“I am going to murder all my brothers with my bare hands. How unfortunate.”
“All of them? What’d Noah do?” Will found himself smiling, which was unusual for a conversation about fratri-whatnot, but Abbie had always had that effect on him.
“Nothing yet,” she said, “but I’d like to cover my bases.”
“Fair enough.” Will’s smile faded. “Sorry, by the way. I think he thought I already knew.”
“Probably,” she agreed, and gave him the look that meant Don’t worry about it, so Will didn’t. When Abbie was done with something, she was done with it.
“Enjoy the chocolate. After my workout,” he said, “I’m going to make you brunch.”
She put down the mug and pulled a needle gently through her hoop of fabric. “Honey, you know you can’t cook.”
“I took lessons.”
Some people might question that, or laugh at it, or something. Abbie didn’t. She was always taking classes, learning things—she liked to learn, loved it, had made Will less afraid of it. He used to think he was stupid, before Abbie had all but dragged him through their final exams and told him again and again, “Smart isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Will, but learning is something else.”
So at his announcement, she just raised her eyebrows and asked, “Hm. How’s your French toast?”
“Glorious,” he said. “Life-changing. Life-affirming, some might say.”
“Yeah? Who might say that?”
“People.”
“Women?”
He smiled, slow and delighted. “Are you fishing for information, Abigail?”
She sniffed. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, William. I’m just saying, women are my preferred sources for trusted opinions.”
Will deflated. “Ah.” Never mind. Obviously, she wasn’t going to swing into a jealous rage over his theoretical French toast–eating girlfriends after half a day of tentative flirting on his part and confused glares on hers. Yet again, he felt a warning flare in his gut, a little voice shouting that Jase was right and his plan was more sly and pointless than smart and brilliant—but the voice was quickly smothered by a blanket of nervous hope. So many feelings, all of them messy, none of them as interesting as Abbie.
Shifting closer, he peered at her embroidery hoop. “Can I see?”
Abbie had always embroidered, as easily as people doodled. Probably had something to do with her mother and grandmother being seamstresses. She hesitated for a moment, which was odd. Then she sighed and turned her hoop around, and he saw a silky blue ocean dotted with little pink fish and lit up by a golden sun. Over the yellow thread, she’d stitched the words “A WARM AWAKENING.”
He smiled. Abbie’s art always made him smile. Then he blinked and realised something. “Oh. It’s … I sent you that, didn’t I?”
She avoided his gaze as she answered. “I think so.”
“You think so?” He laughed. “How many people do you have sending you artwork over Instagram?” But then it occurred to him that she might have a lot of people doing that. He could very easily be one of hundreds of desperate individuals sending Abbie the things they loved just to make her smile and remind her of their existence.
Suddenly he felt a terrible mood coming on.
Until she rolled her eyes and said, “Fine, yes, you sent it to me. You have good taste. Sometimes I embroider the things you send. You know, when I’m running out of ideas.”
Will’s mental sun burst out from behind the clouds and burned his storm away. “Do you, now?”
“Don’t let it go to your head, Reid.”
“I would never.” But he was grinning, so that was an obvious lie.
“Yes, you would,” she said, and then she grinned back, which was so rare and so goddamn hot that his heart squeezed and his stomach tensed. Abbie had a wicked kind of grin, the kind that made you think of fucking. Or maybe it only made him think of fucking. Whatever. He could accept that as a personal problem. “You are horrendously flattered,” she said, “to influence the decisions of a master of embroidery such as myself.”
He sipped his protein shake and tried to look bored, which he was actually quite bad at. His acting had never won any awards; only his face had done that. “Master of embroidery? If you say so.”
“Tell me the truth or I’ll prick you.” She waved her needle menacingly.
“You would never—”
She reached out, and he yelped. It took him a moment to realise she’d poked him, not stabbed him. “Ow.” It hadn’t actually hurt, but he caught her by the wrist anyway and pulled her as close as he could without throwing Haddock off of her lap—which turned out to be pretty damn close. Close enough that he could see her pupils within the deep brown of her irises, could hear the tiny little breath she took. Could feel the ghost of it against his cheek maybe, or perhaps that was just wishful thinking.
He could definitely feel her wrist beneath his palm, and he savoured that. Abbie was private, and Abbie was strong, and Abbie was smarter than he’d ever be, but he could still feel the fragile bite of her pulse … And. It. Sped. Up.
He swallowed. Hard. His organs turned around inside his body. “Abbie,” he said, and forgot all about his plan, remembering a night two years ago in this very room. “Abbie, you look beautiful today.”
Fuck. Shit. Why in God’s name had he said that? For years, Will had thought that sort of thing, and for years, he’d kept his bloody mouth shut. And now, during the first moment they’d spent together alone since her divorce, he threw compliments at her like a drunken pest at a bar?
Nice, Reid. Very nice.
Abbie’s eyes widened behind her glasses for one surprised second—before they narrowed with her trademark suspicion. “Beautiful, hm?” she asked, her voice like iron.
He let go of her wrist. Tried to collect his scattered thoughts. Went back to the careful, clever plan he’d devised during his months out of Abbie’s electrically compelling presence and found it had crumbled like a cookie under the force of her actual personality.
Well, shit. He might be sweating a little bit.
But … When in doubt, brazen it out. That had been Will’s motto ever since he’d realised he couldn’t keep fibs straight in his head like the other kids. “That’s right,” he said, raising his chin. “Beautiful.” Then he smiled, because a large number of women seemed to like it when he did that.
Of course, Abbie wasn’t only a woman; she was a woman who’d known him and his bullshit for decades. “What are you up to, William?” she demanded, squinting at him as if he’d changed species before her eyes.