by Finn, Emilia
“Well, well, well.” Soph turns back to me with a wicked grin. “The tides seem to be shifting, Mr. Serrano. I see what’s happening. And…” She regards Abby with a lifted brow, then turns back to me and whispers, “Maybe you should YouTube some how-to tutorials for her or something. Have you seen the meme with the mouse eating that massive banana?”
“Sophia!”
“What? I’m not saying it ain’t legal. Whatever happens is totally lawful, because it’s not like I didn’t just check her birth date when I was looking her up. I know how old she is, but age doesn’t always translate to experience. So… you could probably benefit from giving her instructions.” She flashes a grin and waves with her fingers. “Toodaloo. Have fun with your damsel.”
“I’m leaving too.” Andi snatches her materials up into a messy pile. Sheets of paper fall to the floor, and loose pencils hit the table. She rushes out with Jay and Soph, but not before shoving Abby into the room and slamming the door shut so loud that Abby jumps.
She looks painfully similar to yesterday; skittish, tiny, pale, and completely stuck-up.
Maybe part of my problem with her is the way she makes me feel inferior.
“Um…” She wears a shirt buttoned right up to her chin, but instead of jeans today, she wears black pants and cute little kitten heels that give her just an inch or so of extra height. Her purse remains in front of her, as though she’s using it as a shield. Her knuckles are white, her cheeks a burning red. Her bright hair stands out against her pale skin, I’m sure I could see her in any crowd.
Which is a problem for the guy who has worn camouflage for thirty years.
“Mr. Serrano.” She swallows nervously, and studies the barren room.
One long table. Twenty chairs. A massive flat screen on the wall that we use to watch security footage – and the UFC. A coffee machine stands in the corner, with paper cups stacked haphazardly on top, and a water cooler beside that for after Jay has had his thirtieth coffee and needs something to offset the buzzing.
Abby’s bicolored eyes haunt me as she looks to my thigh – where I keep my CZ strapped almost always during work hours – then to the radio I have clipped to my belt. One of my legs is as thick as her entire body, one of my hands wider than her head.
It bothers me that she’s so little, and that I might be feeling a little too invested in keeping her away from a potentially abusive boyfriend.
“Are you looking for Jess? She ain’t here.”
“Uh, no.” Her voice crackles with nerves while she folds one arm across her midsection.
She’s trying to hide from me.
“So what do you need, Abigail?”
“I feel like…” I see the battle she wages with herself as her eyes continuously stray to my thigh, then to the floor. “I don’t often make enemies quite as quickly as I did with you yesterday. I didn’t sleep well last night, because I felt bad for snapping at you.”
I bark out a laugh that makes her jump, but if she’s surprised, it’s not even half as surprised as I am when I realize she’s being serious. “You’re for real? You couldn’t sleep because you were mean to me?”
Her unique eyes follow me. “Yes. I hardly slept a wink because of what happened. I’m not normally like that. I don’t snap at people, I don’t call them names.”
“Names?” I pause, and think over my afternoon in her flower shop. “Idiot? You called me an idiot, and you consider that calling names? Sophia called me fucking stupid not five minutes ago.”
“Well…” Her cheeks burn dark red and emphasize her innocence. Because I said fuck. “That’s not me. I don’t argue with people, I don’t call them names. I don’t get snappy or rude. But you…” She exhales. “I guess you pushed my buttons, and maybe yesterday was just an off day for me or something. But–”
“Was it?”
She stops with surprise. “Hm?”
“Was yesterday a bad day for you? Before, I mean. Before Jess and I arrived.”
“Um… maybe, I guess.” She lifts a hand, then drops it so her palm slaps her thigh. “Some things happened before you arrived that kind of bothered me. Then Nix was there, then you and Jess arrived. You were a little mean to my brother, which meant I was a little mean to you. I didn’t feel good about it, just so you know. Not during and not after. Not even a little bit. So I’m really sorry for the things I said.”
Well, fuck. Now I should apologize too.
“I’m sorry I talked about your ass.”
Her eyes widen. “You talked about my… butt?”
My lips twitch, because I think she’s literally incapable of cussing. “I said something about how you’re all back and crack, and maybe you slide right off of every chair.”
Her cheeks pale. “You really said that?”
I shrug. “I don’t remember what I said out loud and what I said in my head. But there was a constant stream of body judgment going on. I know I insulted your ti–” I pause. “Your, uh… breasts.”
“You said I didn’t have any.”
I swallow. “I did say that. I’m sorry.”
Thoughtfully, she nods. “I didn’t come here to make you feel bad. In fact, I was coming to apologize for my horrible behavior. But you should know that the breast comments really hurt me.”
She places her handbag on the floor, then lifts both hands and holds them about a foot apart. “That’s my whole life.” Then she presses her thumb and pointer finger together. “And that’s how much you know about it. People face their demons every single day, Mr. Serrano. Sometimes their demon is simply getting out of bed. Other times, that demon is stepping outside of their home and facing the public. Sometimes, their demons are internal, and they know their body isn’t exactly on the same level as a Victoria’s Secret model’s, but we’re born with what we’re born with, and no amount of crying about it will change it. You have no clue what my demons are, so perhaps next time, you could be a little more mindful of the things you say to people you literally don’t know.”
“I could help you.”
Shut up! Shut up!
Her brows shoot up high. “What?”
Stop it! “I bet one of your demons is your strength. I could help you build your body up a little.” Spencer, no! “I could give you a workout regime that’ll help you gain strength without taxing your body too much. Bulk up your calorie intake, help you level up on the weights.”
“All because you’d prefer I had bigger breasts, rather than accept me for who I am?”
“No.” I lift a hand and run it through my short hair. “Not because of your… Because if you ever find yourself in an abusive relationship or a dangerous situation, I’d really like for your legs to be strong enough to carry you away.”
Well, fuck. You were supposed to stop!
“My legs?” Her voice shakes again, as though I hit another sore spot. “You think my legs are hideous too?”
“Well, no, I’ve never seen them. But I feel like if they’re proportionate, then they’re probably thin. I’d like for you to weigh a little more than a hundred pounds when soaking wet. The heavier you are, the more fight you might have when you need it most.”
For the first time ever in my presence, her cherry red lips curl up into a small grin. “I’ve heard that before. My brothers are always on me about eating more.”
“That dude from yesterday…?”
“Is truly my brother,” she finishes. “He’s the next oldest above me, and he’s really invested in my caloric intake, too. He’s not an abusive boyfriend, Spencer. Just a pesky brother who likes to be up in my business all the time.”
“Spence.”
Her brows lift. “Hm?”
“Nobody really calls me Spencer. Or Mr. Serrano, for that matter. You could just call me Spence.”
She tilts her head to the side with curiosity. “Do you like your mother, Spencer? Do you have a good relationship?”
“Um…” I want nothing more right now than to strip this woman down. Not to fuck, but just to see her. I wa
nt to know what’s going on beneath the surface, because I just know she’s like a duck on water. Smooth, serene, and graceful to the eye, but beneath that, she’s racing hard. “Yes. My mother has passed now, but yes, I had a very good relationship with her. She was amazing.”
Abby’s eyes soften a little. With sympathy, with sadness. “I’m so sorry she’s passed. But don’t you think… if she wanted you to be called Spence, she would have named you Spence?”
When I remain quiet, she smiles again. “I’ll call you Spencer, if that doesn’t bother you. It’s the name your mother gave you. The name she wanted you to have.”
“Do you have a good relationship with your mother?” Who the fuck am I? Who cares if she likes her mother? “Is she still alive?”
“Yes.” Abigail grins. “And yes. I have a wonderful relationship with my family. I was the baby, the youngest of six, and the only girl, so I’m not sure anyone has realized I’ve grown yet. But I adore them all the same. Momma and Daddy are alive and well, and they’re in Portugal right now.”
“Portugal?”
“Mm. They’re finally taking a minute for themselves, after a life of working themselves to the bone. My mom can be a little overbearing, but in the best way. But while they’re away, my brothers have taken it upon themselves to sit on my shoulder and watch what I’m doing every minute of every day.”
I consider her with narrowed eyes. “Do they know you’re here?”
“No.” Her face transforms from innocent to something else. Something much more daring. “I feel like I’m finally going through a teenage-rebellion stage. I never got that. I never rebelled. But I had dinner with my brothers last night, and I didn’t tell them I would come looking for you today. I feel like I’ve snuck out in the dead of night.”
“But it’s the middle of the morning.”
She grins. “I know.”
“The sun is out.”
“I know that too.”
“And you’re in the middle of town, there’s decent foot traffic outside, and plenty of people here to make sure you remain safe.”
She snickers. “I know. That should give you an idea of how sheltered my life has been. Walking a few blocks from my workplace to yours in the middle of the morning is rebellious to me.”
She’s so foreign to me. She’s like a pretty little puppy I’d like to pet, which is all wrong, because the women I’m drawn to are never cute, nor do they command my protective side. If Abigail were six inches taller, three cup sizes bigger, and at all confident in any sense of the word, we’d already be fucking against the glass. But she’s none of those things, and yet, I haven’t brushed her off and walked away.
Why do I stay? Why do I care what she thinks of me?
“You know I don’t work here, right?” I look around the boardroom. To the blinds covering the wall that leads to the office. To Soph’s eyes, while she sits at a desk and stares right into my fucking soul while she stuffs food into her mouth. “The Bishops own this place. I’m not employed by them, I just hang out here a lot.”
Why does it matter that she knows I’m self-employed?
“I didn’t know that.” She bends forward and picks up her purse. “But I’m glad I caught you. I have to go now, but I’m really happy we talked and didn’t argue. I might be able to sleep tonight now.”
I know I won’t.
“Do you prefer to be called Abigail?”
Again, she lifts a brow and makes the ‘hm’ sound.
“You mentioned using the names our mothers gave us. Jess called you Abby yesterday. She also says Ab sometimes.”
“And my brothers call me Abby Cadabby, or kiddo.”
“What do you prefer?”
I hate that when she smiles, her eyes light up. One green, one blue.
“I like it when you call me Abigail. So few do, it’s kinda like…” She pauses. “I don’t know. It’s kinda like you see the real me. You saw the breast thing, when so few others do.”
I frown.
“I’m going to go now.” She hitches her bag onto her shoulder. “Thank you for seeing me. I’m truly happy we could do this and clear the air. Jess will be in a few more times over the next week, and I didn’t want it to be awkward if you had to come with her. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Serrano.”
“Spencer.” I swallow. “Call me the name my momma gave me.”
She grins and turns the door handle. “Okay.”
“Abigail.” I step forward when she pauses. “Let me know if you need help with the strength conditioning thing. I don’t know if you noticed, but maybe I know a thing or two about weight training.”
She looks me up and down with a smile. “I couldn’t tell. I figured maybe you forgot to go to the gym this year. Your legs look a little thin.”
It’s like she called my mother ugly. How dare she?
“I never skip leg day!”
When she giggles, it’s like a punch to my gut that leaves me almost woozy.
“I could do up a plan for you,” I continue. “A special diet that would help you gain ten or twenty pounds. Not fat, but healthy muscle. It’ll be good for you.”
“I don’t think so, Spencer. But thank you for the offer.”
“Learn to shoot, then.” I grab her arm in the same place I grabbed it yesterday. She doesn’t jump out of her skin, and unlike yesterday, she doesn’t tell me to get lost. “You make it so I can’t sleep now. You need to be able to defend yourself. I own the shooting range just outside town. You could shoot anytime you want, as many rounds as you want, any gun you want. Free of charge. I have a massive collection you could choose from. If I don’t own the gun you want, then it hasn’t been manufactured yet, in which case I might know someone who could make it for you.”
“Thank you, Spencer. But like I said, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She has to fold her neck back to maintain eye contact. “If we see each other in the street, I’d love for you to say hello. We can be friends. But I won’t be coming to shoot or work out with you.” She pats my arm, and blushes a little when she realizes how small her hand is in comparison. “It was nice to meet you.”
6
Abigail
Five international phone calls from Momma and Daddy just to check in and chat, seventy billion local phone calls from my brothers because they like to know how often I breathe, another half a dozen from a heavily pregnant, can’t breathe easily, doesn’t want to be pregnant anymore, I’m-going-to-kill-my-future-husband Jess to confirm her wedding flowers, and several more from Kane Bishop as he prepares me for a wedding that might not go ahead if those babies arrive early.
That’s how my week goes, so time passes at the speed of light, until I find myself building Jess’ wedding bouquet on the morning of their planned nuptials.
It’s like everyone is prepared for the wedding to crash and burn, except Jess. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a more stubborn woman, but Jess hits her fortieth week of pregnancy with a constant stream of complaints about how the babies hurt her ribs and squish her lungs, but other than that, she’s in top shape and ready to marry her man. She’d prefer to it while sweating and sore, rather than after the babies arrive. She wants it to be official.
Jess chose a peony arrangement, which makes me smile. To me, they’re the most romantic of all flowers. They’re soft and gentle, beautiful and symbolic. They represent compassion and love, and are considered an omen of good fortune and a happy marriage — even if they are out of season.
As I build the bouquet one layer at a time, I sit at the entrance to my cool room on the floor, uncomfortable because the cold concrete hurts my tailbone, but unwilling to move as the fragrance fills my nose, soft music fills my ears, and Troy’s text message from just an hour ago scrolls on repeat in my mind.
My biggest big brother is stateside again, when he hasn’t been in so long.
His text ran on about how he loves and misses me, but I already knew that.
He can’t come home yet, but he’s closer, and sitti
ng on the floor kind of makes me feel a little more connected to him. We’re in the same country for the first time in more than a year, and somewhere, in some state, his boots are touching the same continental ground as I am.
It’s foolish, I know, but I already admitted to being a romantic, and Rosa men are the most important men in my life.
“Excuse me, Abby?”
Music plays from my phone and wirelessly pipes through the sound system wired into the walls. It plays loud enough that I can sing and not feel self-conscious about my voice, but not so loud that when my assistant pops her head in the doorway that leads to the front of my shop, we have to shout.
With hands full of baby pink flowers, I look up at her and smile. I’m in my happy place this morning. “Yeah?”
Nadia is only a couple years older than me. She has the backside and breasts that certain men love, long, ash-blonde hair that I’ve always wished I could have, and at least once a day, she slips with her cussing and lets something fly. She’s mostly apologetic about it, but I know she thinks my aversion to swearing is funny. It’s cute, and not completely taken seriously.
She’s exactly the type of woman men like Spencer seek out. And it bothers me that that bothers me.
Nadia might be one of my closest friends in the whole world, though I suspect that’s more because we’re together every single day, rather than because we’re a good fit. She’s sweet, she’s fun, and she forces me out of my quiet little bubble when I need it most. But when I need the quiet, she respects that too. Best of all, she’s my brothers’ opposite; she never babies me.
“Kane Bishop is on the line.”
I add another layer to my bouquet. “Did the babies come? Is the wedding off?”
“Nope. The opposite, actually. They had a scan this morning, and Jess’ obstetrician said everything seems fine, and so long as Jess is careful, plans can go ahead.”
“The wedding is on?”
She grins. “The wedding is on.”
* * *
At two o’clock on the dot, knowing the ceremony is scheduled for three, I knock on Jess and Kane’s front door and wait. It’s surreal, knowing that these people who seem so much larger than life live on a regular street, in a regular home. There’s nothing extraordinary about the two-story house, the white window trim, or the ornamental pear tree growing in the yard. There’s nothing strange or special about the garage door, which is closed, or the little Mazda parked in the street, or any of the homes that surround this one.