Page 55 of Abyss

He has no idea how much I appreciate the fact that he doesn’t laugh, that he doesn’t even question it. “Is that why you have a trail of nightlights along the hall to your room?”

I huff out a humorless laugh. “I used to sleep with the lights completely on, but I manage with just nightlights now. I know there are probably children all over the world who are afraid of the dark, and most adults grow out of it—or they pretend to, at least. But of the various fears I’ve learned to overcome in my life, that one has been the hardest. I hate the dark.”

A waiter comes to our table to ask if he can take away our empty dishes, distracting us from our thoughts. When he leaves, Hudson says, “Okay, my turn to ask.”

“Okay.”

“What’s with all the fruit paraphernalia?” At my giggle, he continues, and I appreciate the way he’s taken our conversation to a lighter place. “The earrings, the shirts, the strawberries on your bedsheets . . .”

I raise my brow again. “First, you’re sifting through my artwork, and now you’re inspecting my linen? You’re like a cranky, modern-day Goldilocks, Mr. Case.”

For the first time since our paths crossed, Hudson’s cheeks turn pink, and he stumbles with his response. He looks so boyish, I’m tempted to take a picture of him. “I-I wasn’tinspecting—”

I lift both of my hands. “Hey, you have a right to know if a black-market fruit dealer is living with you.”

Hudson chuckles softly, and I almost forget what he asked me.

“A few of my happiest memories involve my childhood best friend,” I say, as some of those memories flutter through my mind. “Every year, we’d coerce my parents into dropping us off at the nearby fruit orchards and pick strawberries and oranges . . . even kiwi one year. We’d walk through the orchards for hours, laughing and filling our stomachs with way more fruit than anyone should eat in a day. And if they had a little shop, I’d buy a keepsake, like a pair of earrings or a shirt, from there to remember it.”

My eyes collide with Hudson’s, catching a mix of something I can’t quite pinpoint—tenderness or wonder, perhaps?

“What?”

He shakes his head imperceptibly. “A lifetime would be too short . . .”

My heart races for reasons beyond me. “Too short for what?”

Before Hudson can answer, the waiter reappears with our check and the moment dissipates, and I never end up hearing the rest of his sentence.

Chapter Seventeen

HUDSON

Ihit Send on an email to my team with changes I’d like to see on the proposed slide deck. I’ll be presenting it to a prospect in New Hampshire next week for their upcoming high-rise excavation.

It’s the end of the day on Friday, and I know my team will grumble about having to work through the weekend, but it’s why I pay them the big bucks. Besides, it’s not my fault they didn’t get this into my inbox until this afternoon.

My phone lights up on my desk with a text.

Maddy

Hey, Pops. I’m bringing the wedding planner over to the ranch on Sunday. She wants to take a look around and get a feel for the venue and setting. Just informing you in case you were planning on staying there this weekend. Don’t want you to be surprised.

Me

I get the feeling you’re telling me not to stay there thisweekend.

Her response comes through a minute later.

Maddy

By all means, you should! We could use more input on where the peonies should go, and whether we should alternate the color of the tablecloths.

I chuckle, knowing she knows the exact response I’ll be sending her.

Me

Yeah, I’ll be sick this weekend.

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