Crossing Abby Road

by Ophelia London

  She stared at it for a second, then the sweetest smile broke out on her face. It crushed my insides, then it lit them up like Roman candles on the Fourth of July. I couldn’t help smiling back, wondering if I had the same effect on her. But that was insane. She was Abigai—no, she was Abby.

  “So adorbs, gimme,” she said. Still grinning, she peeled off her baseball cap and slid on the straw hat. Crap on a cracker, she was absolutely gorgeous.

  “Cute,” I said, downplaying the stunningly obvious, and how looking at her made me want to grab her around the waist and haul her off the footpath.

  Abby blinked up at me, looking pleased while just a tiny bit insecure. Her vulnerability at my compliment was even sexier.

  “Now I’m beginning to see what all the fuss is about,” I added. “Let’s go.” I picked up our bag of food, knowing exactly where I wanted to take her. I headed that direction, feeling way too good when she skipped to catch up.

  “So, cute, huh?”

  I glanced down at her. “What?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “You think I’m cute.”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said like it was a no-brainer. It didn’t seem like she was fishing for praise, but more like…she didn’t think she was good looking, or was surprised I’d think she was. Which was batshit crazy. She’d probably been on the cover of a hundred magazines, looking all done up and gorgeous. Though, to me, she couldn’t have looked any hotter than she did right now, makeup-free and tangled hair.

  “That call earlier,” I said, changing the subject. “That was your manager?”

  “Max,” she said, not quite as smiley. “Yes.”

  “Does he know you’re alone today?”

  She tipped her chin at me. “I’m not.”

  “Okay.” I laughed. “But he wanted you to bring a bodyguard?”

  “Shugger, yeah. He’s been with me for five years. He hates the beach and he’s got little kids and stuff. I saw no reason to drag him away from that just because I felt the need to be out of L.A. for two seconds.”

  I nodded.

  “And it just ticks me off, ya know?” She stopped walking and turned to me. “It’s like the more Max drilled into my head that Shugger needed to come with me, the more I was like, hell no. I’m over twenty-one and can take care of myself, even though, well, I can’t all the time.” Her gaze dropped to the sandy footpath. “I saw what you did when those boys were about to cross the street to get my autograph and…whatever.”

  “They’re just little pissants, they wouldn’t have done anything.”

  For a second, this made me think. For a guy who didn’t want anything to do with girls who came with drama, I’d kind of already put up with a lot. And it hadn’t bugged me at all. Though I knew a couple of kids wanting autographs couldn’t really be what Abby’s life was like. It was probably a full-blown circus freak show. And yeah, that so wasn’t my scene.

  “You’d be surprised,” she said. “Things can escalate fast, in the blink of an eye sometimes. So, anyway, thanks. I’m really grateful.” She smiled and shook her head. “You sure scared the crap out of them.”

  “Nah, not really.”

  Abby tipped her chin and laughed. “Are you serious? They were practically wetting their pants as they ran away. Because you’re all like”—she held her hands out like she was measuring my width—“big shoulders and arms and…what are you?” Her sparkling eyes gave me a quick up-down. “Six-two?”

  “And a half, when I spike my hair.”

  “I don’t think your hair is supposed to count.”

  “Size matters.” I cocked a half grin. “Everyone says so.”

  “Wow,” she deadpanned. “You totally went there.”

  “That was your bad, you gave me the perfect setup.”

  “Anyway, thank you for, ya know, doing that.” She reached out and placed a hand on my biceps. “You’re great muscle.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” I replied automatically, buzzed from the touch of her hand on my arm and from her eyes fixed so intensely on me.

  Abby opened her mouth but closed it again, then took a step back. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m not like, with you because I need protection. I did this morning at your store—I told you that, but now…” She paused and pressed her lips together. “If I was only using you for your muscles, I wouldn’t have faced that scary guy at Modica’s or met Chandler. I wouldn’t have bothered.”

  “I haven’t once thought you were using me for only my muscles,” I said with a smile, picking up the pace again so we wouldn’t draw attention to ourselves. “You’re obviously exploiting me for lunch.”

  The relieved look in her eyes made me want to laugh. She’d actually been worried that I thought she was using me as some kind of ad hoc bodyguard. In fact, I’d been tapping into the same excuse to stay with her. Though, no matter what she said, I knew it was a legit reason. Despite what I’d said about those pissant boys, she would’ve been no match for six against one. Those sexy shorts of hers were way too tight to conceal a can of pepper spray.

  I wanted to be here with Abby. But I also knew that she needed me to be. My brain was becoming overly crowded with voices reminding me about my meeting, but also that today was all I’d have with Abby. The opposing strategies were really starting to make my gut clench.

  “I’ve always wondered why so many of the houses here have names?” she asked as she stopped in front of the Wilsons’ place. They’d actually named it Wandering Thoughts. That wasn’t as bad as some of the others. Mine included. “And they’re always on those little wooded plaques.” She was motioning toward the sign nailed to the front fence.

  “Most of the homes in Seaside have names,” I said. “It started as a throwback to antebellum plantations. There’s a book about it; I’ve got a copy at home. You can borrow it, if you want.”

  Huh. Where’d that come from? It was a natural impulse, and by the way it made Abby’s face light up, I knew it was the right one.

  “I’d love that,” she said. Yep, definitely the right thing to say. Talking with Abby was inexplicably easy. Even when I thought I’d said the wrong thing, it was like everything she wanted to hear was exactly what I wanted to say to her.

  “Where do you live?”

  Her question made me inwardly stumble. Did she sense where I was leading her? My house was three streets away.

  “Seaside,” I said vaguely. “Not too far.”

  “Around here?”

  “Naw. These houses are way too touristic.” I turned my gaze in the direction of my neighborhood.

  The decision to live in Seaside had come quickly. I’d fallen in love with the town and the chilled-out surfer way of life. That kind of existence was going to change for me, though, once I expanded my business and opened another store. I was willing to face the new pressure head-on, because I knew how important it was to be a business success. Like Dad had said, that was my dream. Expanding would also tie me more to the community, which was another thing I wanted—to plant roots, stop bouncing from place to place.

  “When it came time for me to buy a house,” I said, “I wanted something completely my own, away from the touristy stuff. Something real. Probably sounds weird, I know.”

  “Doesn’t sound weird at all,” Abby said. “I know exactly what you mean.” Though she’d just agreed with me, her expression had something gloomy about it. “I have a house in Malibu. Actually, I was only twenty when I bought it, so it’s still under my brother’s name.”

  Her brother? Of course she had a family. She hadn’t always been a celebrity wandering around Seaside alone. Was that who she was visiting today?

  “It’s pretty lacking in furniture right now,” she added, doing that hair-tug thing, her tell, meaning she was nervous about something, or unhappy. “Everyone keeps telling me to hire a decorator because I never have time, and it’s just sitting there empty, but it didn’t use to be empty. My brother and I, we lived there together before he…before—”

 
She cut herself off just as she was starting to share. What had upset her? I felt my brows pull together as our gazes locked. Right before she turned her eyes away, she looked almost trapped.

  I’d missed something, something in her past, maybe. Obviously, I wasn’t the only one with ghosts. But I had no clue what Abby’s might be, though if I had to guess based on the reaction she’d just had, I’d say they were tied to her brother. My gut said I shouldn’t pry. I also got the strong impression that I’d be relying on my gut a lot today.

  “Why don’t you hire a decorator, then?” I asked, attempting to get her back on track.

  “I want something completely my own, too,” she said, sticking her chin out a little, showing me a bit of that tenacity from earlier. “Something real.”

  Hearing my own words repeated back to me was intriguing and a little comforting. In the scheme of things, we probably weren’t all that different. Well, maybe at our cores we were similar, but as a musician, she traveled for a living, went on sold-out stadium tours, while all I wanted to do was stay put in one place.

  Maybe it was a damn good thing after all that she was only here for one day.

  Abby blew out a long breath. “I want to do it myself—the decorating. I think I’d be good at it. Someday.”

  A car started backing out of the Wilsons’ driveway, but it wasn’t the Wilsons—it was a couple I didn’t recognize. Tourists. I’d never felt suspicious of tourists before—after all, they were the bread and butter of my surf shop. But seeing how Abby immediately went stiff when the couple in the car sat there blatantly staring at her made me wish we were in the middle of nowhere. Just us.

  It took everything in me not to pound a fist on the hood of the car or shout at them to get lost. But losing my cool wouldn’t solve anything. I’d been working on that for the past few years, especially after Sophie. Another subject not worth losing my cool over.

  “Does your house have a name like these do?”

  I’d almost missed her question, too caught up in my preoccupation. “Yes,” I said, though I kept my gaze glued on the couple in the car. The second they made a move to approach Abby, I would step in.

  But they didn’t. They just stared. How…jacked up. Abby must’ve been used to it, because she seemed pretty unaffected now, or maybe the reason she squatted down to get a closer look at some flowers was more about hiding.

  It was nice, though, that she was asking me about my house. Besides Todd’s Tackle, it was the thing I was most proud of. I couldn’t help relaxing, following her suit again.

  “Yeah, my house has a name,” I said. “But it’s hideously kitschy. It came with the place so it’s not my fault, and I haven’t gotten around to changing it yet.”

  “What’s it called?”

  I shook my head. “No way. Don’t want you losing respect for me yet.”

  She laughed and swatted my arm. It was nice to feel her touch me again. For a while there, she hadn’t been, not even playfully. I thought maybe I’d blown it.

  I squinted into the sun as I watched the car finally drive away. The late morning was bright and warm. “Mind if I wear this?” I asked as I reached for the Dodgers cap she’d been wearing earlier, adjusting the size holes on the back. The second I slid it on, she blinked at me with that cheese-lust look in her eyes.

  “This looks okay on?” I couldn’t help asking.

  Abby stared at me for another second longer, then blinked again. “It makes you look, uh…what’s the word you used before?” She tapped her temple. “Oh yes, cute.”

  “You think I’m cute, huh?” I said, reliving another one of our conversations we were playing in reverse.

  She actually rolled her eyes. “Uh, yeah.”

  Hot damn. Surely the girl didn’t lay her cheese-lust look on everyone, because if she did, how would anyone around her get any work done? Ever?

  “Still won’t tell me the name of your house, cutie?” she asked, her voice going all high and sugary.

  I laughed. “Nope. But once I’m inspired, I’ll change it to something more rock ‘n’ roll. Something like Fly Me to the Moon or Summer Wind.”

  “Very rock ‘n’ roll.” There was teasing in her sugary-sweet voice now. “You’re a big Sinatra fan, I take it?”

  “Says the girl with the Beatles ringtone.” I smiled back, enjoying our ping-pong game of flirtatious jabs. In about five seconds, though, I wouldn’t be satisfied by just having my eyes on her.

  “I guess we’re both pathetically old school,” she said.

  “You called it ‘classically trained’ before. I like that better.”

  Her ribbing about Sinatra pushed my thoughts back to Sophie—another unfair comparison. She’d never grasped why I was such a fan, never understood the relationship I had with my grandpa and how that was tied to Frank Sinatra, especially after he died.

  There were too many things about me that Sophie had never known, because we never really hung out as friends. That wasn’t totally her fault, obviously. If I was being honest, I’d lost the desire to know her any better or deeper.

  And she wanted to get back together. Why the hell would she want that? Maybe she hadn’t had the classic closure after our breakup. Although, I’d think that getting engaged—if even for one day—was proof of closure.

  Something else about Sophie’s voicemail did make me wonder, though now wasn’t the time to start analyzing, not when I had a hot girl—who actually did seem interested—right beside me.

  I exhaled and continued our walk in the same direction we’d started. We kept the conversation on the safe topic of landscaping, though I didn’t know jack, just what I’d picked up from living in Seaside. Abby really liked the flowers and trees. More than once I’d out-stride her because she’d stop to inspect someone’s front yard, asking me questions about specific flowers that I bullshitted my way through like a boss.

  Intertwined with our conversation, I tried to pinpoint when exactly I’d decided to spend all this time with her. Maybe it hadn’t been a conscious decision, but a natural one. An organic beginning.

  While stuck in my own head, I’d out-strided her again. When I turned back to wait, it wasn’t flowers Abby was admiring this time. The second she caught me catching her, her eyes flew north to my face, and her cheeks flushed that telltale pink.

  “Were you just checking out my ass?”

  She scoffed and waved a hand. “Gah. No.” Yeah, she was definitely interested. So was I.

  “Am I walking too fast for you, then?” I asked, causing her blush to deepen.

  She coughed inside her throat but didn’t answer. I would have carried my questioning further to see what she’d do, but we were here. We’d arrived at Plan B. My house.

  Okay, Camford. What the hell are you gonna do now?

  Chapter Eight

  “Something’s Gotta Give”

  Like any average Joe, I’d taken out a loan. I had a mortgage. Dad didn’t understand why I hadn’t used my inheritance to buy the house. I’d had the cash, but it wasn’t about just buying the thing, it was about doing it on my own, tying me to a community. If I couldn’t do it my way, I didn’t want to do it at all.

  Just seeing my house made me grin. Yes, it was white with a bright turquoise door and was christened the unfortunate “Cherry Pie Place,” but it was completely kick-ass. The house had been gutted last year and renovated by a designer with an imagination that stretched further than the typical beach digs. It felt more pirate ship/nautical, and less like living inside of a girly seashell. Plus, my furniture was a darker wood than the norm, and since I was no decorator, there wasn’t much of it. But what it did have was ceilings high enough that I could jump rope in the living room every morning, a huge backyard for Sammy Davis, Jr. to run around, an outdoor shower with bamboo floors, a master bedroom bigger than my old apartment in Manhattan, and ocean breezes through the open windows 365 days a year.

  I was headed straight for the turquoise door, but then stopped. Almost too late, I recalled Abb
y’s spooked expression when I’d made that joke about taking her somewhere so isolated that no one would hear her scream. Yeah, I’d been joking, but it hadn’t been a joke when I’d adjusted my plan to set up our picnic right in my own backyard. That would probably freak her out even worse.

  No way was I taking that chance.

  It took less than a second to formulate Plan C.

  “Psst, we’re trespassing now,” I said in low voice. “Private property, remember? So shhhh.”

  Her full lips rounded into a silent O. From her eyes and body language, I knew she’d already caught on.

  I held my index finger over my mouth then waved her forward as we passed the front gate and crept along the side of my house toward the beach behind it. I hoped no one was home next door, springing out of nowhere to chat about the tides or last week’s storm damage; talk about blowing my cover. The walkway to the beach was only a few more steps away. We’d be secluded enough out there on a day like today. If I played my cards right, probably no chance of anyone recognizing or bothering Abby.

  Good plan, Marine.

  On the other side of the fence enclosing my backyard, Sammy barked a friendly hello and padded our way. Abby let out a yelp loud enough to echo off the Gulf and then slapped both hands over her month, looking frightened but adorably apologetic.

  “It’s okay,” I said in a whisper, keeping up the façade. “She won’t hurt you.”

  Abby nodded.

  I gave Sam some nose rubs through the fence and mentally promised her that we’d hang out tonight, take that run on the beach after my meeting, then watch The Hangover Part III, Sammy’s favorite movie.

  As I started walking again, I noticed Abby hadn’t moved, maybe wondering if Sam would start barking again. My dog wasn’t huge, like most black labs weren’t, but she was very excitable. “Stay close to me,” I whispered. When Abby still didn’t move, I reached back for her. “Here.”

  She looked grateful as she slid her hand inside mine. I immediately clasped my fingers around hers tight, giving the impression this was serious business. I was rewarded with Abby reaching out her other hand, so she was holding mine with both of hers.