Page 15 of Austen, Edited

Chapter 8

Greyson waited to hear back from Abby on Sunday afternoon. If only his mother hadn’t specifically mentioned Hannah with Abby sitting next to him. He’d gone over the entire evening dozens of times, the playful banter they’d always shared to the awkward silence of watching the movie. Abby had made sure to sit at least six inches away from him at all times from the moment he’d asked her to stay and left right away after the movie was over, saying she needed to be ready for the party the next day.

And now here he was, waiting for her to answer him. She’d served at her aunt’s garden party the day before and hadn’t had time to talk. The more he thought about it, he wished the Harringtons could see she was more than just a person they could use as their personal servant. But he hadn’t treated her much better when he’d headed off to Princeton.

He grabbed a basketball from the garage bins and headed out to shoot. His mother hadn’t wanted a basketball hoop in her perfect layout of a home and landscape, but his father had lobbied for the boys, knowing it was something he himself used to do to wind down after a long day of work. They’d decided to put it on the side of the house nearest the Harrington home, and it was this that allowed him to watch the house and see if Abby would ever emerge.

He’d played for over fifteen minutes and was starting to tire of waiting when the garage door opened. After another shot, he ran to retrieve the ball, which had bounced out of the net and spun the other direction into the backyard. By the time he got it and came back, he saw the trunk to Abby’s small car open, but no one was outside.

He pretended to shoot another shot when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Setting the ball against his hip, he walked over.

“Hey. Are you moving today?”

Abby jumped, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You scared me!” She took a few deep breaths and then said, “Yeah, Tiffany has been bugging me all day to move in. Then I can have some time tomorrow to hang out before classes officially begin.”

Greyson tossed the ball on the grass and pushed one of the boxes already in the trunk to the side so Abby could place the box she was holding inside.

“Thanks,” she said, breaking her gaze away from him sooner than usual. Was she worried about something?

“Let me help you with the rest.” He followed her back into the house, the smell of apples and cinnamon churning up even more memories of the past.

“You really don’t have to help. It’s not much.” Abby trotted up the steps with Greyson close behind.

She was so stubborn sometimes, but he kind of liked that about her. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t have anything going on right now anyway. I’d love to help.” His words must have sparked some feeling inside her because she stared at him with a wary eye, finally nodding several seconds later.

It had been what seemed like a lifetime since he’d been up there. Her room was basically an attic/bonus room that the Harringtons had never fully used. In one section to the left, Abby had hung a large sheet, which he knew hid all the surplus junk that didn’t fit into any of the dozens of closets throughout the home.

“It’s been ages since I’ve been up here. You still have that boy band poster up?” He laughed, pointing to the poster over her headboard. The one he’d teased her about from the moment she’d hung it on the wall. The way she’d fantasized about the lead band member back then suddenly filled him with a jealousy he hadn’t anticipated. What would it be like to be in a relationship with Abby?

Stepping on the brakes, he shook his head and focused on the present.

She shrugged, the corner of her mouth pulling up a bit. “What can I say? I’m a fan for life.”

Greyson chuckled and shook his head. “I still can’t understand what you like about Cold Star. Their lyrics are like wannabe country/rap/pop.”

“I don’t think that’s even possible,” Abby said, grinning at him.

The space was small, but when it came to Abby, everything had its place. Her bed even looked like a maid had come in and professionally made it, even though he knew that wasn’t the case. The maid only worked on the other two floors of the home.

It only took them two more trips to get everything to her car. When they’d stuffed the trunk and backseat full, Greyson stood back, not excited that she was leaving already. They still had a day and a half before school started only ten minutes away from the house. He wanted to spend more time with her, hoping to smooth over whatever she’d felt from the other night after the conversation with his mother. And needing to feel like they were making progress in getting back to where their relationship had been before he’d left.

“Did you get a parking pass this year?” he asked, leaning against the car.

She shook her head. “No, I was just going to unload everything and then park it overnight. Tiffany said she’d follow me back in the morning to take me back to campus.”

“Why don’t I just drive you? I can bring the car back, and you won’t have the hassle or worry of getting a ticket or, worse, towed.” His hand had been waving in the air, emphasizing most of his words, and he dropped it to his side, feeling awkward.

With a shrug, she said, “Okay. If you don’t mind. I don’t want to take you from anything.”

“Abigail Price,” he said with some force. “It’s me, Greyson. Doing this is just a given.” Although there were several moments in their past when it definitely hadn’t been, regardless, he pushed those thoughts aside and opened the passenger door, folding himself into the front seat.

She slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, causing a squeal from one of the belts in the engine.

“You need to get that fixed.”

“I know,” she said, a touch of irritation in her voice. “I’ve been trying to save for textbooks and food this semester. I’ll fix it during Christmas break.” Her focus was on the road ahead, and with the way she bit her lower lip, he knew she was worried about something.

He reached over and covered her hand on the shifter, giving her a quick squeeze to comfort her. What he really wanted to do was yell about how unfairly Abby’s aunt and uncle treated her, his blood already simmering even as his pulse leaped from touching her.

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