A Love Made New (14 page)

He walked into the kitchen. Maybe a snack would help him fall asleep. The wind had quieted down, but flakes still landed on the windows. Since he'd practically lived here as a kid, he didn't bother turning on the light. He was about to open the pantry door when the gas lamp hissed to life. He turned around and saw Abigail in the doorway.

A
bigail didn't move at the sight of Asa staring at her. She hadn't been able to sleep, her mind whirring about so many things, mostly Asa. She couldn't keep shifting in the bed or she'd wake Joanna. Food always helped her sleep, and lately she'd been sneaking a midnight snack every night. She'd tried to hold off tonight, but she couldn't. Hopefully Naomi wouldn't mind.

And now Asa was here, again. He'd know she was getting something to eat, again. She should just turn around and go back to bed. But that would be stupid. She could get a snack if she wanted. Even though it would probably be better if she didn't. But she wasn't going to turn around and leave now.

“Hi,” he said, not moving from his position in front of the pantry. His voice was soft, sending heat down her spine. She hadn't felt the same jolt with Joel. Not even close.

“I was getting something to eat,” he said, looking at her over his shoulder. “Couldn't sleep.”

“Me either.”

“Do you want something?” He opened the pantry door. “Looks like Joanna's been doing a lot of baking.”

That was good to hear. Not only because Abigail was hungry—which she was—but because Joanna hadn't wanted to bake when she first returned from Middlefield.

She hadn't even thought to look for a snack in Joanna's pantry in the addition, where she and her sister were sleeping.

She thought about turning down Asa's offer, though. Was she really hungry, or simply stressed? Or maybe bored? No, she definitely wasn't bored, not around Asa.

He pulled out a container of white chocolate chip cookies and showed them to her. “These look
appeditlich
.”

They were. Joanna had often made them when she was still living at home, and they were Abigail's favorites.

“Do you want any?” he asked.

“Just one,” she said, going to him. She didn't want to look greedy or piggish.

He held the container to her. “You have more willpower than me.” After she took one of the cookies, he grabbed three and closed the container, taking it with him as he sat down at the table. He seemed to be settling in. He glanced up at her, his eyes filled with an unspoken invitation to join him.

Abigail resisted the urge to cram the cookie into her mouth and go back to bed. But that would be rude, and after he'd been so nice to her over the past few months, he didn't deserve that kind of treatment. She joined Asa at the table but moved her chair away from him as she sat down.

Something flickered across his gaze. This wasn't the first time she'd sensed she'd disappointed him. But each time she saw that look, she didn't understand it. Why would moving away from him disappoint him? She set the cookie on the table.

“I'll get us some plates.” He shot up from the chair and went to the cupboard. He seemed to know exactly where everything was, and not only did he bring back plates but also two glasses of milk. He set them down. “Probably should have asked if you like milk.”

“It's a requirement with cookies.”

“I think so too.” He sat down and then took a big gulp of milk from his glass. But he didn't eat one of the cookies. Instead he stared at the table.

Abigail picked at her own cookie. This was ridiculous. She never had trouble talking to people. Joel had called her a chatterbox one time, but that was in jest. At least she'd thought it was. Maybe that annoyed him. Maybe that was one of the reasons they broke up. Did Rebecca talk a lot? Abigail couldn't remember. Was she one of those quiet, adoring types? Abigail frowned. She'd never be like that.

“I don't think I've seen so many different facial expressions in less than a minute,” Asa said, finally picking up his cookie. She hadn't noticed him looking up.

She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Apparently I have an expressive face. Or so I'm told. I can never keep
mei
emotions a secret.”

“That's not a bad thing.”

“It's not always a
gut
thing, either.” She broke off a piece of her cookie and put it into her mouth. This had to be what heaven tasted like. She closed her eyes as she chewed.

“Enjoying the cookie?”

She opened her eyes and blushed. Then she lifted her chin. She wasn't going to be embarrassed about being herself. “
Ya.
They're
mei
favorite, and
nee
one makes them better than Joanna.”

“I'll agree with that. I'm partial to chocolate chip, but these are definitely in second place.” He held up the cookie and examined it.

“Joanna always puts in extra white chocolate chips,” Abigail said. “That's what makes them so
gut
.”

He took a bite, looking at her as he chewed. Another jolt hit her. This wasn't good. His black curly hair was wild and sticking out in thick hanks all over his head. For some reason she wanted to smooth it down. Probably because it was messy. Or probably because she wanted to know what it felt like.

She averted her gaze and stuffed almost the entire cookie into her mouth, chasing it with a large gulp of milk. She needed to go to bed. She was clearly tired if she was thinking about touching Asa's hair. But she had to tell him a few things first. “I'm sorry I've been so hard to get along with lately.”

“You have?” His full lips quirked up into a half-smile. “Hadn't noticed.”

That made her grin. “Then you're dense, because I've been terrible to live with.” She sighed and ran her finger down the side of the milk glass. “I haven't been myself, and I feel bad about that. Everything has changed.” She looked at him. “I don't like change.”

His gray eyes lost their humor. “I don't either. Unless it's
gut
change. Like getting married, having kids . . .” His eyes widened. “Or, uh, getting a promotion at work.”

“You got a promotion?”

“
Nee.
I was just using that as an example.” He flicked his gaze at her. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

He leaned forward. “I don't like
mei
job. Actually, I can't stand it.”

“At the plastics factory? Didn't you work at a factory in Shipshewana?”

“
Ya
.” He took another drink of milk, finishing off the glass. “I didn't care for that work either.”

“What did you do?”

“Put together RVs. I did upholstery. Pretty boring job, but it paid well.”

Abigail put her elbows on the table and leaned her chin on her hand. “So what would you do if you had a choice?”

His face turned red, and Abigail realized she'd never seen him blush before. At least not this deeply. It made him more handsome than ever.

“Bookkeeping,” he said, staring at the one cookie he had left.

“Really?” That answer was unexpected. She knew he had helped Andrew build the addition on the Beiler house and had done a good job of it too. “I thought you would have said construction.”

“Why? Because I'm not smart enough to do math?”

She leaned back at his sudden shift in tone. Gone was the laconic posture, the casualness of his demeanor. She glanced at his hands, which had balled into fists. “
Nee.
I didn't mean that at all. Anyway, you have to do math in construction.”

His hands relaxed. “That's true. But that math is easy.”

Abigail didn't think so. She was terrible at math. School had been difficult for her. Although she did well, she had to fight for every A she made. She'd been happy to finish school and work in her parents' store. She could operate the cash register, but she was fine with letting Sadie and her parents deal with the accounting. She couldn't think of anything more boring than looking at a bunch of numbers on ledger sheets.

“I shouldn't have said anything.” He picked up the container of cookies and started to get up.

Abigail put her hand on the container. Obviously she'd hit a sore spot with him. “Wait,” she said. Then she was uncertain what to say next. “I, uh, want another cookie.”

He opened the lid and handed her one. There was no look of censure or judgment in his eyes as she took it. Then again, there shouldn't be. Her weight wasn't his business. But what she'd said to irritate him was, and she wanted to know why he'd reacted the way he did. “I'm sorry if I upset you.”

He blinked, as if shocked that she would apologize. “You didn't upset me. I'm just used to people assuming I'm not very . . . smart.”

She'd never thought that about him. He was far from stupid. “Why would anyone think that?”

He shrugged and put the lid back on the cookie container. “Because I work in a factory, I guess. Or I only have an eighth-grade education.”

“So do I. We all do in Birch Creek. That's not a reflection of our intelligence.”

“I guess not. But I used to wonder . . .”

“Wonder what?”

“If I would have liked going to high school. Or even college.” He sighed. “I like to learn. I always enjoyed school.”

“Not me,” Abigail said.

“I don't remember you disliking it,” he said. “I remember you being happy in school.”

“You paid attention to me in school?”

Again, his face turned red. “Not much,” he admitted. This time he looked her in the eye and she could see he was telling the truth. He probably had just as few memories about her as she had of him. “But what I do remember was that you were happy.”

“I was happy socializing, not doing the schoolwork. Sadie and Joanna were the smart ones.”

“You're not
dumm
,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed. “I never said I was.”

He looked contrite. “Sorry.” He brushed some crumbs off the table. “I always seem to say the wrong thing around you.”

His voice was so full of self-deprecation that she couldn't resist touching his hand to get his attention. “Not all the time.”

His gaze locked with hers, and instead of a jolt this time, she felt something slam into her. Something warm and comforting and pleasant. She pulled her hand away as if it were on fire. “Why accounting?” she asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Numbers fascinate me. The patterns, the rules. I also like the satisfaction when the account balances.” He grinned. “I know. I'm
seltsam
.”

“A little.” She smiled back. “You sound like Sadie. She's been teaching herself bookkeeping. She's really
gut
at it. Unlike me.
Mei
records are a mess.”

“From
yer
rug business?”

“
Ya.
I just throw receipts in the box. I pay Irene, but I have
nee
idea what I have left over. I need to open a bank account, but I haven't bothered.”

“Where do you keep
yer
money?”

She bit her bottom lip. “Um, in a shoe box under
mei
bed.”

“Are you afraid of banks?”

She took in a deep breath. “
Nee.
I'm afraid to admit that I don't understand them. Or interest, or debits and credits. I've been meaning to ask Sadie to show me, but she's so busy with the store, and with Aden.” She turned away. “Now I sound
dumm
.”

“
Nee.
Uninformed, though. Which isn't a
gut
idea if you're going to have a business.”

“I didn't plan to have one. I was just going to make a few rugs to sell in the store. Then people were asking for more.”

“The ones you brought to
mei haus
were nice.”

“
Danki
, though perhaps you should look at them when
they're dry. When you know which one you want, I'll finish it for you. That's the least I can do for you after walking over here with me in the blizzard.”

“That wasn't a big deal.” He tapped his chin, drawing her attention to the black whiskers there. They were also above his lip. It gave him a scruffy look she found appealing. She'd remembered Asa being meticulous about his appearance when they were growing up. His clothes were always pressed and he never seemed to get dirty. But since he'd returned, he looked different. Scruffy, like now, and his clothes weren't perfect. Then again, he was a bachelor and living on his own. He probably didn't care about ironing his clothes.

She pulled her gaze from his before he caught her staring at him.

“Tell you what. In exchange for a rug, I'll teach you some bookkeeping basics. We can start by opening a bank account.”

“What do you mean, ‘we'?”

“I mean I'll
geh
with you. Banks are open on Saturday mornings, and I can take the day off. So the first Saturday we have
gut
weather, I'll come pick you up and we'll
geh
to the bank.”

Abigail bit her lip again. She wasn't a child. She didn't need help opening an account. Part of her hadn't been interested in doing anything, so it was laziness and apathy on her part. But she was truthful in that she didn't understand the basics. Yet did she really need his hand-holding? “I think I can do it myself.”