Page 25 of Love Rewritten

“Yeah, but I bought a different dress already. And this one is more than double the price.”

“Well, now you have two, and we’ll have to find a time for you to wear the other one. But you’re wearing this one to the award ceremony. No exceptions.”

She sighs, as if accepting everything I’ve said. “How did you know this was the dress?”

“I reached out to Meredith. She sent the details.”

“Oh, God. Did she send you the picture she took of me? Because I was crabby and flipping her off.”

The image she describes makes me laugh. “No, actually. She offered to send me the picture to make it easier to find but I told her I wanted you to be wearing it in person the first time I saw it on you.”

She gives me a sweet smile before disappearing into her room to hang the dress up.

“Are we still fixing your bike today?” I call out, gathering my wallet and keys off the counter. “My dad should still have everything in the garage.”

She returns to the table. “That’s the plan. I might die of irritation if we don’t figure out why my bike is making that noise.”

“That’s a bit dramatic.”

She sticks her tongue out at me and heads for the door.

We ride the bikes to my parent's house, or my mom's house now, I suppose. That’ll be weird to get used to.

The garage door opens with a hum to reveal my dad’s entire workshop that sits dormant in the garage, begging someone to give it some attention. The back wall is covered in toolboxes and cabinets full of anything and everything under the sun. Building a table? Check. Fixing a radio? Check. Rebuilding an engine? Also, check. I’m jealous of his collection. But living in an apartment without a garage makes collecting even a small number of tools difficult. So, I’ve settled for using his until I have a place to get my own. Every wall is covered in random posters, ranging from old and new cars and motorcycles, to sports, to antique tools that will never be used again. It's an effort to find any space to add more.

She pulls into the garage, and we get the bike up on the stand.

“You didn’t tell me you were rich,” Abby says as she moves back to the driveway to gawk at the large house.

“I’m not. My parents are,” I say, watching her look around at the freshly mowed lawn.

“Same thing.”

“I’m not banking on getting any money from them.”

As she returns to the garage, I head to the toolbox.

“You think they’re going to spend it all before they die?”

I shrug. “Who knows.” And who knows what will happen financially with this divorce, but I don’t say that out loud. Abby doesn’t need the extra drama. “You said you think it’s a bearing issue?” I ask, starting to pull all the tools out from the drawers.

“Yeah. It’s been whining at me when I accelerate, so I figured that could be the issue. I already bought new parts, so fingers crossed I didn’t buy them for nothing.”

"You could have let me know what you needed. I could have bought them," I offer, knowing her TA position doesn't pay much.

She purses her lips to the side. "Actually, and maybe this sounds weird, but I like being able to spend my own money on things. I like having that capability. After having Sam fight so hard to take that away from me … I don't know. That freedom feels good."

She and I come from different worlds in that aspect. I've never had to struggle with money. Abby has, both in fighting to make and keep it, as well as having it but not being able to spend it. It makes sense now that she mentions it. I hum. "I hadn't thought about it like that. But it's certainly not weird." I run a hand over my jaw and tighten my brows. "Would you prefer that I hadn't bought you that dress?"

She shakes her head with a small smile. "No. Gift's don't bother me. I may have a hard time receiving them with the appropriate thanks, but you're more than welcome to keep giving if you enjoy it. What I want now more than ever is to be able to spend the moneyImade atmyjob on the things thatIwant."

"Well, I'm not going to stop you. I trust you're smart enough with your money to make your own decisions. And if we're ever out and you decide you want to pay, let me know."

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes with a smile. It makes my heart hurt that such a simple gesture is what makes her this emotional. "Thank you," she almost whispers when she opens her eyes. She takes another deep breath, lifting her shoulders to her ears and dropping them. "Shall we?" She points to her bike.

“Of course. Let’s hope it’s nothing serious.” I hand her a few tools, and when I turn around with the rest of them, she’s already sitting on the ground, working on getting the front wheel off.

Not afraid to get dirty. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again, she could not be any more perfect. I watch her for a moment longer, initially to see if she knows what she’s doing, but that’s quickly amended when she slides the tire off and carries it over to the workbench.

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