Twice Smitten (A Modern Fairy Tale) (12 page)

A corner of Marilyn’s mouth raised in a smile. “It’s hard for me to sit here and listen to someone sandblast my cousin.”

The woman turned to glance at the bar. Keri, Drew and Emma were coming back. Drew had a tray expertly hitched in the crook of his elbow and resting on his forearm. The tray was topped with various foods—chicken wings being the item that caught her eye. Both Keri and Emma had the drinks.

Marilyn frowned, looking pensive. “Maybe you don’t want to want him, but you do. It’s the way you look at him. Drew’s not dumb. He sees it.”

Abigail could only shake her head. “Is this the part where you threaten me if I break your cousin’s heart?”

“Yes,” Marilyn said and paused. The anger in her gaze lessened. They’d probably never be best friends or even on cordial talking terms, but they’d always held a lot of respect for each other. “A piece of advice, since I was there before and after the implosion, don’t break your heart in the process either.”

Chapter Nine

“Your grandmother’s driving me nuts,” Pamela, her mother, said while digging in her bra. The older woman pulled out a small switch blade and placed the item on Gram’s ceramic-tile kitchen table.

Her grams had long since given up varnishing the last one, mahogany wood with several easily explained nicks. Though she’d kept the matching chairs and satin green cushions, Grams was very frugal. Of course, the cushions matched the jade edges of the table and that was another incentive to keep them.

Her grams liked things and people in her life to be orderly and dramatic free. She constantly mentioned this. Hence, the current crisis Abigail had to resolve. Her mother was neither orderly nor dramatic free.

She sipped on her coffee, fell back on common sense, knowing the advice would be ignored. “Maybe if you moved out…”

“And then she’d call me every day, laying out the guilt trips, because I don’t come by to see her. No.”

Abigail tried to sap all the sarcasm out of her voice, but this was her mother. “Who would do such a thing?”

The second knife, stashed in the other D cup, clattered to the table. “I mean, she’s not a spry chicken anymore, but good Lord, could she not call me five times a day?”

She gave up on not showing sarcasm in her tone. “Who does she think she is? I mean, you just broke up with Charles and you’ve got no where to go.” Abigail annotated in her mind—husband number three. Or was it four? She’d lost count.

“Exactly! Since my own daughter wouldn’t take me in.”

Who did Pamela think she learned guilt trips from? The observation would start an argument and the last thing Abigail needed was an argument with the number-one drama queen.

Still as it always happened, a twinge of guilt sprouted roots. “I told you my apartment manager wouldn’t let me. Not after…my last roommate.” She cleared her throat. “Where’s Grams, anyway?”

The cell phone came out next, and Abigail started to wonder if her mother’s bosom had been the inspiration for clown cars. “Bingo.” The boob rummaging finally stopped. “Where else?”

Abigail inspected the rest of the kitchen. Dishes filled the sink, the stove needed a good wipe down. Going out to bingo was Grams way of making Pamela do house chores. Ignoring them was Pamela’s way of getting Abigail to clean up.

She took the coffee cup to the sink. “I thought you and Charles were going to work it out.”

“We gave it a try. We’re just not as compatible as we first thought.”

As Drew would say, “Translation: The whirlwind courtship was over and the real work began.”

Drawing dish water, Abigail could see the roots of her own making. Her parents had fallen deeply in love. They married, had her and things went to crap soon after. Her father was the kind of man who liked the slow and quiet life, so much like Gramps and Grams. It’s probably why Pamela had been so enamored with him. The problem? Pamela was like lit dynamite. She’d flit around and spark until an explosion occurred. You’d expect it, but would still reel from the shock of it all. Her father couldn’t hang on, no matter how much he loved her mother.

Pam kept falling for the same quiet and timid guy over and over again—her complete opposite. When the obvious truth sunk in, opposites in this case did not attract, her mother would end things. There was never a question of love. Her mother was filled to the brim with it, for everyone. Love was the foundation for all good relationships, but that alone didn’t make one work.

Abigail made the water as hot as her hands could stand. “How did he feel about you breaking things off for good?”

Silence filled the room, and she paused to glance at her mother. The older woman’s back held stiff. The man-made curls bounced when her mother turned around. They had the same slanted eyes, and irises the same shade of amber, but at the moment Abigail could see through bravado to the hurt. The sadness deepened the crows’ feet and laugh lines, showing her mother’s age, despite how well the flirty sundress clung to her figure.

“He decided things should end. I agreed, because it was what would make him happy. Why’d you think I ended the relationship?”

In that moment Abigail didn’t feel like her usual opinionated self. Any other time she would have said, without caveat, why she believed her mother lay at fault for another failed marriage. She did her best not to kick people when they were down.

“I’m sorry to hear it didn’t work out.”

Pamela sniffed. “You’re sorry that I’m hurt, but I know you don’t believe in love.”

On firmer ground with her mom, Abigail finished the last few dishes. “I do believe in love.”

“What about the last guy? He was in and out before I could formally introduce myself. You’re much more like me than you want to be.”

Abigail wanted to argue. She wanted to revert to two-years old and stomp her foot. She didn’t, because dealing with Drew the past few days made her see, maybe, she might have something in common with Pamela.

Her mother whirled around, jangling the bracelets adorning her ankles. “What’s going on?”

Abigail would not indulge in a mother/daughter moment, especially about relationships. Those kind of conversations always led down a road of reckless advice. “Nothing.”

“I’ve heard that ’nothing’ before. It was—”

“Why do you carry around knives, Mother?”

“Don’t try to throw me off my course. I asked you, what’s going on? It’s man troubles.”

“You would know,” Abigail murmured.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t have a beau,” she said louder and concentrated on the refrigerator. She made a sound of disgust, took the trash can from the end of the counter and pulled out old take-out cartons.

The bracelets jangled again. “That’s a problem within itself. You know your Grams isn’t getting any younger. She’ll love some great grandchildren.”

“I don’t think marriage is for me,” Abigail said flatly.

“And why not?”

Abigail paused mid-throw and looked at the shining example of marriage in her life. As Grams would say, Abigail was spitting image of her mother. The high cheek bones. The lower lip much bigger than the top. The eyes. Her mother carried around a little more weight now, but if someone put up a picture of her mother in her mid-twenties and compare it to Abigail now, one could mistake them for sisters.

Though by twenty-eight her mother had been divorced and had a child. Within two years of that, she’d be on her second marriage and divorce. Pamela was so far from Gramps and Grams, Abigail sometimes wondered if her grandparents had adopted her mother. Except Pamela was the spitting image of Gramps.

“I’ve yet to meet someone I could see myself with for the rest of my life. Forever. Till death. Good, bad. Poor, rich.” Abigail snorted. “Obedient, too.”

Pamela pffted and flung the last one aside. “Now-and-days you can write any vows you want.”

“But you’re supposed to stick to them. Forever. Even now. I don’t think I could ever love someone that much. Or even find someone who I got along with for more than a year.” She fished a sponge out the sink, rinsed it out and stuck her head into the refrigerator to get out all the sticky spills from sweet-and-sour pork.

Her mistake, because it gave Pamela the perfect opening to start her “go for it” speech. Having heard it a million times, Abigail tuned the words out. The speech usually involved her mother waxing poetic on all the beginning stages of her marriages. How wonderful the courtship was. How her time with the men was just as wonderful and how it felt to fall in love. Courtship sounded downright magical, according to her mother, but what about the long haul? Her mother didn’t have a tale for that and neither did Abigail. Pamela jumped into the beginning of a relationship like a skydiving junkie. The relationships ended in about the same amount of time it took to plunge back down to earth.

Abigail had been cautious to say the least. She usually stayed much longer than was necessary, because the
it
had to hit her at some point. Lightning would have to strike, and then she’d know he was the
one
to spend the rest of her life with. Never happened.

The one question she couldn’t ask her mother was how long to wait? What were the signs? It was hell to ask Grams, because she still missed her husband like he’d died the day before.

And her father, well, they didn’t have any common ground. There had been Greg, who of course, got along grand with him. Getting engaged to him had given Abigail and her father something to talk about. After the break up…awkward conversations. Nothing deep or heartfelt. How’s-the-weather kind of conversations.

In short, she didn’t have anyone to ask. Even Emma couldn’t put the
it
into words. You were just supposed to
know
. That was as helpful as giving someone with a gunshot wound advice to duck faster the next time.

Abigail pulled her head out of the refrigerator by the tail end of the “go for it” advice. “I’ll think about what you’ve said,” she muttered. “Anyway, I’m going to head to the store and get a few things.”

She opened the freezer, pulled out some frozen chicken and placed the meat on the counter. “Thaw this, please.”

Pamela made a noncommittal noise. “You didn’t listen to a word I said.”

“Of course I did, Mother.”

Her mom shooed her out of the way. “Pick up some wine while you’re there.”

“Already on it.” They did air-cheek kisses and Abigail left.

*****

The squeak in the shopping cart’s front left wheel quieted when Abigail halted at the sight of Drew at the end of the aisle. The mindless, chipper music continued to play in the backdrop, but her focus zeroed in on him, so nonchalant, taking in cereal boxes, with one of those small baskets. Her mouth went dry.

There should have been nothing sexy about the pose, but Abigail knew if she took a picture of him and ran it as an ad, women would come out in droves to the grocery store to shop and not for necessities. His profile held no worry lines just a curious concentration as though he had all day to pick whatever he wanted to eat for a quick breakfast. That was the Drew she told herself she didn’t want to know. The kind of Drew she could spend Sunday mornings with naked and scouring the ads section.

Abigail blamed her mother. The whole “go for it” speech had to be a subliminal message after all these years. She pushed the feelings and thoughts down. If she moved now, the squeak would give her away. Eventually, she’d have to, and he’d look up. There’d be a surprised smile and then a saunter toward her.

They were
friends;
she could look forward to him coming over to her with a smile full of debauchery. Right? And she could parry the move without crossing a boundary.
Right?
Abigail sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.
Right
. She looked at the bottom row of breakfast food bars and pushed the basket. It took him about three seconds longer than she’d guessed it would take.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled. “Don’t you look like a ray of sunshine this Saturday morning?”

She steeled herself against the smile, and schooled her expression into a scowl. “Are you stalking me?”

Preparing herself still didn’t dim the effect his smile had on her. Her palms dampened on the cart, her heart sped up and all she wanted to do was curl into summer heat.

“A man’s gotta eat.” The basket hung recklessly from his fingers. Half a gallon of milk sat in the bottom. He hadn’t chosen a cereal before coming over. It had been indecision that took those extra three seconds.

Abigail leaned against the top bar of the shopping cart. “I’ll give you that, but I’ve never seen you in here before.”

He probably thought she never noticed the flash of irritation in his gaze. She wasn’t the only easy target. To give him credit, those deep-chocolate irises hid the wealth of the man. Skill and know how made her able to cut away and see past the charm and humor. But, Abigail noticed a lot about Drew that she, at times, shouldn’t have been able to.

The observation must have stung, and the emotion showed in his gaze. For the first time, she hated the expression. She had no good reason to be at odds with him, especially now that he was her
boss
. But more so, he wasn’t the devil she wanted to make him out to be. He had helped her with the presentation when he didn’t have to.

She lifted her hands. “You’re not stalking me, but last night I got a vibe from Keri and Marilyn.”

“You did?” He moved closer to her but, thankfully, the cart kept a pretty good distance between them.

Abigail wouldn’t be tempted to lean into his musky scent or the heat. Any lingering desire to curl into him with another kiss would be avoided. The other thing she noticed last night, his knee had crept into her space again and again. Teasing touches that made her hot and want more of that damnable picnic basket and fireflies.

“It seemed to me Marilyn and Keri were closer than friends. You know the kind that has a sexual tension between them.”

“Really?” he questioned, but glanced down in her cart.

She’d picked up yogurt, bread, eggs and milk so far. “I also know Keri was the friend you talked about not ever having sexual tension with. I find it suspect.”