Page 19 of Rescue

Abby downs the restof her wine before reaching for my empty glass. “Well, I’d better get the kitchen cleaned up,” she announces, her tone deliberately casual.

“I’ll help,” I say, standing before she has a chance to argue.

She turns, eyebrows raised, a playful smirk on her lips. “You don’t have to. You’re a guest.”

“I insist,” I reply, already heading toward the sink.

“You’re stubborn, aren’t you?” she teases, depositing plates on the counter as I roll up my sleeves.

“Efficient,” I correct, grabbing a sponge. “Stubborn is a little harsh.”

Abigail chuckles, shaking her head. “Fine. But you wash and I dry.”

I grin faintly, picking up the first plate. “Fair.”

We fall into an easy rhythm—me washing, her drying and putting things away.

“So,” Abigail begins, glancing at me sideways. “Are you always this grumpy?”

I glance at her, taken aback. “Grumpy? I’m not grumpy.”

Her lips twitch with a smile as she polishes a small bowl. “Sure, you’re a bundle of joy and positivity.”

“Hey, not everyone can be a little Miss Sunshine like you and your daughter. I’m very chilled,” I say, mock-seriousness in my tone. “Ask anyone.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” she quips. “They’d all say, ‘Jon Peterson? That guy’s a hoot.’”

I narrow my eyes at her, reaching for the next plate. “You’ve got a real talent for sarcasm.”

“And you’ve got a talent for scowling,” she shoots back, her eyes dancing with mischief.

I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “Unbelievable.”

Without warning, Abigail dips her hand in the bowl in the sink and flicks water towards me. “That’s for calling me sarcastic,” she says, grinning wickedly.

I blink, water dripping from my chin. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”

I take off my glasses because they are splattered with water and place them on the kitchen counter.

She shrugs, her grin widening. “What are you going to do about it?”

Before I can think twice, I copy her, aiming for her shoulder. She shrieks, laughing as she tries to dodge. “Jon!” she cries, swiping at the water with her dish towel.

“It’s fair game,” I say, laughing as she dips her hand in the sink again.

We’re both laughing now as we splash each other. Abigail’s cheeks flush, her laughter echoing in the smallkitchen, and for a moment, I forget everything but this—this ridiculous, messy, joy-filled moment.

Then, suddenly, she slips, her hand brushing against mine as she tries to steady herself. My arm shoots out on instinct, sliding around her waist and steading her. The laughter fades as we freeze, our faces inches apart, breath mingling in the humid air.

Her eyes meet mine, wide and searching, and the world seems to narrow down to just us. I don’t move, don’t breathe, as if one wrong step could shatter whatever’s hanging in the balance.

“Abigail...” I murmur, barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t reply, her gaze flicking to my mouth, then back to my eyes. Slowly, tentatively, I reach for her waist with my other arm, my hand settling lightly against her curvy hip. She leans in, her breath catching, and her fingers brush against my arm.

Time slows as we close the distance, the kiss a gentle meeting of lips, warm and hesitant. It’s soft, exploratory, a question neither of us has asked aloud but both seem to answer in unison.

Her lips part slightly, and I feel a surge of desire rush through me as our tongues touch for the first time. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and passionate. My hand slides from her hip to the small of her back, pulling her closer to me.

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