because she was in the spotlight.

  “Thank you,” she said, staring down at the sand.

  I’d screwed up again, said something wrong, though I had no clue what. Abby wasn’t my sister, she wasn’t my girlfriend, and, being a dude, I was the last person who knew what she was feeling. But I was with her right now, today.

  “You don’t like being told that?” I asked, needing to start from the beginning. “That you’re sexy? Because you are.”

  “I said thank you,” she mumbled, barely audible, still staring down at the sand. “Can we please move on?”

  “Sorry, but I’m not about to take it back. I stand by my opinion.”

  She pulled her feet in to sit cross-legged, and her shoulders slumped. Like one of those roly poly bugs, she was turning into a ball before my eyes. She’d done the same thing after being recognized by those two fans at Modica’s.

  “Abby,” I couldn’t help saying. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. If she was going through something I couldn’t relate to, that wasn’t license for me to be a…an unfeeling cyborg…and drop the subject. The impulse pumping through my body was to take ahold of her again and ease her head onto my chest. Well no, my actual impulse was to tear off her purple bra with my teeth and prove she was plenty Bond girl for me. But I sensed that might be a slight overkill.

  Slowly, I reached out and touched her foot. Her toes twitched but she didn’t move away as I ran a finger over the top.