Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“I have noticed.” I follow her into the foyer, shutting the door behind me. “Until tonight, that is.”
Facing me, she shakes her head. “I know I screwed that up, Decky. Can’t you ask Rygar where he took Abby? You could show up at her place with a dozen roses.”
“I’m not going to stalk the woman.”
“Stalk, chase.” She pauses to sigh. “Pursue. That’s what it would be. You’d be pursuing her.”
I don’t pursue.
I won’t tonight.
My brief encounter with Abigail opened the door for more. She knows where I live, and even though she pretended not to know who I am, I’ve caught her looking at me in the lobby of the building we work in.
I’m confident tonight was a prelude to what will be at least one night of good, hard fucking in the future. When that happens depends on whether or not the guy in the ill-fitting suit is still in the picture.
I keep my hands off of women who have theirs on other men.
“Get your composition book,” I say to ensure she’s out of my home within the next five minutes because I need to decompress. I spent tonight shaking the hands of Manhattan’s elite at a fundraiser for the music school my sister works at. Teaching piano has fueled her creativity in ways she hadn’t expected. “I’m taking brunch to Sean and Callie’s tomorrow morning. If you’d like to join us, that would be great. Bring Harry too.”
She runs a hand over her straight shoulder-length hair. “We’ll be there. What time?”
I mentally factor in what time I want to be at the office tomorrow. It may be Sunday, but there’s always work to do. “Eleven.”
“Eleven works.” She points toward the extra bedroom she called home while she stayed with me. “I’ll grab my book. I started composing something right before Harry and I got together. I’ve been thinking about it more and more. I’ll tweak it for the first dance at our wedding.”
That doesn’t surprise me. Ava’s piano compositions have become punctuation marks for the memorable moments of her life.
“I’m sure he’ll love that, Ava.”
She bolts to her tiptoes to land a soft kiss on my cheek. “He will. I’ll grab the book and get out of your hair. I’m sorry again for ruining your night.”
“You didn’t,” I say with assurance.
Tonight was a chance encounter with Abigail. It may not have ended ideally, but I have no doubt that we’ll cross paths again soon – very soon.
CHAPTER FOUR
Abby
Dropping my phone into my lap, I sigh. I tried texting my stepsister, Carrie, to tell her I was headed home, but I got no response.
I envisioned an hour or two of girl talk over a bowl of popcorn and two bottles of chilled, sparkling water.
I shouldn’t be surprised that I was met with nothing when I sent the text.
Carrie Gilbert sticks to a strict schedule.
She gets out of bed at five every morning, regardless of the day of the week. Her bedtime is ten p.m. sharp. I attribute that to her work as a fragrance chemist for one of the most popular cosmetic companies in the country.
Carrie tells me that her sleep schedule will help her avoid all the expensive creams and moisturizers I’ll need in the future since I wear myself out by working too hard with little rest.
I always remind my stepsister that we’re only twenty-eight. I’ll have plenty of time to worry about fine lines and crow’s feet when that time comes. Although, I know I’ll embrace those signs of the passage of time since my mom didn’t make it past her thirty-second birthday.
“Your gown is something to behold.” Rygar glances at me in the rearview mirror. “My granddaughter is a fan of all things princess.”
I smile at the reflection of his eyes. “My friend’s daughter is too. That’s why I surprised her on her birthday today. I thought I would get a bigger reaction.”
He lets out a laugh. “Children are unpredictable.”
I’ll say.
By the time we were tucking Myka into bed for the night, she was talking non-stop about ponies.
“Have you lived in the city long, Miss?”
“Abby,” I correct him as he steers the car through traffic. “For most of my life, but I admit, I like Brooklyn the best.”
“Me too.” His eyes shine bright. “My late wife used to say that it was our pocket of the city, and we fit right in there.”
I feel the same way.
I grew up in Queens, moved to Boston for college, and then back to New York City for law school. After I passed the bar exam, I lived in Manhattan for a few months until Carrie offered me the extra bedroom in her apartment in the Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn. I couldn’t turn it down.
It finally felt like I found my home.
Rygar’s phone starts up on a ring.
“It’s Mr. Wells,” he tells me. “I need to take this.”