“How do you know?” Abby covered her lips with her hand before whispering it.
“Lost her hearing aide.” He grinned at her before reclaiming the fascinating curl of hair he’d been toying with. “So I can say how lovely your breasts look in the moonlight and how much your kisses drive me wild and she can’t hear a word of it.”
“You’re bad,” she whispered, but she didn’t shove his hand away from her hair.
“You like it.” Leaning back, he let the sun warm his skin while Abigail asked a couple other questions and scribbled away. Soon, she tapped his arm and he realized he must have dozed off.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty. Say goodbye to Mrs. Sabatina.”
Blinking fast, he stretched and yawned before loping up the two steps to snag the jug and glasses off the old woman. “I’ve got these, ma’am.”
“Pretty manners.” She chuckled and he followed her back into the small, cluttered house. It smelled like a mix of mothballs, dust and cat, and he wrinkled his nose at the combination, but kept his thoughts to himself. When he made it to her kitchen, he washed up the jug and glasses before turning to face Mrs. Sabatina again.
“Thanks so much for having us, ma’am.”
“No problem. Next time you bring a lady to my home though, boy, you watch you keep your language appropriate with her.”
Abby had just entered the kitchen behind Mrs. Sabatina and she quickly stepped back around the corner. Braxton didn’t doubt for a second she stayed though and eavesdropped from there. “Yes, ma’am.” Clearing his throat, he gestured with the dish towel. “You could hear me?”
With a chuckle like wooden wind chimes clunking together, the old woman touched his arm with her very soft and dry hand. “No, boy. I told you, lost the hearing aide. I can read lips though. I was a teacher, you know.”
Nodding, he apologized for his behavior before heading off to find Abigail, who’d already loaded herself into the truck and was laughing hard.
“You think this is funny?” he asked her. “I just talked about your tits in front of a woman who has to be at least a thousand years old.”
His words didn’t slow her laughter and tears snuck out the corners of her eyes. “You’re killing me here. The look on your face when she called you out…priceless.”
The sight of her, so real and full of joy, triggered something and he couldn’t resist leaning closer, until their noses just brushed. “And here I was trying to be sexy…”
He let the sentence dangle off to nothing, enjoying the passion that waked in her gaze and the way she slowly licked her full lips. “Yeah, well—”
She swallowed and he leaned closer yet, capturing those lips with his own. Only once her breath sped and her fingertips clutched at his shirt did he back up enough to grin down at her. “You were saying?”
“I don’t remember,” she confessed and leaned back in her seat.
More interviews followed, and he used every moment to try to make her remember the feelings they’d once shared. It was the little things really. Brushing his arm against hers to watch her shiver while she talked to someone. She still felt something. Leaning into her space to glance at what she was writing, to get close enough to smell her and hear her breath catch. Touching her fingers as she reached for her phone.
Standing behind her at the donut counter, he leaned in, as if looking at the pastries.
He let his breath just stir the hair above her ear. When she started to move, he darted out his tongue to touch the sweet spot behind her lobe, the nerve cluster that he knew made her squirm.
Attuned to her, he caught the soft exhale, the way the pulse point at her neck sped up as she turned to him. “Braxton.”
“Abs. Find anything you like?”
He stayed in her personal space. Leaning toward the counter so his hip brushed hers.
“Uh, I…”
“I think you’d like their éclairs.”
“Do you?” Her brows rose and her hand fluttered. It was like she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to push him away or pull him closer.
“Yup. Cream-filled.”
She choked on a laugh, looking at him. “And the creepy comment of the year award goes to…”
He leaned back in. “Chocolate releases the same endorphins in the brain as sex. Since we aren’t having any sex, I’ll order something chocolaty. Don’t worry though. Promise to think of you.”
“That wasn’t less creepy,” she said, but still smiled.
Her fluttering hands decided on a location. She rested one on his chest.
“What will you be having?”
“Two can play this game, you know.” Her fingers curled on his shirt, tips digging into his chest.
“What game, Abs?”
“You’re trying to knock me off balance.”
“No—” Leaning in quick, he dipped her, causing her to squeak and catch hold of him more securely. “This is me throwing you off balance.”
A small gasp and then she tightened her lips. “I’m not going to respond.”
But her fingers slid up to his neck, stroking his hair.
“Is it that you haven’t decided yet or you’re conflicted about that?”
“Conflicted. I’ve told you, we’re not discussing personal matters. Business only.”
Yanking her back to her feet, he grinned and turned to walk away. Over his shoulder he tossed, “Get unconflicted.”
Chapter Nine
April 3, 2007
Abby,
April showers bring May flowers but what do May flowers bring?
Do you remember when you were a kid and you repeated that over and over again and drove me crazy?
I do.
Some guy invited me out to a club with him. There was dancing and music…not the kind of music we listened to. Heavy, thumping stuff and people were grinding and almost having sex right on the dance floor.
It reminded me of the year you watched Dirty Dancing and got very interested in dancing like that.
I gotta say, I only agreed to pretend to be your partner because I wanted you to grind into me. It really turned me on to have you riding my leg.
But here’s the thing. All those women, half naked and smelling of easy sex, at the club? None of them were half as sexy as you were when I held you in my arms at school dances, all careful and correct, looking up at me like I hung the moon.
You made me feel like I could be better.
I miss that.
Is there anything you miss about me?
You still haven’t answered a single letter, so I don’t know why I hope each one will be the one…the one that makes you finally say something.
Maybe it will be this one.
If it is, love you.
B
Tiny lights lit the inside of the covered bridge, glittering their reflections on the water of the creek below. The Smolen-Gulf Bridge, longest covered bridge in the United States, hung high above the gulf of Ashtabula, a rocky cliff-like place, surrounded on all sides by lush forests and fields. The sound of frogs and night creatures could be heard above the sounds of tourists mulling and the band setting up. For the first night of the festival, the bridge had been taken out of commission and would serve as setting for dancing, music and more.
Thrilled with her assignment to this bridge, Abigail munched on a maple sucker and enjoyed the cool evening breeze on her flesh.
Her cell phone went off and she touched the screen to answer. “Carnie, how goes it?”
“Shortest damn bridge, my ass. This is not a bridge, Abby. This is a joke.”
“It is the shortest bridge, Carn. It only spans eighteen feet. I offered to swap you bridges…”
“This isn’t a bridge, dammit. It’s too small to be considered a bridge. It’s more like a doorway. Wonder if we could get a double record breaker out of it…World’s shortest covered bridge slash longest doorway.”
“Is anyone even there?”
Carnie’s gusty sigh sounded like static on the line. “Yes.
Tons of people. And there is cheesecake. I guess it is kind of cute…in an underwhelming way.”
“Length isn’t everything, Carnie.”
“Pfft. That is something the guys with little penises say to try to convince us to drop our panties. Enjoy your long bridge. I’ll catch up with you after.”
“Sounds good.” Hanging up, Abigail leaned over the edge of the bridge, relaxing for what felt like the first time in a long time as the first twanging notes of the band rippled into the night.
It seemed she’d been tied up in knots over Braxton forever now. What she really needed was to let it all go for a night. Relax. Not think about—
“Gorgeous night, isn’t it?”
His voice slid over her skin, raising goose bumps and putting her body on high alert. Electricity crackled across her skin like heat lightning on a hot July night across a cloudless sky.
“Braxton.” She nodded, hoping to hide her reaction.
Leaning on the bridge next to her, his arm grazed hers, bringing her senses alive and making her instantly attuned to him. No one ever affected her like Braxton Dean.
“Have you enjoyed the festival so far?”
It was such a comfortable, non-tension-filled question that her breath rushed out. She found herself almost disappointed that he wasn’t continuing his perpetual assault to her sex drive.
“Yeah, actually.”
“I remember these, back when you were in band. Remember the parade? You hated that parade.” A familiar grin lit his face, illuminated by the tiny glittering white lights hanging from the bridge.
“Of course I hated it. It was about a thousand degrees and the band uniform was long-sleeved shirts, long pants and made from one hundred percent polyester. They might as well have wrapped us in plastic wrap and popped us in a microwave.”
“Yeah. I remember. You sweated like a pig.”
Snorting, she returned his smile. “Thanks. I know I was hot.”
“Literally.”
Laughing with him felt strangely comfortable. And then the song changed.
By the second note, her head snapped toward the impromptu dance floor. “Amazed,” she whispered.
“They’re playing our song. Care to dance, Bigfoot? Strictly as colleagues, show of united front and all that business?”
She couldn’t hide her smile at the old childhood nickname, something he’d dubbed her when she was still in elementary school. Way back when she’d worn the same size shoes as him, before puberty turned him into a man and her into a woman…
What could one dance hurt? With a shrug, she took his hand and he guided her to the mass of moving bodies. Easily, as if he held her every day, he pulled her into his embrace.
The temptation to melt into him nearly overwhelmed her.
His scent enveloped her, the familiar mix of smells that meant Braxton. The song that had once meant so much to her thrummed against her skin, hiding the fact that she was breathless with the combination of old emotions and new ones.
Could she be falling in love with him all over again?
Leaning close, she felt his breath stir her hair. His whisper seduced her. “Baby, you surround me, touch every place in my heart. And it feels like the first time every time. I wanna spend the whole night in your arms.”
“Eyes.”
“Hmm?” His lips grazed her cheek as he moved. She sighed as a shiver of desire shot down her spine.
“Not arms, eyes. The song says eyes.”
“Here I am, romancing you on a hot summer’s night and you’re correcting my singing?”
Choking on her laughter, she turned to meet his eyes, but his face was close, too close.
Time seemed to stand still. For a moment, she was sure he was about to kiss her. Frozen, she waited, lips a breath away from his, gazes locked. Then he simply tucked her face onto his shoulder. “Abby, I’m amazed by you.”
Trying to catch her breath, she wavered between being really happy he hadn’t kissed her in front of everyone…
And really disappointed.
Chapter Ten
November 23, 2008
Abby,
Just wanted to drop you a quick line to say…
You’re still ignoring me.
It really pisses me off.
Quit being a bitch.
One day, I will call you out for this.
B
She’d gone from being able to avoid him outside of interviews to not being able to move two steps without running into Braxton. In the grocery store, she picked up a half-gallon of milk. As she glanced at the expiration date, she smelled him.
Turning, she practically knocked heads with him. “Do you actually look at the dates on the milk? Me, I live dangerously.”
He reached past her and grabbed a half-gallon, arm brushing hers and zinging her nerves to life. Her pulse sped. Being in close proximity to him reminded her of how he’d pushed her against the Chevy and wakened a need to repeat the elicit experience.
She blinked at him. He was still speaking. “What?”
“I said, I live dangerously. I grab a milk and hope I drink it before it goes bad. You should try it. Risks are fun.” He winked and strode away.
It amazed her that the plastic in her hand didn’t melt from the body heat she was radiating.
At the library the next day, where she read to the kids once a week for story hour, he popped up behind her as she headed to the bathroom. “The Fuzzy Caterpillar?”
She blinked at him, no clue what he was talking about, higher brain functions scrambled by the sight of him.
He pointed to the book still clutched in her suddenly numb fingers. “Heavy reading material?” His grin was infectious and she felt her own lips curling in an answering smile.
“No, I read to the kids.”
“Very wholesome.” He leaned close to her. “Do they know what a naughty girl you are? I know. I can’t help but remember our times together.”
Her face flamed. Glancing around, worried someone overheard him, she realized they were alone. “You can’t say stuff like that to me. You have no right. I’ve told you, now that the bridge event is over, there’s nothing for us to talk about and no need for us to interact.”
“I planned to marry you at one time. I have every right. I told you in the letters I never stopped thinking about it and you.”
And that was another thing—every chance he got, he mentioned letters. The damned mythical letters…
If he wrote her even one, she wouldn’t have been as angry, but there hadn’t been a single word from him over the years.
There were a lot of things she could forgive. Lying wasn’t on the list.
But he hadn’t kissed her. Not in nine days. Not that she was counting or anything.
It had to stop.
Snapping open her cell phone, she rang Carnie from the bathroom of the library. “I’m calling in reinforcements.”
“Reinforcements?” Carnie asked.
“Yeah, I’m going to need help. Fast.”
If one more little old lady randomly whacked him with her cane, he would have to hide in his father’s house till snow fell.
Braxton was in hell.
When they were kids, the whole town seemed determined to push Abigail and him together. They paired them up for two-legged races when the community hosted street fairs. At school, their teachers assigned them to each other as lab partners. Their names went together as easily as peanut butter and jelly.
As fiercely as the local machine once pushed them together, it proved equally determined to tear them apart.
Sitting in the bar, drowning his sorrows in a Bud Light, he tried to watch the football game. He didn’t care about the damn game.
He glanced over at the twinkle lights illuminating the door. Under one of the neon beer signs, the time showed his buddy was late.
The door swung open and Braxton breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a familiar figure enter and shake the rain off his jacket. “Lou.”
Sli
ding a beer across the table to his best guy pal, he rubbed at the fresh bruise on his temple. Mrs. VanDevender “accidentally” dropped a planter on his head earlier in the day. If he didn’t know better, he would assume she was trying to kill him.
“Brax.” His best friend slid into the seat opposite him and accepted the beer. “So, shit’s hitting the fan.”
“Yeah, that’s why I called you.”
“No one in town is real happy with you right now.”
He nodded and took a swig of his own beer. “I noticed. What the hell is going on?”
“Here’s the deal…when you left, your dad was sort of a jackass to Abby. Everyone knew it. She’s a local girl and she didn’t retaliate against him. This showed everyone that she respected her elders, which meant a lot to the old guard. Anyway, years pass, she takes care of her batshit crazy mom and her grandma till she dies. She does community service and all, and you go around doing whatever the hell you were doing—”
“Lou, she won’t talk to me about anything that’s not within the realm of business, refuses to, and you know what I was doing and—”
His best friend waved him off with a wiggle of his beer. “Doesn’t matter, jackass. You fucked up and she played the saint. Now you’re back. She put out a distress call to her little buddy Carnie. They basically blacklisted you as the jerk that left her and mentioned, not too subtly, that you’re pressuring her and lying to her, to boot.”
“Lying? What the fu—” Again, Lou cut him off, round face serious.
“The letters, man. She still doesn’t believe you wrote the letters. You didn’t, by some chance, keep copies of them? I mean, that would clear things up for the town.”
“Copies?”
“Didn’t think so. Still can’t believe you wrote her all those years. That was kinda girly, man.”
“Shut up, jackwad. If I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you.”
Lou grinned. “I’m not the one getting his shit beat up by old women.”
“Fuck off.”
They clanked beers and drank for a moment in companionable silence.
Runaway Groom Page 5