Hell, no. The guys on the crew were already giving him a hard time over cramming his body onto the same bench as most of their kids. “What do I have to do to get to a grade four before the next recital?”
“Besides practice at home, and not just when you’re at my house?”
“Yeah. Besides that?” He hated practicing. His body was too damn big for that tiny little bench, which was why, after a year of lessons, he was only a grade three.
“How about another trade?”
“As in a barter?” He liked the sound of that.
“I’m meeting with my lawyer tomorrow to start the paperwork for a transfer of Richard’s funds. I want to pay the Hamptons and everyone else back by the end of the week, if that is even possible. If not, I’ll call Babs and explain my plans, then resubmit my ideas for the Pungent Barrel. I need to know that if she says no, it is because my work isn’t what they’re looking for, not because of something that happened in the past.”
Tanner smiled. This was the Abby he knew lurked beneath the DeLuca Darling facade. “So what do you need from me?” he asked.
“What I need is for you to hold this.” She smacked the measuring tape to his chest. “No recommendations, no favors, just help me measure the length of the room and tell me exactly what the Hamptons expect in a proposal, so I can resubmit my plans and prove to Babs that I am the best person for this job.”
Tanner crossed his arms. “All right, two extra practices a week, plus the promise that I get to play the Imperial March at the next recital, and I will make sure you get that job.”
“Won’t that cut into your dating life?” she said.
“Darling, my dating life is nonexistent since the girl I keep asking out keeps shooting me down.”
She rolled her eyes. “One extra lesson a week, and not starting until after I meet with Babs.” She went up on her toes, trying to look like she meant business, which was ridiculous. She was so petite he could pick her up and stick her in his pocket. “I had to cancel all my lessons this week to focus on landing that job.”
“Deal.” He took the tab of the measuring tape and started walking the length of the room.
“Oh, and Jack,” she said in an unsure voice that was like a punch straight to the chest. “If the offer still stands, an extra set of eyes on the final designs would be great.”
“Abby, anything you need, you know I’m just a call away.”
She nodded. “It’s just I want to make sure I meet her expectations when it comes to proper submission.”
“Deal. As long as you tell me one thing.”
“What?”
“Is that whole clean slate thing a general all-encompassing deal, say, covering all of the crap between us? Because I want to know when you’re going to stop being stubborn and just admit you want to go out with me.”
“What makes you think I want to go out with you?”
“All I’m saying is that, in my experience, when a lady wears a guy’s color, she’s making a declaration,” Tanner said.
“And what color would that be?” Abby held her arms out to display her outfit in a challenge.
“Those Niners-red panties you’re wearing.”
“Declaration my ass,” Abby mumbled after Tanner helped her into the cab of his truck, then slammed the door. She buckled herself in and watched Tanner make his way around the front of the truck. He slid in behind the steering wheel, started the engine, and flashed her one of those crooked grins of his that always made her stomach flip.
“Are you claiming that every woman who walks around town in a red top is issuing you your own personal invitation?”
“Just the ones wearing matching underthingies,” he said, maneuvering through the parking lot.
“You mean underwear?”
“Oh, I already know those are rooting for the home team. I just wasn’t sure if you had on a matching set.” He stopped at the exit, the truck idling while his eyes took a slow trip down her neck to the deep V of her top, and damn if her cheeks didn’t heat up to the perfect Niners red.
Knowing better than to go there with him, especially after he’d spent the past hour crawling around a dusty bottling plant with her, she said, “Thanks for helping me out tonight. And for offering to drive me to my car, even though, like I said, I could have walked. I’m only parked a few blocks up, near the Sweet and Savory.”
“In those shoes? I’d give you three storefronts until you started hobbling. Five before you went barefoot.” He shook his head and reached for the gearshift, then paused. His face scrunched a bit, then he released a weighted sigh. “I can take you to your car or I can take you home. Trust me, I think you should take door number two.”
“And miss my surprise D-day party?” Trying hard not to let the truth show—that she’d rather pose naked with Richard and let Nora take pictures than go to that party—she forced a causal shrug. “Lexi would be crushed.”
“You knew?”
He pulled out onto a sleepy Main Street. St. Helena rolled up its welcome mats early, so it wasn’t surprising that the central section of town was nearly empty.
“Lexi sucks at keeping secrets.”
Tanner pulled in behind Lexi’s minivan and put the car in park. She reached for the door handle, but at the last minute looked back over her shoulder. “Thanks for the ride. And . . .” Go on, Abby, say it. “Thanks for helping out tonight, Jack.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Before she could answer or even roll her eyes, he was out of the truck and opening her door. Ignoring his smug smile, she slipped past him, reaching for her purse. Only he was quicker, grabbing it and refusing to let go.
“Abby,” Deputy Jonah Baudouin said, stepping out of his cruiser and sending her a warm smile. Tanner frowned. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”
“Oh, I forgot I had my phone on silent.” To avoid her family’s seven hundred calls.
“Everything okay?” Tanner asked, shaking the man’s hand and puffing out his chest. Abby wanted to roll her eyes. Jonah’s sister was married to Nate, so in a way that made him family. Nothing more.
“Remember that missing person report you filed last year? It seems your missing”—he looked at the sky, then back to her, shifting on his feet a little—“uh, husband is no longer missing. Phone’s been ringing all day with people reporting sightings around town. Apparently there was a parade, then someone claims to have spotted him skinny dipping in the fountain at the community park and, well, Nora Kincaid has called 911 three times already to report a naked Peeping Tom on your lawn. She’s claiming he’s a dead ringer for Richard Moretti, and that he’s staring at her through the windows while she tries to dress.”
“About that. Richard’s not . . . uh, well,” Abby mumbled, toeing at the curb. “He’s, um . . .” Her throat closed as though her body refused to say the word.
“Dead,” Tanner explained, scooting his body a little closer to Abby’s. “Richard is dead.”
And there it was. The word she’d been avoiding all day. Tossed out there with so much authority that it ended all speculation and cut through the awkward sidestepping that was about to begin.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jonah said gently, taking off his hat.
“Me too,” Abby said again, because there weren’t enough words in all the languages in the world to express what she was feeling or just how sorry she was. There were a lot of things that Richard deserved, like a complete ass kicking from her, but dying young wasn’t one of them. “His remains were delivered to my house in a lifelike statue. But the movers are coming back on Sunday to take it away, so the Richard sightings should calm down after that.”
“That would explain why,” Jonah opened his notebook, flipped to a page of scribbled notes and read, “Shirley Bale from the senior center requested a license to hold her weekly art class on your lawn.” Jonah pocketed hi
s notebook and gave her an uncomfortable pat on the shoulder. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
After a quick thanks and a series of good-byes, the deputy climbed into his cruiser, leaving Tanner and Abby alone.
“You sure you’re okay?” Tanner asked. “Because I’m here if you want to talk, I’ll even promise to keep my hands to myself.”
Abby shook her head, because what she wanted was some time alone to process. She’d pushed through earlier, using the bottlery as a distraction so she wouldn’t have to admit the truth—Richard was dead, and she’d never know why he left.
But now it was out there, and in a few hours everyone would know. And Abby didn’t know how she was supposed to act, how she was supposed to respond to questions that she had no answers for. She was angry and sad and embarrassingly relieved, and that made her feel guilty. “I’m good, but thanks.” She tugged her purse from Tanner’s hand and headed toward the bistro. Only, the stubborn man followed.
She picked up the pace, passing the Paws and Claws Day Spa before reaching the Sweet and Savory. Like the rest of Main Street, the two-story brick-faced building looked as pristine as the day it was built back in the late 1800s. Tonight it had little twinkle lights outlining the red-and-white-striped awning and two beautifully sculpted potted cypresses next to the door that had—Lord help her—little dildo wineglasses hanging from each branch.
Bracing herself for the party of the decade, Abby peeked in the window, and even through the glass she could smell the vanilla, cinnamon, and crushed unicorn horns that went into every Lexi-inspired pastry. She could also see that, based on the empty tables inside, she was early. And that every horrifying nightmare she’d had about tonight was going to come true—only worse.
A million times worse.
The Sweet and Savory, the locals’ favorite bistro, was covered in D-day streamers, helium-filled condoms, and whatever else was considered divorcée chic these days. What woman would want to be the honoree of that?
Especially when in about fifteen minutes the entire display was going to be witnessed by her closest friends, family, half the town, and anyone else who her sisters-in-law invited to come celebrate a divorce that never happened.
“The tree that keeps on giving,” Tanner said, touching a branch, the glasses sounding like wind chimes. When she didn’t laugh, he took her hand. It was a gentle brushing of his fingers, really, but it packed enough heat to create a small spark.
Abby pulled back and his smile faded. “It’s not too late to change your mind. Taster’s is still open. We can drive on over and share a burger and fries. No questions, no pressure. Then after, I can drive you home.”
For a brief second Abby considered saying yes, considered what it would be like to take him up on his offer and not have to pretend. Not have to hide or fake how she was feeling and just allow herself to feel—whatever it was she needed to feel to get through the shock of today.
Maybe grabbing a burger and fries at their old spot would help her forget for a few hours. And maybe, like in the past, it would lead to making out in the back of his truck. Lead to more, period.
She’d entertained quite a few fantasies lately that started with Tanner and a simple piano lesson and ended with them having sex right there on the bench.
When she was around him and his big, strong man-sized arms, it was easy to get lost. Easy to forget, well, everything. Forget about her fears, their past, Richard, and the fact that if she couldn’t make it work with the one guy everyone, including herself, had considered the sure thing, then there was no way she’d be able to make it work with a guy who had more offers now than when he was a free agent after winning a Super Bowl.
Nope, forgetting wasn’t in her best interest, and neither was letting a man like Tanner in. She wasn’t looking for a soul mate, but she also wasn’t looking to be one of many. Been there, done that, bought and returned the shirt.
Well, tried to. Only the owner of said shirt was still naked on her lawn.
“Thanks for the offer, Jack.” She wiggled one of the wine glasses. “But I have enough dicks in my life to worry about.”
Tanner took a step back. “Whoa, there. You’re calling me a dick?”
“Huh,” Abby said, then smiled sweetly. “I guess I am.”
“You! Get out. Out out out,” her best-friend-turned-sister-in-law, Lexi, yelled the second Abby walked through the door.
Standing on a ladder with a party banner dangling from her fingers, Lexi wore a slinky black dress, pink mile-high heels with a matching boa, and what looked like a glob of chocolate ganache on her butt that matched the Death by Chocolate cake on the food table.
“Fine by me,” Abby said, already backing up toward freedom. She’d take her piece of cake to go and wallow in her crappy day alone. Thank you very much.
“No, wait,” Lexi said, coming down the last rung and setting the banner on a table. “I’m sorry, it’s just that you being here really takes the surprise right out of surprise party. Which is why I told Marc to have you here at eight”—she looked at her watch and frowned—“not seven. Why would he drop you off at seven?”
“Long story,” Abby said, not wanting to go into the fact that it wasn’t her brother who dropped her off, but the one and only Jack Tanner.
“Were you naked when you told him?” her other sister-in-law, Frankie, asked Lexi, pushing through the swinging kitchen doors, a cluster of condom balloons in hand. “Because if you told him the time while you were naked, then it doesn’t count.”
Lexi’s face went red, but her expression stayed neutral. “I was wearing my apron.”
“But were the girls visible?” Frankie went on as though a little piece of Abby’s soul wasn’t dying with every question. “Because it’s best to put them away when talking about important things. Boobs are like some kind of magical earmuffs for men.” Now she was making hand gestures, the remaining condoms jerking with every circle of her hand. “They can’t hear a thing when they’re out.”
“Oh. My. God,” Abby snapped, making some earmuffs of her own. “Can we not? I mean, I’m standing right here while you two talk about nakedness, boobs, and my brothers. A trifecta of gross.” Abby gagged a little, shoving aside some festive D-day streamers, and collapsed into an empty booth. Her entire body felt heavy, and her heart—well, she didn’t want to go there. Didn’t know how. “My day was scarring enough.”
“Oh, boy,” Lexi said, shooting Frankie a look. “I think we need chocolate.”
“Lots of chocolate,” Abby clarified, because hearing about her brothers’ sex lives didn’t even make the list today. And if she was going to get through her rapidly spiraling life, she’d need more than a pat on the back and a bouquet of helium-filled condoms.
Everyone crammed into the booth, and over a piece of Death by Chocolate cake, which came with three forks, a mountain of whipped cream, and hot fudge, Abby explained everything about the day from the statue to the doggie habitat, and when she was done, collapsed back against the bench, emotionally spent.
“Three years?” Frankie asked, forking off a bite. “How the hell did it take you three years to find out he’s dead?”
Abby shrugged. “He was using a different name.”
“Wow.” Lexi put her bite down and pulled Abby into her arms. “I don’t know what to say.”
“That makes two of us,” Abby said, frustrated that a little tear escaped. “I think I’m angrier at him now than I was when he left. I mean, who commissions a statue to be delivered to his estranged wife just in case he dies first?”
Lexi pulled back, her eyes wide as an owl’s. “He meant for it to arrive today?”
Abby nodded. “If Richard was no longer alive, his lawyers were instructed to have it delivered on the day the divorce became official. And that was today. Lucky me.”
“And what would have happened if you’d never fil
ed for divorce?”
“Then it would have arrived on our twenty-fifth anniversary.” Such a Richard move. He had always tried to control her life, always had to have the final word, and for years she had allowed him to. But she was done with a capital D.
“Isn’t that kind of morbid?” Frankie asked. “Planning how to stick it to you even after he died? He wasn’t even that old.”
Nope, but he was that egotistical. “Richard always needed to make sure he won, and he did, so point to him, because technically I’m his widow.”
Information that would make her Nonna ChiChi extremely pleased. A widowed Catholic was far more respectable than a divorced one. Even if her husband had broken every marital vow known to man—and a few against nature.
“Does that mean I can lose the hat?” Frankie asked, yanking the DIVORCÉES DO IT BETTER tiara off her head. “It clashes with my dress.” Which was leather, black, and as badass as the owner.
Lexi shot Frankie a look, then sent a very different kind of look Abby’s way. One that left Abby squirming in her seat. “Well, of course you are. The accident would have happened before you filed.”
“Yeah, well, about that.” Abby let out a breath, but it didn’t help. She had broken a promise to her best friend, then lied about it. Not intentionally, but in the end that was what it would look like. Because, last summer, tired of being played by cheating bastards who posed as husbands, Abby and Lexi both set out to take back their lives and made a binding pact. Lexi vowed she wouldn’t let her messy divorce stop her from opening her dream eatery, and Abby promised to file for divorce. Which she had.
She also may have, in a Tony Robbins–inspired moment, promised to go out on a date—with one sexy hammer for hire. But she didn’t want to think about that. Not when she was still married to her deceased husband and having more-than-inspiring fantasies about Jack Tanner and his tool belt.
God, what a mess.
“Remember how I filed last October?”
“I do. I went down to the courthouse with you,” Lexi said in a tone that had Abby studying the wood grain in the tabletop.
From the Moment We Met Page 5
