Would it really have been worth the risk to take him up on his offer to let him come over and fix the wall? They both knew the wall was just an excuse to get him over to her place and into her pants. It seemed like a valid excuse, really.
He’d followed her down Eric’s driveway. When she tried to open the car door, he leaned his hip against it, blocking her from leaving. “Let me fix your wall,” he said. “I promise nothing will happen. Whether that guy on the phone is a boyfriend or not, I won’t touch you. Promise.” She’d tried to tell him that she’d already fixed it. The sarcastic rise of his dark brow told her he knew better.
Abigail looked over at the plaster mess splattered like a white blob on the wall. When he’d pulled her against his strong body, she’d lost the battle. He’d said, “Please, baby, let me fix this. Please.” She’d let him hug her for what seemed like forever, then pushed him aside and sped out of the cul-de-sac.
Abigail padded into the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee. She had to get back to the office, back into the swing of things. Back to being lonely. Thankfully, the phone didn’t ring with anymore creepy messages from her ex, and the only e-mails she’d received were updates from her mother regarding the Fourth of July party at the lake house. Panic shivered up her spine. Only two weeks remained until she had to make the flight to New York. The thought of skipping her parents’ party crossed her mind. The thought of her mother’s chastising rant also crossed her thoughts. She was afraid of her mother’s tirade, her father’s questions, her sister’s curiosity about why she was still single, returning to the same state as her ex. Driving past the cemetery.
Her life had been spread across a creek, feet treading from one stony fear to the next, trying to skip from birth to death. She was the one who’d coldcocked Jimmy Davidson in the fourth grade for calling her fat. One stone. She was the one who’d mowed lawns to buy her first car, a 1985 Camaro, without her father’s handout. One stone. She was the one who’d survived spilling a third of her blood onto the floor. One stone. Yes, she was capable of being more than a victim. I am capable of living.
“Penelope, let’s get ready! We’re going to work today,” she said as she carried a fresh cup of coffee into the bathroom. “I’m not going to hide in here, waiting to die. Not anymore.”
* * * *
“You want to plan a party?” Ron asked as he sat in the chair across from Abigail’s desk. “What kind of party?”
Abigail flipped another glossy page in the costume catalog. “Something intimate. Just you and me and Eric and Sean. We could go camping. I’ve decided not to go to my parents’ annual cookout. I’m sure Carl would let us use his place. We could have hot dogs and s’mores.”
“You’re crushing on this guy really hard.”
Abigail snapped another page. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “He can come and help set things up, you know? I’m going to need help getting things ready and it’d be great if—”
Ron laughed. “Slow down, Abs. I get it. Do you want something like a hog roast or campfire stuff?”
“Campfire stuff, I think. Oh, let’s make it like a summer-camp theme. It’ll be fun. Carl’s got some tents we could borrow. We could play badminton and volleyball.”
“Well, all right, Ms. Moneybucks. I’ll call Thomas. We can use the money in petty cash. I’d think since you’re inviting Sean and me, and we’re employees, we could use business money.”
Abigail held up the magazine. A buxom blonde was sprawled on a chair dressed in a French maid’s costume. “I want to order this in all the sizes. Get them in black and pink. Oh, and I’m letting Thomas go. He couldn’t manage a checkbook, let alone my business. Hey, what about ribs?”
Ron stood up so fast the chair tipped back. “What the hell, Abigail? He’s been with us since the beginning. He’s a really nice guy.”
She went back to flipping through the catalog. “Yes, he is, but I have to do what’s best for the business. Sean checked my books and found out that he’s not such a wise accountant. He had my books in a mess. So I’ll pay for the party out of my personal account. And you get a raise.”
“Well,” Ron said, “sounds like Sean really knows his stuff. That college degree wasn’t just something pretty to put on his application.”
“No, he’s really smart, and he knows how to do accounting and investing. He can keep books, manage accounts, and even put together different business plans. He’s really amazing. What? Why are you smiling like that?”