“What’s the issue?”
Matt explained, and she listened in grave silence. When he was finished, he waited for her to say something. Abby studied the sculpture from all angles, turning it on the revolving table. “Screw it. You have a perfectly good set of ribs here, Matt. No one who’s going to see this knows Jason, right? So, give it a rest and stop worrying.”
Matt laughed. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you are cursed with man-brain, which only travels along one track, while I am gifted with the multi-tasking marvel known as woman-brain. Chris threw your bag in the Jeep; Claire and Charles will meet us at the gallery. So, now you’re mine.” She stretched to brush a kiss on his jaw.
He rested a hand at the small of her back, curving her body toward him. “I like the sound of that.” He gestured at the statue before him. “However, unless you have a magic genie in your pocket, you have to at least let me cover this.”
“Got it, cuz.” Chris brushed past Matt, nabbed the sculpting knife off the table and headed to the sink, flip-flops slapping the concrete floor. “Good idea, girl. Get this guy out of here.”
Matt grinned, knowing that Chris would take care of his clay properly. Pulling Abby against him, he caught her mouth in a slow, hot kiss, which she returned enthusiastically.
“Get a room,” Chris bellowed, covering his eyes.
“That’s the idea.” Matt’s lips twisted into a wicked smile, and he led Abby out the door.
Driving down the coast, Matt kept the window open to help him stay alert as he pointed out the places he liked to surf and the things that made his heart sing.
“You really love it here, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” Matt looked out over the ocean. “Feels like forever since I’ve been out there.” He shook himself and smiled. “What do you do at your ocean?”
“Well, not surfing. I swim, mainly. And I love sailing! I learned when I was a kid, and it’s my favorite thing to do when I’m at my parents’ place in Maine.”
“Well, then, you’ll have to take me sailing, Pretty. It’s popular here too, but I’ve never tried it.” Matt recognized that he was trying to find things to entice her to like his home, and he changed the subject before she caught onto him. “Anyway, what do you want to see in San Francisco?”
Abby’s face lit up. “Ghirardelli Square! The pier—can’t remember the number—and…Chinatown! The Golden Gate is a given. What?” she asked when Matt winced.
“Tourist stuff? Seriously?”
“I am a tourist, goofy. You have to indulge me. I take everyone to Boston Common and the Old North Church, even though I’ve seen them a thousand times. And that damned Cheers bar! It’s not even real.”
Matt laughed. “Okay, so we compromise. I’ll take you to as many of the places you want to see as we have time for, but can I show you the things I think are worth seeing as well?”
“I’d like that.”
They pulled up to the Hotel Vitale a while later. A bellman grabbed their bags out of the back while Matt handed the valet his keys. “What’s the sense in having friends with influence if you never take advantage of it?” he joked as the obsequious desk clerk handed Abby the key cards. As they made their way to their room, he added, “Claire probably told them we’re European millionaires or royalty in hiding.”
“Or she flashed a stack of cash,” Abby suggested with a slanted smile.
“Well, sure.” Arriving at their door, Matt opened it. “But that alone is not devious enough for Claire. She likes to add a little glamour to everything.” They stepped in, and he flipped on the light.
Abby looked around and whistled. “Like this room.”
Matt grinned at her obvious delight. He dropped the bags and stretched out on the bed. Abby joined him and lay back too, her head resting on his shoulder. “So, what’s first on the agenda, Pretty? Ghirardelli?”
Without answering, she brushed the hair near his temple. Matt closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation for a moment, and then he caught her hand and brushed his lips against the fine skin of her inner wrist. “We’d better go right now or the only sights you’ll see in San Francisco will be inside this hotel room.”
He lifted his lids and caught Abby’s face in a moment of unguarded longing. They locked eyes and then smiled. Matt savored the delicious curl of tension in his lower stomach.
Rising to his feet, he held out his hand. “Come on, tourist. I’ll give you the full treatment today, but tomorrow morning is mine. Deal?”
Abby took his hand. “Deal. I guess.”
Chuckling, Matt led her toward the door. “Don’t sound so excited.”
They spent the afternoon drifting from attraction to attraction. Matt’s initial reluctance was overcome by Abby’s joy at each new place. Seeing the common sights through fresh eyes, he remembered his own excitement at seeing many of the same attractions as a child when he stayed with his father. Even though his mother never accompanied him on those visits, they had been good times.
In that spirit, he allowed himself to be dragged from cable car to cable car, one line into Chinatown for lunch and a wander through the twisty streets, sifting through flowers and trinkets, another line to Fisherman’s Wharf. Abby rested her head against his shoulder as they collapsed onto a bench.
Matt curled his arm around her, comfortable and happy with their day so far. “So, Pretty…had enough yet?”
Abby chuckled. “You wish. I want to go to the aquarium and the Ripley’s Believe it or Not Museum, and I want to see the boats, and maybe go out to Alcatraz, and—”
Her flow of words was stopped by Matt’s lips. Abby curled her fingers in the front of his shirt, not caring about the stifled chuckles coming from their seatmates. When she relaxed, Matt lifted his head and brushed his nose against hers. “What were you saying about going back to the hotel?” he asked in a husky voice.
“Not a damned thing,” Abby replied in the same tone. “We’re at the Wharf; now I want to see everything it has to offer.”
Admitting defeat, Matt got up and helped her off the bench. They went from one area to another, collecting a shopping bag full of souvenirs for Abby’s friends and family at home. She grew quiet the longer they walked, and Matt found himself becoming rather sober as well. He was glad when Abby quit shopping and moved back onto the pier to watch a street artist draw a portrait of two children.
A frown drew her brow down, and Matt asked why. Abby gave a rundown of where she felt the artist’s technique could use refinement. “Have you ever thought about getting back into painting?” Matt asked.
Abby’s laugh was short and sharp. “Not likely. Those who can’t do or teach curate, remember?” She shivered in the wind that had picked up over the water, and before Matt could even wrap a warming arm around her shoulders, a fierce cloudburst started dropping fat, cold drops. The artist squawked and grabbed up his supplies, and people dashed for cover.
Matt and Abby sheltered under the awning of a sweater shop. While they waited for the rain to lighten, she chuckled and wrapped her arms around his waist. “What kind of crazy city do you have here? In Boston, we swelter through July, we don’t f-freeze.”
“Hold on a sec,” Matt said, darting into the shop. Within a few minutes, he was back out, carrying two Aran sweaters. Pulling a green one over his head, he grimaced and yanked it back off, handing it to Abby before putting on a cream sweater. “Sorry,” he said as she rolled the sleeves of her sweater over her hands. “I just grabbed two. The cream one’s bigger.”
Abby grinned. “It’s perfect. Smells like you now.” She looked out into the rain, not noticing the smile that bloomed on Matt’s face. “What’s next?”
Matt curled his arms around her midriff and rested his chin on her shoulder. “You don’t mind the rain?” Abby shook her head. Matt tipped his arm up so he could see his watch and sighed. “It’s about time to go change for the show.”
“Okay. Can I do one more touristy thing, though?”
“Anything
.”
She led him toward the brightly colored merry-go-round, giggling at his long-suffering expression. Matt handed over the fee and tugged her into a swan boat so he could hold her close.
Abby squeezed Matt’s hand as they stood in the gallery doorway and watched the expensively dressed crowd mill around. She smoothed her hand over the heavy red silk of her dress, on loan from Claire. “Are you nervous?”
“Not at all. The pressure’s off,” he said in a low voice, touching the hair at her temple with one finger. The artist in him enjoyed the contrast she made to the many black gowns on display. “I know I’ll never create anything as beautiful as you look tonight. I can just enjoy the show now.”
Abby grinned. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” She waved, and he turned to see Claire. “Into the breach, right?”
Matt tucked her hand into his arm, and they strolled into the room. The first couple of hours at the de Young passed in a blur of faces and names as they circulated, champagne flutes in hand. The attendees represented the crème of the local arts scene, and they discussed Matt’s works knowledgeably. When Claire called Abby away to greet the Peerys, Matt couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.
Apparently someone else was watching her too, because when Matt returned from a trip to the restroom, he found Abby cornered by Mr. Baker. She appeared to be calm and confident, but she stiffened when Baker took a casual sip of his champagne and reached out to snake his arm around her hips. Matt cut through the room as quickly as possible, but Claire got there first. She slid between Baker and Abby with a bright smile and clutched the older man’s arm. “How are you enjoying the show, Mr. Baker? Can you feel how well your statues are going to go over in September? You made quite a find in our Matt.”
Baker rolled his eyes and tossed back his wine. He looked at Matt with calculation. “About that. Since you’re far enough ahead to take weekends off, I’ll assume that you will be delivering four statues in September? I think that should be sufficient, as long as we can come to a satisfactory agreement on the last two.”
Matt’s temper strained at its leash. “I have a better idea. How about you—”
Claire placed a warning hand on his arm and her tone became frosty. “We have a contract for three statues by the end of September, Mr. Baker.”
Baker grunted his acknowledgment. “Huh. Didn’t hurt to try. Lovely evening you’ve arranged, Mrs. Eastman.” He strolled through the room, greeting people in a hearty tone, as if the soiree was arranged for his personal enjoyment.
Claire collapsed against the wall, shaking her head. “Matt—”
“Save it. I’m not sorry. The man’s an ass,” he said, the strain of keeping his voice down made it rough. “We’re going.”
“Matt, we can’t,” Abby said reasonably. “There’s a half-hour left yet, and you cannot leave.” She turned to Claire. “How many sales, Claire?”
Claire glanced at Matt, rubbing her temples. “All but two.” She chuckled wearily. “I even have an offer on the new models, though I know you need those.”
Abby stood in front of Matt, looking him steadily in the eye. “Then let’s sell them and go home.”
As the last people left, Claire waved them off, claiming that only the very last arrangements for deliveries of the purchased statues remained. Matt didn’t fight her, tugging at the knot in his tie and loosening the top buttons on his shirt with one hand as he and Abby walked to the Jeep and drove toward the hotel.
Matt looked out the car window, gripped by an impulse to share something with Abby. “Hey…would you go somewhere with me?”
“What…now? Sure.” She gestured at her dress. “Is this okay?”
“It’ll do.”
Matt refused to answer any of Abby’s questions until they were at a lookout point at Twin Peaks. They got out of the Jeep and walked to the edge. Abby looked around at the expanse of the city laid out before them, lights twinkling far below. “So beautiful,” she whispered.
Matt gathered her wind-whipped hair and draped it over one shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Yes.” He answered in a low voice, not completely sure whether he was talking about the woman or the view. “This is one of my favorite views of the city.”
Abby snuggled into his arms, rubbing one hand up and down his bicep. “I can’t believe that I might never see this again,” she said wistfully, tightening her grip on Matt’s arm.
“Yes, you will,” Matt answered without thinking.
Abby twisted her head to look up at him, a smile spreading across her face. “Sure of that, are you?”
“Mmm hmm,” he answered. “I don’t do ‘summer things.’ Ask Claire.”
He took her hand and started backing toward the Jeep, smiling. “Know what I want to do now? I want to work on my Pretty sculpture. That’s how I get to sleep lately.” He smiled wistfully. “I work the clay and think of you until I relax enough to go to bed. Weird?”
“Nice,” Abby said softly, cupping his cheek. He closed his eyes. “Tell you what, since you lack clay, why don’t you touch me instead?”
Chapter Fourteen
WHEN MATT TURNED into the driveway of the cottage the next day, Abby laughed a little at her guilty disappointment in seeing Sarah’s car there. She’d been half-hoping that Sarah and David would be out enjoying their last day together in Santa Cruz. Matt’s twisted smile let her know that he’d been thinking along the same lines. As he carried Abby’s bag to the front door, he suggested, “We could still go to my house.”
Abby held a finger over his lips. “Rest. We agreed that we need rest tonight.” She had to snatch her finger back when Matt nipped the tip.
She opened the door and called for Sarah. Matt followed her into the living room. Abby’s laughter stopped abruptly when she saw Sarah’s miserable expression. “Sweetie, what happened? Where’s David?” She reached back blindly for Matt’s hand.
Sarah expression became even more forlorn. “He got called back to Boston yesterday.” She sighed. “Some strike thing. And he said I might as well stay here, because he’ll just be living at the paper for a while, and…I’ll be heading home next week…Abby, I’m sorry.” She looked at Matt sadly. “I’m sorry to you, too. I’m not the only one going home.”
“What?” Abby asked faintly. “But…I thought…”
Sarah took a drink from the bottle on the coffee table. “I thought, too. But Aunt Filiz called. She met someone at her retreat, and she’s bringing him home with her next week. We’ve been not-so-politely evicted, doll.” She took another swallow and grimaced. “I’m so fucking sorry, Abby. I didn’t know what to say. It’s her house.”
Abby’s first thought amounted to a wordless howl of dismay. She closed her eyes, struck anew by the thought that she’d stumbled into this relationship accidentally: a freak whim to travel to the opposite coast, a chance meeting. By all rights, she should be lounging at her apartment right now, watching television or reading, unaware that Matt was doing the same thing three thousand miles away. Two months earlier she hadn’t even known this man into whose life she now felt inextricably linked. This was further from Boring Boston Abby than she’d ever imagined traveling that summer, but she couldn’t bring herself to resent it.
She took a steadying breath before raising Matt’s hand and kissing the back. She dropped it and crossed to Sarah, taking the rum and capping it tightly. “That’s that, then. And this won’t make it any better. Enough.” She carried the bottle into the kitchen and slammed it into a cupboard, trying to get hold of her flying thoughts before she had to face Matt again. She rearranged her expression into a bland mask and returned to the living room. Walking over to Sarah, she cradled her friend’s head. “Not your fault, so don’t stress.” The friends leaned against each other.
Matt caught Abby’s arm as she headed for the stairs. “Abby?” he asked in a low voice, and she shook her head.
“Nothing’s changed,” she said, covering his hand w
ith hers and looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Okay? I can’t deal with this right now. Call me tomorrow?” She squeezed his hand and headed up the stairs. She heard Matt say an awkward goodbye to Sarah, and she closed her bedroom door with a quiet click. How was she supposed to face a reality where five weeks together had suddenly dropped to one?
Matt slammed the door of his Jeep and thrust it into gear. On his drive home, it took all of his concentration to avoid the natives and tourists; their nonchalance as they leisurely crossed the road was born of lazy days and the lure of the sea. Their dismay as they jumped out of his way meant nothing to him.
It was only when his ancient engine began to whine in protest that he slowed down. He whipped into his driveway and cut the motor. In the sudden silence, he could hear the tattoo of his heartbeat. He rested his head on the hands that clutched the steering wheel and closed his eyes.
What a fuckeroo of a way to end the weekend. He wished he’d obeyed his first impulse and passed Abby’s cottage. All he’d really wanted was to listen to her humming from his kitchen as he got back to work, but did he listen to his own good advice? No.
He strained his ears to hear the whisper of the sea, his surest comfort for most of his life, but all he could hear was his neighbor’s VW belching and farting down the street. Matt sighed and opened his door, keeping his mind a careful blank as he grabbed his bag out of the back of the Jeep and carried it into the house.
He called for his cousin, thinking that maybe Chris’s patter could fill the yawning hole that seemed to have opened in his chest. Silence.
“Screw it,” Matt muttered. He kicked his shoes into a corner and ripped off the silly Hawaiian shirt he’d slid on so playfully that morning. He’d hoped it would make Abby laugh, and it had. The ghost of her giggles rang in his ears. It was unbearable.
Striding into the studio, he cranked up his music and yanked the cover off of the statue he’d abandoned so gratefully the day before. There was Jason, nearly as big as life and just as handsome as he’d ever been. Envy shifted through Matt; he might have had more time with Abby if it hadn’t been for those weeks she’d spent with Jason. And now she was leaving, and…
The Art of Appreciation Page 19