Abby Road (48 page)

“I hate to ask this,” he said a moment later, “but how long will you be staying here this time?”

His question caught me off guard. Didn’t he understand? Could he not see into my soul? I gazed into his expectant eyes. How well he knew me. He knew it used to be hard for me to slow down and stay in one place, that I used to have moments of guilt for simply being me.

“Well, you have Internet and fax, right?” I asked. He nodded once, skeptically. “I’m sure Molly has always wanted to drive a U-Haul moving truck cross-country. I’ll fly her back to L.A. first-class. Oh, if you don’t mind splitting time between here and Malibu,” I added. “The band is meeting again in six months. The Marine in you usually keeps enough supplies on hand to last that long, right?” I cranked my head like I was assessing his house. “We’ll never have to leave home.” I turned back to him. “The rest is details.”

I paused here, allowing my message to sink in. If I had the guts, I might have made us both stand up, just so I could have fallen down on one knee and made it official.

My former life had been all about rushing and running, following unreasonable orders, beating deadlines. I didn’t know how long we sat on that porch. Time seemed to stand still for us.

Todd whispered something in my ear that made me quiver in delight, and my mind drifted. Inside my head, I saw something distant, yet not too far away.

Chinese lanterns twinkle in the twilight, with soft candles, white lace, and me in my bare feet. I see Todd holding my hand as we stand together in the sand. Our families and friends are here, too.

There’s a flash of light, and I see Todd again, bent upside down, kissing the Blarney Stone. I’m barefoot again, bright green Irish grass between my toes.

Another flash.

I’m staring into bright lights, a guitar in my hands. Instinctively I know Hal is to my right, Jordan to my left, and Yosh’s steady drumbeat taps with my heart. Through the bright lights, I see all the way across the small venue. Todd is standing at the back. I automatically wave to him, but then realize he’s not alone. A little girl with brown, springy curls is perched on his shoulders. Todd waves back to me as the little girl squeals, “Mommy!” through the crowd.

I can’t tell if it’s the future me or the present me, but one of us gasps in rapture.

“Abby? Abby!”

Todd’s concerned voice yanked me back to the present. After he assessed me for a second, his expression relaxed. “What were you thinking about?”

I couldn’t help laughing, wondering if I should tell him that I had just been given a precious glimpse into our future. Or maybe I should let him be surprised.

“I’ll tell you later,” I promised, making a mental note that we’d be going to Ireland on our honeymoon.

“Okay.” Todd eyed me curiously. “I think we’d better take this inside before we both get hypothermia.” He moved to stand, but then turned to me. “Would it sound too horribly crass if I suggested we get you out of these wet clothes immediately? I’m only worried about your health, of course.”

“Of course.” I returned his grin. “But remember what Sinatra said.”

Todd snorted, and together we stood.

“Which reminds me,” he said. “I finally got around to officially renaming the place.” He pointed to a nameplate on his white picket fence, the one part of his front yard that wasn’t completely torn apart. Charming script engraved with the new name looped in bright blue letters.

I spun around to him after reading the sign. “Really?” I exclaimed, clapping like an ecstatic four year old. “No ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ or ‘Summer Wind?’”

“Har-har. Well, actually, both those names were in the running.” His hand rested on the back of my hairless neck. “But as it happens, the Beatles did turn out a few noteworthy albums.” He gestured to the sign. “Particularly that one.” He lifted his chin, looking lofty. “I was finally inspired.”

I twirled myself into his arms, my mouth at his ear. When I felt his breath catch, I pulled back. “I hope you kept your receipt,” I whispered.

“Why?” he asked, his expression twisting.

I grinned, eager to relieve his confusion. “It was a sweet thought, but you do realize that your sign is misspelled, right?”

Todd let out a breath, his fingers combing through my hair. “I am perfectly aware of that, my love.” His hand skimmed down the side of my face and stopped at my chin. “The spelling is intentional, because I didn’t name my home after the Beatles.” He tilted my chin up. “I named it after
you
.”

As shocking as it seemed, this magnificent man loved me, even more than his precious Rat Pack. Todd’s home was now called Abby Road
.

“And in the end

The love you take

Is equal to the love

You make.”

—LENNON & MCCARTNEY

EPILOGUE

FROM
THE WALTON BEACH SUN:

After a month-long hiatus, our town’s most prominent couple made its first appearance since disappearing from our sleepy shoreline, as well as from their other home base in Malibu. Yesterday Abigail Kelly and Todd Camford were not necessarily keeping their return to Seaside low-key. This reporter was lucky enough to be eating lunch at the outside village green when the couple strolled up and sat across from me at my table, which can happen when you live in a tiny town year-round. Abby might have been trying to be inconspicuous about it at first, but there was no hiding the dazzling new gold band nestled next to the diamond ring she began sporting six months ago. I didn’t know at the time, but I was the first member of the press to offer them official congratulations as newlyweds.

Mustang Sally’s new album, and the first off its independent label, was written entirely by the band. After the album exploded two months ago, its third single is still screaming up the charts and is sure to be the band’s tenth consecutive number-one hit. When I asked the smiling couple how they could afford to fall off the map for a month like they had, while the album was going so strong, Todd explained that they wanted a real honeymoon before the tour began, while Abby was quick to add that this touring schedule will be smaller and much more intimate, matching the vibe of the new record.

Before the twosome left to continue their stroll, Abby made sure to point out the orange flyer taped to the window of Todd’s Tackle. Of course I didn’t need the reminder, but in case you do, Mustang Sally will be playing the Seaside Amphitheater on the 25th. Tickets will be available starting midnight the 20th. This is a free show.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Mom and Dad, thank you for being excited about my writing and for knowing when to ask me about it. And also when not to. (Kind of like my love life.) Your support has meant the world to me. Love!

Thank you to countless friends and family members who read this manuscript in its earliest, most hideous versions. There just might be a special place in rock ’n’ roll heaven for you.

Stacy, my editor/rock star. You push me to be a better, more honest writer, and help me realize the importance of staying true to my readers. Thank you for everything. All the smexy is dedicated to you. Meet ya on Canal Street. Same time, same creepy phone booth.

Heather and Debbie, my publicity team: thank you for all your cool ideas and hard work at getting my books out there.

Sue, my critique partner. Thanks for being brutally honest (puke), insightful, and pretty much the best writer I know. How did I get so freaking lucky? This book would not be what it is without your input. We’ll make it to that writers’ getaway up in the mountains (or was it the beach?) one of these days.

Nancy, my tireless beta, can you believe we’re finally here? I remember the day I brought you the final chapter of
Abby
(it had a different title back then), and I sat across the short/ass conference table from you, watching you read. No pressure, right? You’ve been such a good sport, reading every word I’ve ever written over the years. CWC! Thank you for all the times you allowed me to drone on and on over pancakes, heartful chocolate chip cookies, eggs Benedict, and cupcakes.

Thanks to everyone at Entangled Publishing for your encouragement and support, and for making this writer chick’s dreams come true!

Thanks to the sassy girls of Mustang Sally for sharing your name.

Special thanks to The Walrus, Sir Paul, Dark Horse, Mr. Starkey, and The Voice.

Sara Bareilles and Mandy Moore, thank you for keeping me company while I wrote.

Keep reading for a sneak peek at Ophelia London’s short romance,
Playing at Love
. . .

Show choir teacher Tess Johansson loves three things: music, her job, and sharing that passion with her students. But when a school budget crisis forces funding to be pulled from either the sports or music programs, she finds herself going head to head with Jack, the gorgeous new football coach who broke her heart fifteen years ago.

Jack Marshall wants two things: to be closer to his young daughter and to make his mark as a football coach. Taking the new job, with the promise that he’d have time to build a solid team, gave him both. But now he must win the season with a group of boys who aren’t anywhere near ready or he’ll lose everything he’s worked so hard for. Being pitted against Tess, the summer love he never forgot, is like being fourth and long with only seconds on the clock.

On opposing sides of a fierce battle and with everything at stake, Tess and Jack find themselves torn between doing what it takes to win and doing what it takes to be together.

Available from e-retailers everywhere!

T
ess slid into the chair next to Mac at the far end of the second row and dropped her heavy bag full of the sheet music for “Breaking Up Is Hard to Do,” a song she planned to teach her show choir that semester. It was a funky yet safe arrangement that was sure to sit well with the judges at the Invitationals in October and then Regionals later on in the month. And after that: Fiestaval.

Once seated, she crossed her legs, causing the front slit of her new dark gray skirt to split apart and reveal too much leg. She quickly pulled the two slits together, making a mental note that this probably wasn’t the best outfit to wear to work. Lesson learned.

Tess was only half listening as Joe Walker stood at the front of the room, sifting through a stack of papers on the lectern in front of him. She toyed with the band of her watch until it suddenly came unclasped and fell to the floor, causing everyone in her row to turn and stare.

“Sorry,” she mouthed. When she leaned forward to pick it up, she noticed one person was still looking at her.
He must be one of the new teachers,
she thought. And wow, he was gorgeous. Dark wavy hair, nice jaw, and built like a quarterback. At least, that’s what she could detect from her distance of ten chairs away. After messing with her watch, she glanced his way again. He was still watching her, and when their eyes met, he pulled back a sexy half grin. Despite herself, when she smiled in return, her stomach made a tiny flip.

Talk about spark. If only he had backed me into that coatroom the other night.

She felt instantly attracted yet comfortable, which she found just a little odd.

Wait a minute. Did she know him? Had they met? Oh snap, he wasn’t one of the guys she’d gone out with earlier in the summer, was he? Their faces were all starting to blend together. She couldn’t quite place this guy’s face, but she knew she’d met him. Somewhere. When she took another glance at him, the guy lifted his hand a few inches and actually—though very subtly—waved.

Tess knew her cheeks were about to turn an embarrassing shade of pink as she sat back in her chair, feeling slightly flustered now. Maybe he really was one of her dates from the summer. Had she become that forgetful? And why hadn’t she bothered to look over the teachers’ roster that was finally e-mailed last night? She might have recognized his name. She smiled and looked down at her lap, imagining him as the new sex ed teacher. If a man so incredibly handsome was teaching a bunch of hormonal girls, heaven help the poor guy.