“Who?”
“Evil Santa.”
Todd looked perplexed as he translated my description. “Oh. Well, Bob likes to bark, but I’m sure he’s forgotten the whole red currant scandal by now. I’m a very loyal customer.” His green eyes widened, kind of pleadingly. “So . . . ?”
“Well.” But it was no use. I was melting under his eager gaze. “Okay,” I finally relented. And with the plan settled, I bounced to his side.
“What should we talk about on the way?” he asked. “Weather? Politics? Your choice.”
“How much time do we have?”
He looked down at our slowly pacing feet and then up at the sun, pretending to gauge Galileo-style. He rubbed his chin. “Approximately seven point five minutes, at this rate.”
I tried not to crack up at what automatically popped into my head. “Anything?”
“No subject off limits.”
“Tell me, then,” I began, not missing a beat, “why did your last relationship end?”
This comment was me bypassing small talk and going right for the jugular. I was about as subtle as a southern hurricane. I believe Molly would’ve been proud.
Todd didn’t seem fazed, however. He merely slowed his pace. “Aha.” He faced me, looking both surprised and impressed. “You don’t mess around, do you?”
“So says Mister I-Catch-My-Own-Tuna.”
He chuckled and hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. A few people passed by on the footpath. I barely noticed them. “Okay.” He cleared his throat. “Well, there were a number of reasons why it ended. How elaborate would you like me to be?”
“Spare me anything I can use against you in court.”
“She was a safe bet. I was into safe bets at the time.” He shrugged. “But recently, I promised myself . . . well, let’s just say I don’t take safe bets anymore on anything. Ever.”
“Why?” I asked, surprised at his sternness.
One of his hands clutched the back of his neck and then went running up his head, scratching the top. When I’d spotted him yesterday at the bookstore, I’d zeroed in on his classic good looks. But now the lines of concentration etched into his face made him a different kind of handsome. More real. I could tell that Todd was someone with life experience and stories to tell. I couldn’t wait to hear them. He slowed his pace again and turned to look me in the eyes.
“What I want now in a relationship, Abby— No.” He shook his head, correcting himself. “Forget what I want. What I know I must have is a woman who takes my breath away.”
Okay . . .
“And not just the figure of speech, but truly takes my breath away. Then we’re free-falling together. Spinning circles. Out of our minds.”
I stared at his face, feeling the need to swallow, but my throat seemed a bit paralyzed.
“I’m not naïve enough to expect that kind of intensity to last forever,” Todd continued. “But if nothing else, we all deserve at least that—to occasionally be knocked breathless by the one we love most, don’t you think?”
Honestly, I didn’t know what to think. I was too busy wondering how it would feel to be spinning freely through space, out of my mind, breathless. I made myself look down at the sidewalk, overly aware that I’d trip over my own feet if I let my mind continue its free fall.
Before I could steady myself, he went on. “Think of a first kiss, that moment immediately before lips touch, that hitch in your breath. Know what I mean?”
I nodded, and then I felt a similar inhale catch in my chest when Todd touched my arm to stop us on a corner.
“Comfortable nervousness,” he added, almost in a whisper. “Butterflies in your stomach. Christmas Eve as a kid. That’s how I want to feel when I’m with her. The purest kind of bliss.” After a beat, he looked away, squinting toward the street. “Basically, Abby, we broke up because we didn’t love each other anymore.” He glanced at me and cracked a smile. “I would elaborate further, but I think you’ve had enough.”
I looked down and saw that I’d been twisting and tugging at the neck of my tank top. It was wrinkled and stretched. How did I get so classy?
“You seem a little distracted,” Todd observed.
“No. I’m . . . just . . .”
He grinned.
“Oh, shut up.” I laughed, and we crossed the street.
Up ahead, my red cruiser was leaning against the glass window of Modica. Three other bikes were beside it now—one, a yellow tandem with pink fringe dangling from the handlebars.
“Well?” Todd asked when we stopped outside the door.
“Well, what?” I was stalling, of course.
He nodded toward the door in reply.
But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t move. “I can’t go in there,” I admitted quietly.
Todd gave me a look with those same melting-my-knees eyes. “Come on.”
Over his shoulder, I looked through the glass. Hardly any customers. No reason not to, I guess. Crap. My heart started to pound with adrenaline. I took in some deep breaths and shook out my hands like I was psyching myself up for the high jump.
Todd watched with a bit of a smirk, apparently amused by my fretting.
After another minute, he bent down to my ear, so close I could breathe in his lovely aftershave. Or was that his natural smell? “It’s okay,” he whispered, causing my heart to pound even more. “You’re with me this time, and I swear to you, I am safer than an armored car.” The nearness of his face made my mouth water. “But, please, first just promise me something.”
He pulled back and looked me in the eyes.
“What?” I whispered, thinking of about a hundred things I would have promised him at that moment.
“Don’t trip on your way in. You’ll embarrass me.”
He pulled the door wide open, spun me around, and pushed me in.
{chapter 6}
“HERE COMES THE SUN”
“Back already?” Bob asked. “Your little helper’s called twice looking for you.”
Ignoring my squeaks of protest, Todd muscled me toward the deli in the middle of the store. “Has he?” he said, pulling a BlackBerry out of his pocket and checking the face. “I’m getting his lunch now.” With his free hand, Todd positioned me in front of the deli glass.
Bob popped up behind the counter to assist us. “Pastrami on rye?” he asked Todd.
While those two discussed the economy or the tides or whatever, I found myself transfixed, ogling at the rows of fresh meats, cheeses, and salads on the other side of the glass. It was a regular Garden of Eden al fresca. Although my food allowances had changed during the last five years, my food preferences certainly had not. Anything greasy, sugary, salty, or fatty was a constant craving.
When I looked up, Todd was grinning at me, probably noticing my gluttonous expression. “Hungry much?”
“Yeahhh,” I gushed, throwing manners to the wind.
“Good.” He turned to Bob. “Give me roast beef with mustard on wheat, no cheese. And how is the tuna today?”
The proprietor didn’t have to think twice. “Best on the Gulf,” he bragged through fluffy whiskers, wiping his hands across the front of his red apron, “but we’re already out.”
Todd huffed and slid his gaze back to me. “Hmmm.” He squinted, studying my face, index finger tapping his chin.
Maybe he thinks he can detect my craving by staring at me hard enough. Yeesh, I certainly hope not. Talk about embarrassing . . .
“She’ll have smoked turkey with cheddar— No, scratch that,” Todd corrected, eyes still on me. “Swiss cheese, on a hard roll. Tomatoes, pickles, avocado . . . sprouts.”
Bob went to work, chopping, smothering, and smearing.
Todd turned around and rested his back against the glass, looking mentally exhausted, like he’d solved a long-division problem in his head.
“And they say chivalry’s dead.”
“Did you mind my ordering for you?”
I shook my head. Sure, Max had bossed me aroun
d for the past five years, but Todd’s bullying me through the door and deciding what he thought I’d like for lunch—that felt different. “How did you know, though?” I asked, leaning against the counter beside him.
“Know what?”
“I prefer Swiss cheese and sprouts.”
He smiled first and then chuckled, replaying something funny in his mind. “I would say you’re an open book, Abby, but I wouldn’t want to insult you.”
I smiled back as the heavenly scent of fresh food mingled with the memory of his aftershave. A part of me wanted time to stand still, to live in the simplicity and normality of the moment, while the frantic part of me was torn between shoveling food in my face and/or tackling this guy to the floor and smothering his bread with something other than mustard. Sometimes my physical cravings were difficult to differentiate.
This was forgotten when I got a familiar prickly feeling up the back of my neck. It was a girl around twelve with curly red hair and a short yellow skirt a few aisles over, staring at me. She whispered to a boy a year or two older. I forced the corners of my mouth to smile and waved my fingers.
At my simple acknowledgment, the girl let loose a loud shriek. “Told you it was her!”
More giggling ensued until an adult shushed them.
I knew Todd caught the whole thing. I wished he hadn’t. I wished I hadn’t.
Bob handed Todd two bags over the counter. “Any sides?”
Seeing the huge size of the sandwiches through the bags, I shook my head. Todd ignored my protest and leaned over to me. “We’re ordering more food, okay? You seem pretty . . .” His eyes looked me up and down discreetly. “Hungry.”
When his gaze dropped to my mouth for just a split second, my throat went completely dry.
“Do you want salad or pasta?” he asked. Before I could open my mouth, he said, “I think we’ll take both.”
“Dessert?” Bob asked him as if I weren’t standing there.
“One slice of key lime pie. Two forks.” I felt Todd’s hand on my arm. “You’ll thank me later.”
No doubt I would.
We left the market, taking the three hundred steps across Town Square back to Todd’s Tackle. Todd led the way as we paraded through the gonging front door.
A very tan young man with shiny white teeth and a blond, bleached-out mop of hair glanced up. He waved from behind a pile of colorful board shorts he was attempting to fold.
“What’s with the dang holdup, boss man?” he called out with goofy enthusiasm. A pair of neon green shorts hung off the tip of the finger he pointed at Todd. “I’m starvin’ like Marvin!”
“Minor detour first,” the boss man replied.
“It was my fault,” I inserted as I emerged from behind Todd.
Startling me, Todd whipped around so that his body was blocking Chandler’s view of me. “Are you sure?” he whispered, his face bent down to mine. “I can just drop this off, if you’d prefer.” Between our two bodies he was holding the bag with Chandler’s pastrami sandwich inside. “Just give me two seconds, and we’ll be off. He doesn’t have to, um, bother you.”
“You claim you’re safer than an armored car,” I whispered back. Then I snatched the bag from him. “Prove it.”
Todd lifted one eyebrow. “Oh, you’re good.”
Without taking his eyes off me, he said, “Chandler, I’d like you to meet—”
“Hold up.”
In unison, Todd and I turned toward the goofy kid.
His finger with the hanging shorts was now pointing at me. “You look exactly like—”
“Chandler!”
The kid jumped about a foot, almost as high as I did, but his eyes obediently fixed on Todd.
Todd took a beat—after knowing he had his employee’s complete attention—and cleared his throat, staring the poor kid down like a lion tamer.
It was easy to see that Todd was very good at holding someone’s attention when he wanted to. I’d already fallen under that spell a few times that day, and it was pretty obvious poor Chandler was no match, either.
“Chandler.” Todd’s voice was deliberate and controlled now. “This. Is. Abby.” He was holding his hands out in front of him, the tamer approaching the beast. “Okay?”
Oh, brother. Such drama. I stepped between them and extended my hand. “Hi, Chandler.” I beamed. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
He didn’t lift his hand to shake mine. In fact, the kid didn’t move at all. I lowered my hand to pick up his, which was hanging like a dead thing at his side, and gave it a hardy shake.
“Uhh, nice to meet me,” Chandler garbled. “Oh, I mean I love you, I mean . . . umm, er, uh?” He swore under his breath and pulled his hand from mine, his tan face turning the same shade as the bright pink T-shirt he was wearing.
Todd glanced at me, showing his bottom teeth. “We don’t let him out much.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I waved dismissively. “Here, we brought you lunch.” I handed Chandler the bag.
He looked like he was on the verge of another out-of-body freak-out. “Abigail Effing Kelly,” he spoke slowly, “is bringing me lunch?” He lifted his chin and let out one loud cackle. “Totally off the chain! Wait’ll the guys hear this!”
I shot Todd a look.
“Hey, be a mate,” he said to Chandler, “and don’t mention this to anyone. Capiche?” Todd sounded plenty stern as he continued to reel in his overly enthusiastic employee, but then I noticed something a bit more threatening in his expression when he laid one hand on Chandler’s shoulder.
Chandler, who had turned slightly green, seemed to understand the gesture. He looked from Todd to me and then back to Todd. Again, his excitement mellowed under the steady gaze of the tamer.
A moment later, Todd shook Chandler’s shoulder in a friendly way and stepped back. “You finally sold the ruby longboard,” he observed.
His employee nodded timidly.
“That’s great work, man. Really great. Congratulations.”
Chandler’s youthful animation returned as he described to Todd his big sale of the morning. They were friends with mutual respect; I could see that. When Chandler looked up to greet a customer, Todd glanced at me, pointing a thumb at his own chest. “Armored car,” he mouthed.
I lifted a hand to cover my grin.
“Well,” Todd said a few minutes later “we’d better shove off.”
I bid adieu to Chandler and walked to the front door. When I turned back, Todd had his hand clamped down on Chandler’s shoulder again, speaking low, looking him directly in the eyes in that . . . way.
Funny, Chandler was eighteen and Todd was probably ten years older, yet the authority he commanded made me feel like I was in the presence of a crown prince. Or a mafia don.
“What was all that?” I asked Todd when he joined me outside.
“That?” He kicked some rocks off the sidewalk and squinted up at the sun. “Oh, I merely explained to Chandler in graphic detail what will happen to his job and the rest of his existence if he tells any living soul about your being here.” He grinned sardonically and then ran an index finger across his throat.
“Poor Chandler.”
Todd rolled his eyes. “He’ll live.”
We crossed the street toward the beach. “Please say we’re eating soon,” I said, my eyes following a seagull overheard as it glided on the breeze.
“I’m trying to think of a good spot,” Todd explained, then stopped walking. “Somewhere public, but you know, off the beaten path.” He plunged his free hand into the back pocket of his long khaki shorts and stared toward the horizon. “Hmm.” His profile was pensive. And sexy. Pink mouth, straight nose, those emerald eyes. What a unique and glorious combination bestowed upon one lucky face.
I was hearing music now, swirling around us like in a movie when the tension builds. It was the love theme from Romeo & Juliet, or maybe that crap song from Titanic that everyone hates. Oh man, I loved that crap song.
“Hey, there,” Todd
said, yanking me from my reverie. I stared at him and smiled. He chuckled lightly and glanced toward my midsection. “Are you going to answer that, or do you expect me to go in after it?”
I was wide awake now, hearing the actual song that was playing. Suddenly all romantic notions evaporated. It wasn’t Romeo & Juliet I was hearing, but The Beatles’ “Helter Skelter,” the ring tone I knew very well; it was attached to only one person’s incoming calls.
I tried not to appear as shattered as I felt as I fumbled for the cell in my pocket.
“Hello? I’m here. Hi, Max.” I spoke in a rush. “How are you?”
“Yeah, okay . . . in a minute. You, grab me that . . . no, that one there. Hey, babe.” He sounded distracted, like he was multitasking and I was an afterthought. “You were supposed to call yesterday.”
I pinched my eyes shut, then pictured him—his famous “annoyed with Abby” smirk; his tall, thick, built like an ex-NFL linebacker body; his piercing brown eyes; and his mouth gnawing one of those nasty cigars.
“Sorry,” I said, attempting to blink out that “enticing” image. I turned my body slightly away from Todd, trying to simultaneously shelter him and hide him. “I forgot to call. Lindsey and I . . . we . . .”
Todd tapped me on my shoulder and pointed away. “Should I wait over there?”
“No,” I whispered, lowering the cell from my ear. “It’s my manager.” I held up one finger. “I’ll just be a sec.”
“Hey!” Max called through the phone.
I slapped it to my ear. “I’m here,” I said. “Sorry. Sorry.”
“Who is that you’re talking to?” His simple question was riddled with preconceived insinuations and assumptions. I knew the tone. Max was a master at sending passive-aggressive shame. He could rival any Catholic grandmother.
I wished I didn’t have to answer. I wished I could’ve returned to watching Todd walk and talk and smile at me.
“It’s no one you know,” I offered, turning my chin to glance at Todd. “He’s a . . . friend.”
Todd smiled at me warmly, his hair blowing in the breeze. I had the overwhelming desire to hurl my phone into the Gulf like a shot put.
Abby Road Page 6
