Finding Abigail (6 page)

“I’m a writer.
I write children’s books.”

“Oh really,
would I know any?”

“That depends.
Do you buy many books for kids?”

A flash of
something that resembled guilt crossed his face. “Ah…no. I do have a niece and
a nephew, but on their birthdays I usually go for toys.” He followed me into
the kitchen, watching as I took out a vase and poured water into it, the cool
liquid rising to just below the small crack in the blue crystal.

“You can’t go
wrong with toys. Most kids prefer them to books.” I dropped the flowers into
the water and placed the vase onto the table. “Are you ready?” I stood back and
admired the bouquet, the scent already drifting in the air, mixing with the
smell of onions from the burger I had for lunch.

Leaning against
the kitchen doorway, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, a lazy smile on his
lips. “I am. We’re going to McDonald’s.”

“Umm… I like
McDonald’s.” My gaze slid down to my dress and heels. “But I might be
overdressed.”

He laughed.
“I’m kidding. I’m taking you to Marco’s.”

We both
wandered back into the living room. “Oh, I love that restaurant. They have the
best pasta in town.” I pulled my black wrap off the coat rack and swung it
around my shoulders, the soft silk smooth against my skin.

“I’m friends
with the owner.” He opened the door and waited as I locked it, then together,
we headed for the elevator.

“Really? That’s
cool,” I said, pushing the button for the first floor.

“Yeah, I grew
up with Marc; he’s always been into cooking. When we were kids, my other
friends and I thought it was kind of girly, but he’s doing great. I’m happy for
him.”

When the
elevator arrived, we headed down to the lobby, making small talk about our
jobs.

A red Chevy
Tahoe sat in front of my building, and right away, I knew it was his. It was
either that, or the black Ford Focus in front of it and for some reason, I knew
he wouldn’t drive a car. Maybe it was the comment about cooking being girly,
but my impression of him was a little on the macho side, which wasn’t
necessarily a bad sign.

Once we were
inside the vehicle, he pulled onto the street and drove to the restaurant
listening to classic rock.

“Nick. Where
the hell have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages.” A man about our age, with
slicked black hair, bushy eyebrows, and a warm friendly smile gave Nick one of
those, quick-slap-on-the-back guy hugs. We were standing at the hostess stand
waiting to be seated, when he approached.

“I’ve been too
busy making detective to go out to dinner.” They pulled apart, both sets of
deep brown eyes focusing on me. “Marc, I want you to meet Abby. Abby, this is
one of my oldest friends, Marc.”

“It’s nice to
meet you. I love your restaurant.”

“Abby, you’re
beautiful.” He grinned. “How long have you known our Nick?”

“Just a few
days.”

His eyebrows
went up. “Oh, your first date? Well, come on then, I’ll see that you get a
great table.” He took my hand and led me to the back of the restaurant where
there was a beautiful view of a fountain, the centerpiece of the restaurant. It
stood about ten feet tall, clear glass tiers, with water spouting out the top,
trickling down into an enormous clear basin. Lights glimmered in the water,
creating an almost magical feel. It was like a floating water sculpture. The
sound of the running water was soothing, a complement to the calming music that
drifted around us, mixed with the smell of tomato and spices. The lights were
dim, with flickers of candlelight glowing throughout the room. The ambience was
one of romance; this was
the place
to take a date. Jason, my ex, used to
bring me here.

He gestured to
an empty, cozy two-seater, with a black vase and red rose placed in the center.
We sat down on the buttery-smooth leather chairs, and I noted the slight scent
of cinnamon floating out of a candle. “Let me know if you need anything. Enjoy
your meal.” As Marco walked away, I thought I saw him give a thumbs-up to Nick.

We were just
looking at our menus when a waiter came to our table with a bottle of
Chardonnay
. “Compliments
of Marco,” he said, pouring us each a glass and then placing it on the center
of the table. “Are you ready to order, or would you like more time?” His grin
was wide, almost forced, hoping for a large tip, I guessed.

“I think we
need more time, thank you,” Nick replied, still browsing his menu.

The waiter
nodded and rushed away.

“So, do you
know what you want?” He glanced at me over his menu, the reflection of the
candle’s flame dancing in his eyes.

“Yes. I think
I’ll have the lasagna. I don’t have it often and it’s the best here. What about
you?”

“I like their
sausage penne.” His eyes darted back down at the choices. “But maybe I’ll have
something less spicy. Just in case I get lucky and you give me a goodnight
kiss.” He didn’t turn away from the pages as he made the remark, but the
corners of his lips turned up into an almost smile.

He was flirting
with me, and I did love a good flirt. “We’ll see.” I lifted my glass up,
holding it in front of me. “And I don’t mind a little spice.”

He grinned,
giving me a slight nod. “So, what do you do in your free time?” he asked,
setting his menu down, apparently having made his decision. He took a sip of
his wine.

What free time?
“Well, I work a lot, so I don’t have much of it. But when I do, I like to read
and spend time with my niece and nephew.” Leaning back in my chair, I closed my
menu, placing it on top of his. “Actually, I took them to a movie yesterday.”

“Oh yeah. Which
one?”

“
Wendy’s
Wish
.”

“Oh, I bet they
liked it. I was over at my brother’s last week and that’s all his kids could
talk about. Did you guys enjoy it?”

His words were
flattering, even if he didn’t realize it. I blushed, not always comfortable
with praise. If he noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Yes, they did. My nephew
asked how they made those people into cartoons.”

He laughed. “So
was it hard to sit through? I’ve never had to take them, but I imagine it would
be a long hour and a half, watching a cartoon geared for kids.”

I chuckled
slightly to myself, since he didn’t know what was funny. “Um…no. The characters
were so much like the book and the colors were wonderfully vivid. It was
surreal to see my story come to life.”

He squinted at
me. “What do you mean?”

Embarrassed to
say any more, I looked down at my hands. “The movie was taken from the first
pre-teen book I had published.”

“Seriously?
Your book was made into a movie?” he asked, shock spread all over his face.

I took another
sip of my wine, avoiding eye contact, hoping to calm my sudden jitters. I
wasn’t one to brag and just bringing it up felt like boasting. But not to
mention that part of my work felt like I was hiding something. “I’m serious. I
even helped pick the actors’ voices for the characters.”

Looking
somewhat dumbfounded, he asked, “What’s it about?”

“An orphan girl
named Wendy. She finds a coin on the street and tosses it into a fountain,
making a wish. When she leans over trying to find her coin, the fountain sucks
her into a different world where everything is animated.”

He leaned
forward, obviously interested. “What was her wish?”

“Well, you
don’t find out what it was until the end of the book, but I’ll tell you.” I
paused, raising a brow. “Can you guess?”

The dim light
made his deep eyes appear black as they narrowed in concentration. “A family?”
he guessed.

I smiled with a
slight nod. “Close. A home, and she finds one, and creatures to love, inside
the fountain.”

“Wow. How many
books have you written?”

Suddenly
anxious, I fidgeted with my cutlery, the knife and spoon making a light
tinkling sound as I knocked them together. “Fifteen. I just started a new
series for kindergarten and younger.”

“That’s so
awesome, Abby,” he said sincerely. “Nicky and Bobby would love to meet you.
They’re my brother, Rob’s, kids. I also have a niece from my sister Tina, but
she’s only a month old.”

The eager
waiter rushed over after Nick raised his hand to let him know we were ready.
Nick recited our orders without looking up from the menu or a confirming glance
in my direction. I chose to take his ordering for me as a sign of him being a
cop, used to being in charge. Once we were alone again, I took a piece of bread
from the basket and buttered it. In need of a subject change, I asked, “So you
have a brother and a sister?”

He nodded,
chewing his own piece of rye, and then swallowed. “Mm-hmm, Rob’s the oldest,
I’m the middle child, and Tina’s the baby. I was a little annoyed that she got
married and started a family before me. Maybe it was the middle child syndrome,
needing attention from my parents, who knows?” He paused as he washed the bread
down with a sip of wine. “But I just didn’t have the time to meet anyone. When
you’re a rookie on the force, you want to prove yourself to everyone, and
eventually I wanted to make detective to prove to myself that I could.”

“Do you have a
specialty? Homicide or Narcotics? I have no idea what I’m talking about, only
what I see on TV.” I felt awkward, hoping that I didn’t sound stupid.

“No, you said
it right. Actually I’m on Robbery. We usually focus on stolen vehicles. There’s
a guy we suspect that runs a chop shop. We’re just gathering evidence right
now.”

“You don’t want
Homicide, do you?” I glanced away at the sound of laughter bursting from a
table across the way. A group of couples looked to be celebrating a birthday. A
giant of a man with bright orange hair was sporting a pointed blue cardboard
birthday hat, a sight that the rest of his party apparently found funny.

I turned back
to Nick as he leaned back in his chair, looking comfortable. “I did at one
time. It’s considered the highest detective position, but the hours suck. When
you’re on a murder investigation, it doesn’t matter the last time you slept. If
there’s a lead, it can’t wait.”

His description
wasn’t that appealing. I could just imagine endless nights waiting for your
man, not knowing if he’d come home or not. Wondering if he was lying in a
gutter somewhere shot from a perp high on crack.
What was wrong with me?
Was it the writer in me that let my imagination run away like this? I needed to
stop and just enjoy the rest of the date.

Suzie

While we waited
for our food to arrive, he told me an amusing story about a bust he helped out
with last week. An older man living in the garage of his daughter’s house was
stealing bikes, all black ones. He was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, and
thought he was picking up the same bike over and over. His grandson had left
his two-wheeler on the side of the street a few weeks ago, and he had picked it
up for him. Now, whenever he saw one that looked the same as he went for his
daily walk along the neighborhood, he’d do it again, thinking it was his
grandson’s. I laughed softly, feeling sad for the poor man and his family. I
had lost my father suddenly, but at least I didn’t have to see him suffer, and
the thought of him not recognizing me was painful.

Nick had just
finished his story when the waiter brought our dinner. My meal was, as I knew
it would be, delicious. “Do you want to try my lasagna?” I asked, holding out
my fork.

He glanced up
from his plate, his expression turning from confusion to something that
resembled disgust. It vanished quickly, but I had seen it. I retracted my arm
and took the bite, feeling embarrassed. After I swallowed, I said, “Sorry, I’m
just use to eating with Debbie and Brenda. We always trade.”

“No, it’s fine.
I just had my mouth full.” His smile was sincere. Maybe I had imagined the look
of revulsion. It didn’t matter though; my food was too good to share.

Nick finished
his meal while I stared longingly down at my plate, wishing I could stuff just
one more scrumptious morsel into my mouth. It wasn’t possible though; my
stomach was full to capacity. I pushed my plate away just as Marco strolled
over carrying a chocolate mousse. “I hear you called this in this morning,
Nick,” he said, nodding to his friend. “You’re lucky you ordered ahead of time,
or you’d be out of luck.”

“I remember
from the last time I asked, and was denied.” His voice held a hint of
annoyance.

Marco’s brow furrowed
before a smirk appeared. “That was your date with what’s her name?” Shaking his
head he added, “She wouldn’t have eaten it anyway. All she had was a small
salad. You can’t trust a girl that eats like a bird.” I laughed, thinking of my
lunch with Debbie. I’d have to tell her Marco’s theory. He turned to me, his
hand leaning on the back of my chair. “Did you enjoy your meal, Abby?”