Page 53 of Grit
Melissa stared at Cary. He was cocky, cranky, and infuriating, overly confident and utterly charming. And he was staring at a middle-grade graphic novel with the sweetest expression on his face.
Without a word, she hooked her arm around his neck, pulled his mouth down to hers, and kissed him. She stepped into his body, waiting for his arms—those strong, steady arms—to wrap around her.
There.
She was enveloped by him, surrounded by solid strength. She let out a long sigh and kept kissing him. The tension that lived in her back drained away. Her mind quieted.
There you are.
She closed her eyes and let go, knowing that he would hold her up. When their lips finally parted, all the cockiness was stripped from his expression, and he was the one who looked shocked.
“Café Georgette.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I want to go to Café Georgette this weekend. I love their french onion soup. Let’s go Saturday. I want to dress up, so you better pick me up looking fancy.”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “I’ll be there.”
Chapter Twelve
Early on Saturday morning,Melissa loaded a sleepy Abby, a crate of vegetables from her mom, and a head full of worries in her truck and pointed it west toward Paso Robles. She coasted down the foothills and across the valley, making the hour-long trek to Kettleman City, where Abby’s grandfather or grandmother would meet her.
After Calvin died, Melissa had been keenly aware that Abby was Greg and Beverly’s last link to their son. And while she didn’t always get along with her in-laws, she knew they adored her daughter. Melissa might have never felt like family in the Rhodes clan, but Abby was. She would grow up understanding a level of privilege that Melissa didn’t. When she reached the age of thirty, she’d receive a trust fund worth more than Melissa and Joan’s entire ranch was worth.
How did you raise a levelheaded kid when one side of their family told them they were a cut above the rest of the world by no more virtue than the name they were born with?
She glanced over at her daughter, watching as Abby slowly roused herself from slumber and rubbed her eyes. She recognized the exact moment when Abby remembered where they were going by the spark of excitement that lit her eyes.
Abby sat up straighter. “I’m going to see Sunny today.”
“You sure are.”
“And I have my first jumping lesson tomorrow.”
Melissa kept her voice level. “Yes, you do. Now, you realize you’re not going to go jumping over rocks and rivers right away. You remember that, right? There’s an entirely different set of skills you need to—”
“I remember, Mom.”
Melissafeltthe eye roll even if she didn’t see it.
Fine, kid. Pretend your mom knows nothing and Antonio the Great knows all.
From the way Abby spoke about him, Melissa was fairly sure the Spanish riding instructor that Beverly and Greg had hired was not only an expert in jumping and dressage but also walked on water.
She kept her eyes on the road, bypassing the turnoff for Metlin and cruising under the 99 freeway. She turned up the radio, leaving the music on the easy, rolling rhythm of “Tiger Striped Sky.” On days she took Abby to the coast, Joan opened the booth at the farmers’ market, though Melissa would be able to join her by nine or ten.
She shoved a fruit smoothie toward Abby, followed by a granola bar and a container of yogurt. Once the preteen lump had been fed, she magically transformed into her usual energetic self.
“I’ve been doing all the exercises Antonio recommended.” She sat up, nearly wiggling in her seat.
“That’s good.” She kept her eyes on the road. “Is anyone taking lessons with you? Or is it just you and Grandpa?”
“Me and Grandpa mostly. Sometimes Grandma.”
“Does Aunt Audrey ever join you?”
“Aunt Audrey?” Abby’s brow was furrowed. “Aunt Audrey doesn’t ride.”
