Page 8 of Single Girl in the City
“Uh huh.”
She glanced at her bike in the bed of his truck and back to him. “You sure you can wait? I get it if you have to go.”
What kind of people did she have around her that would let her ride her kiddie bike in the rain? It was as if she expected him to explain that it was too much of a bother to wait. “I’m sure.”
She still didn’t look convinced. “I’ll be just a minute. I promise.” She shut the door, then reopened it. “No peeking.”
“What’s the fun in that?”
“I mean it. This is awkward enough.” The door slammed shut. She watched traffic, skipping over three very clear openings, waiting until there were no cars in sight before crossing. By the time she made it to the driveway, her hair was stuck to her face and she was dripping wet.
He reached in the back to grab his coat for when she came back and that’s when he noticed it. The notebook that she’d practically kneed him in the nuts to get. It was in her purse, right there for God, Buddha, and Elvis Presley to see. If it was in plain sight, it wasn’t exactly snooping, now was it.
There was nothing special about it. Just a plain black-and-white composition book. But on the front, in bold black lettering, readgood deeds by abi.Which was equally as intriguing as it was amusing. It explained a lot, while at the same time evoking more questions than answers.
He wasn’t the kind of guy to violate someone’s privacy and Abi took her privacy seriously—point in fact that he knew jack shit about her other than he wanted to get her naked.
Telling himself that the contents of that journal were off-limits, he turned his attention back to Abi, who was still standing on the stoop, a few steps away from the front door. Even from across the street he could see her shivering.
He was about to get out of the car and bring her his coat when she walked up the last of the steps and reached the front door. She lifted her hand to knock, then hesitated, as if second-guessing her mission. She looked over her shoulder and he gave her thumbs up.
What the hell? When had he become a ‘thumbs up’ kind of guy? Next, he’d start saying shit likeBT DubsorTotes.
With a nervous nod, she turned back around. And just when he thought she was going to bail, she held her chin up, secured her red nose in place, and knocked. A moment passed and she shifted back and forth, but her chin didn’t drop. She waited another long minute and turned to leave when the door opened.
He could practically hear her sigh. She gave a cute shimmy with her backside and shuffled her feet as if giving a little tap dance. The startled look on the other woman’s face said that Winkie hadn’t exactly made the guest list. Abi must have explained things because suddenly a heard of pocket-sized people gathered at the door and Abi launched into a dance act.
As promised, he didn’t watch, but he did roll down the window to listen. She was as talented at singing as she was at riding a bike. He could hear her tapping away, singing some mash-up between “Happy Birthday” and “Singin’ in the Rain” and,God help her, was she adorably awful.
He’d always thought of her as standoffish the mornings he’d seen her at the tea shop, at least with him, but he was beginning to think that maybe he’d gotten it wrong.
When she came back to the truck, looking like Bozo in a car wash, he laughed. An honest-to-god, from-the-gut laugh. And it felt good.
“You promised no peeking.”
“You didn’t say anything about listening.”
Pressing her lips in a firm line, which didn’t hide her amused grin, she hopped in. Cranking the heater to full, he pointed the vents at the waterlogged woman shivering beside him. She huddled around the vent, rubbing her hands back and forth.
“There’s some tea in that thermos.” He pointed his chin to the mug in the console. “It’s all yours.”
“You sure?” She was eyeballing it like she’d die of frostbite if he said no,.
“You can spot me a tea when I walk you into work.”
She picked up the thermos, her hands a little unsteady as she undid the top and moaned at the bittersweet scent filling up the cab of the truck. “Blue jasmine?” She eyed him over the steam rising from the cup. “And soy milk.”
Owen shrugged. He didn’t care what she thought—one sip and she’d know it was a damn fine way to take tea.
Abi took a tentative sip and closed her eyes. “Okay, it isn’t awful.”
“Isn’t awful?” He lifted a brow. “Care to change your opinion?”
“No,” she said, taking another hearty sip.
“Because that would mean admitting I was right?”
She gave a cute little shrug and went back to gulping down his tea. When her fingers were no longer purple and her chattering teeth had quieted to white noise, he heard himself ask, “Where to next?”
