The House On The Creek (11 page)

He looked entirely too relaxed and comfortable in slacks and a crisp cotton shirt. Abby noticed that the wilting heat didn’t appear to touch him, and her sour mood grew.

“You’re taking me to dinner, not lunch. I told you I had to work. What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d check in.” He turned his attention to the tourists. “You can almost read their lips from here.”

“I’m not going to chicken out, if that’s what you’re thinking. You said seven o’clock. I’ll be ready.”

“Good.” Everett replied, mild. And then, “Look at that. Kid’s got a bazillion guns.”

In spite of herself, Abby turned back to the Royal Mile and located the boy in question. Loaded up with toy rifles and pistols, the cheerful toddler staggered in his tennies. Abby could almost hear the boy’s gurgle of mirth when he dropped a tiny musket.

“UK,” Abby said, watching as a man in a baseball cap hoisted the boy onto his shoulders.

“What?”

“I’ll bet that family’s from the UK. The British kids always go for the guns. The Canucks like the pan whistles and Paul Revere hats. And kids from the good ole US of A prefer candy and ice cream.”

Everett’s mouth creased a little in amusement, and Abby felt her heart flop. She’d forgotten how, even on the worse days, he’d always been willing to share a joke.

“You know this how?”

“I watch.” Abby balanced the empty pop can on the balcony railing, and stretched bare toes in the sunlight. “You pick up things if you pay attention to details. During the early summer months most of the tourists are local. After July, they’re generally from overseas.

“Even before I rented this place,” she waved a hand at the building behind her, “I used to take walks through CW in the afternoons and just watch. Listen. Wonder what it’s like to come from so far away. To just pick up and travel wherever and whenever you want.”

She slid from her perch, and walked across the tiny balcony to run restless fingers through brilliant geranium buds. “But I suppose you know all about that. Heard you’ve done your own share of traveling.”

If he heard her bitterness, he didn’t react. “I’ve done some.”

“Go wherever you want. And then whisk right away again when things get hairy. But you’ve always been great at that, haven’t you, Ev?”

She felt the weight of his gaze, and refused to look up from the flowers.

“You looking for a fight, Abigail?” He sounded more amused than irritated.

Abby shot upright and turned on him. She opened her mouth to swear, and then closed it again. She shook her head and sighed.

“Ugly morning.”

“I can see that,” he said from his place in the doorway. “Want to tell me about it?”

He’d always been ready to share a joke, and he’d always been willing to listen. That was something else she’d forgotten, maybe on purpose.

She leaned back against the side of the building, tilted her chin, and considered the lines of the roof. “Chris was a terror all morning.”

She heard Everett shift against the doorjamb.

“In fact, he’s been a terror for the last few months. I can’t figure what’s up with him. He’s always been the sweetest kid. And lately it’s like he’s completely on edge of...something. Some sort of Dr. Jekyll complex.”

“I always preferred Mr. Hyde.” Bricks scraped as he shifted again. “Being a single mom must be hard.”

Abby tried not to smile. “Triter words I’ve never heard.”

“Thank you.”

“Thing is,” she continued, trying in vain to ignore the zing of mirth that threatened to lighten her mood. “I’ve always been a great mom.”

“A great mom and modest.”

A bubble of laughter escaped before she could stop it.

Defeated, Abby turned from the roof and contemplated the man on the threshold. She wanted to hate him for making her troubles humorous. Instead she felt the old fascination rise and an easing of the constriction around her heart.

“Pot and kettle.”

“I’ve never been called modest,” he agreed. The corners of his mouth lifted.

“Any kids?” She found herself asking, although she’d convinced herself only days earlier that it was better not to know.

“None.”

“Wife?” As soon as the question slipped free she wished it back. Heat blossomed over her cheeks, and she bent again over the geraniums to hide it.

He answered with easy disregard. “Not even one.”

Abby wouldn’t let herself succumb to the dizzying relief that threatened to make her hands shake. She broke a bud from the plant, crushed the stem between her fingers, and brought it to her nose. The pungent scent cleared her head and made her sigh.

“So what’s it like, anyway?”

“What?” His roving eyes flicked from DOG Street to fluttering leaves and then lighted on her face. Immediately her body tightened in a million quiet longings.

“Seattle?”

“Wet. Green. Cold.” Crisp cotton pulled against his shoulders as he shrugged. “Right.”

“But here you are again.”

He shrugged. “It seemed the correct thing. Sometimes even a world traveler finds himself in search of a little peace.”

“Living in your father’s house?” She wrinkled her nose in deliberate disbelief.

Everett nodded, eyes narrowing. The heat of his regard made Abby quiver. She crossed her arms over her ribs.

“I guess I’m glad you’re back. After all. I mean, if it makes you happy.” She said, very polite, so she wouldn’t have to face this new surge of old desires.

“Happy?” He echoed, as though the word made no sense.

He shifted in the doorway, stretched out a hand, and trailed his thumb across her chin, through the trickle of pollen the geranium had left behind.

Abby froze. And then, because she couldn’t help herself, she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

The ball of his thumb nudged at her lower lip. A spike of pure, undiluted lust made Abby gasp. Everett’s thumb shivered against her flesh, and then he stepped away, moving out of the heat and back into the shelter of the attic.

“Your phones are ringing,” he said, cool and calm and expressionless.

Abby could hear the distant shrilling that meant break time was over and clients were impatient. She opened her eyes, and pressed the back of one hand against her mouth, trying to smooth away the burning remnants of his caress.

“I should get back,” she said, sounding just a little too brisk, even to her own ears.

“I’ll see you this evening,” Everett replied. Casual as a saint, he dug car keys and shades from a pocket.

“This evening,” Abby repeated. She pulled her hand from her mouth and cupped it at her side. “Ev?”

He tilted his head in silent inquiry.

“Thanks for listening.”

Car keys dangled from long brown fingers, reflecting afternoon light. “Don’t fret yourself, Abby. The kid will turn out fine. You did.”

“And you.”

He smiled but didn’t reach to touch her again. He was halfway across the dusty attic floor before Abby called after.

“Ev?”

He paused in a swirl of dancing dust motes and glanced back.

She grabbed her abandoned sandals and left the balcony. “You never said why you’d come?”

“I did. Just to check in, Abby.”

Abby stood, mute, and listened to the creak of the old staircase beneath his weight. After the moment of silence that followed she heard Jack call out a question.

Curious, she leaned into the stairwell, but she couldn’t hear what answer, if any, Everett made.

Just to check in. He’d stopped by
just to check in
. She didn’t know whether to believe him or not. The Everett Anderson she’d grown up alongside, although both nosey and over protective, would never have admitted such a thing. In that, he’d changed.

And, maybe, in other ways.

He claimed he’d moved into his father’s house in search of peace. Everett at fifteen hadn’t believed the luxury of peace existed.

He’d made her laugh, instead of giving in to the fight her bitter mood had demanded. He’d known enough to make her smile, make her feel, for the moment, better.

Still leaning into the stairwell, Abby fought a grin.

Dinner with the new, beautiful, grown up Everett Anderson just might be more than bearable.

Chapter Eight

“I THINK YOU’RE MAKING A MISTAKE.”

Abby rummaged through the bathroom drawer. “It’s just a date, Jackson. How can I not own even one tube of lipstick?”

“You don’t wear lipstick.” Jack pointed out. “And I was referring to
my
dinner, not yours.”

“It’s pizza.” Just in case she’d somehow buried a tube in with the toothpaste and Tylenol, Abby peered into the medicine cabinet. “Again.”

“Vegetarian. On wheat crust. What kind of mom orders vegetarian on wheat crust for her babysitter?”

“I’m on a health kick. And Chris likes vegetarian. The babysitter will have to adapt.” Giving up on the faint hope of lipstick, Abby snatched an ancient bottle of hair spray and considered it through narrowed eyes.

Jack took the bottle of hairspray from Abby’s hand. “You don’t wear that stuff, either. And it’s not too late to change your mind.”

“I already phoned in the order.”

“I meant about
your
dinner. You sure you want to do this?”

“Dinner’s fine. Dinner’s good.” Abby studied herself in the medicine cabinet mirror. The butterflies in her stomach didn’t seem to show on her face.

“Dinner’s good,” Jack agreed. “It’s the after dinner bit I’m worried about. The book the babysitter all night bit. I promise you he’s sorting through his bedside drawer right about now, and it’s not hairspray he’s looking for.”

Abby groaned. “I need a girl friend.”

“You’re stuck with me.” He followed Abby into the back hall. “And while I can’t help you pick out your shoes, I am handy with a router. I’m always on call for emergency baby sitting. And I’ve got a condom in my wallet if you haven’t your own in that envelope you call a purse.”

“I’m provided for, thank you. Where’s Chris?” Maybe her son could help her pick out her shoes.

“Setting up dirty Scrabble in the parlor.”

“Very funny.” Trailing barefoot into the kitchen, she found Chris at work over the microwave. “Popcorn?”

“Hi, Mom.” He smiled, and then shifted from foot to foot. “Jack said he was hungry and he didn’t want to wait for the healthy pizza. He brought Batman but we’re going to play Scrabble first.”

She shot Jackson a look but his expression was bland.

“Sounds like fun. Don’t stay up too late.”

“We’re going to stay up until dawn.” Jack ruffled her son’s hair. “And have ice cream for breakfast.”

“We’re out of ice cream.” Chris’s shoulders slumped.

“I came prepared for anything. When your mom called I stocked the truck with triple brownie fudge.” He glanced at Abby. “I’ll go get it now. Give you two a moment to say goodnight.” He left them to the sound of popping corn.

Chris stared down at the toes of his sneakers. Abby crossed the kitchen, and slung an arm around his waist.

“Okay with this?”

“It’s just a date, Mom. You’ve had one or two before.”

“One, maybe.” Abby poked his ribs and he squirmed. “Don’t let Jack stay up all night or he’ll be cranky in the morning.”

Chris scoffed. “He’ll be snoring before Batman’s halfway over.”

“Just because I prefer my caped heros less depressive.” Jack ducked back into the kitchen, ice cream in hand. “Quick. It’s melting. Your guy’s here, Abby. Nice car, if you like fast.”

Abby shot him a last look, and kissed her son. “Goodnight, boys. Behave.”

“Goodnight, Mom,” they replied as one, and then forgot her for the beeping microwave.

“You said dinner,” Abby grumbled. She glared through the window of Everett’s little car and out at the crowded parking lot. “You didn’t say anything about The Trellis.”

“I believe they serve dinner at The Trellis,” Everett replied, amused by the uneasy tapping of her foot against the Spyder’s floor mat.

“I thought you meant a steakhouse or Chinese or even fast food.”

The rhythm of her foot increased. She wore black, clunky high heels that somehow made her look taller, and turned the curve of her slim ankle elegant at the same time. Everett couldn’t seem to pull his gaze from that ankle.

He wanted to reach out and stroke the delicate curve, taste it with fingers and tongue.

“Ev?”

Everett closed his fingers hard on the wheel. “Fast food. Your dates usually court you in drive throughs, Abby?”