“Robbing the cradle these days, Blake?” a soft woman’s voice asked.
Gillian looked up and noticed for the first time the beautiful blonde standing next to the table. Someone who obviously knew Blake very well.
He frowned. “She’s an amazing woman. You’d like her. She’s tough, like you.”
Blake didn’t mind running into Abigail. He hated the guilt that seeing her unleashed deep inside him, where he tried to bury it most days. The scar along her jaw would forever be a reminder of how being wild in his youth had almost cost her her life. Since that disastrous day, he’d played things straight. Reined in his reckless nature for a more cautious and thoughtful existence. Look at his relationship with Gillian and the way he tried to protect her, keep her safe, give her the time and space she needed to settle into their relationship. It worked. She trusted him now. He’d do anything to keep that bond.
“She’s pretty. What’s her name?”
Blake caught a glimpse of Gillian’s dress behind Abigail. He leaned to the side and didn’t like the scared, unsure look on her face. He rose to go to her before he consciously thought about it. Every instinct to protect her flared to life despite the fact that he didn’t see any danger, or reason for her pale skin and wide, fearful eyes.
“Gillian, sweetheart, are you okay?” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side.
“Fine,” she said too fast. Yeah, he knew that false “fine” all too well. He’d get the little white liar to fess up in a minute.
“Gillian, I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m Abigail. Blake and I go way back.”
Blake dreaded the explanation ahead. He didn’t want his past to intrude on his night with Gillian. He’d planned a romantic evening. Something special she’d never done with anyone else. A night for them to remember.
“Uh, hi.” Gillian held out her hand to shake, but her gaze stayed on the scar on Abigail’s face.
Abigail took her hand, turned Gillian’s arm, and stared at the scars on Gillian’s shoulder and neck. “Did he dare you to a race, too?”
Gillian pulled her hand free. “No. I hit a car,” she said automatically.
“I hit a tree,” Abigail said back. “Not Blake’s fault, but he’s going to tell you that it was.” Abigail turned her focus to him. “I didn’t listen to you. I didn’t stop. I took the risk because I wanted to beat you.”
Blake didn’t know what to say. Everyone told him, including Abigail, that the accident wasn’t his fault. He’d never believed them, but tonight he saw that fateful day more clearly and realized he owned part of the responsibility, but she had her part to bear, too.
Abigail glanced at Gillian and back to him. “Things happen for a reason. I’m here tonight with my husband.”
“How is Gary?” Blake asked, happy she’d found someone special.
“Wonderful. We’re celebrating. Two years married, and I’m pregnant.”
“Congratulations. You deserve every happiness,” Blake said, genuinely meaning those words.
“So do you, Blake. Gillian, so nice to meet you. I saw the smile you put on this one’s face when you came in earlier. I’ve never seen him smile like that.”
Gillian glanced up at him and back to Abigail. “Nice to meet you, too. I’m sorry I’m not myself right now. I hope to see you again.”
“You will. Small town and all. Enjoy your evening.”
Abigail squeezed his forearm as she passed and gave him a smile. Blake held Gillian’s chair for her and took his seat beside her again. The other patrons went back to their meal now that Blake, Abigail, and Gillian weren’t the center of attention.
Blake took Gillian’s hand and squeezed to get her attention. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she said automatically. He waited her out. “I, um, saw someone.”
“Who?”
Her gaze finally came up from her plate to meet his. “My father. It happened again. Like with Gabe. I got confused, or my mind played tricks on me . . . I don’t know.”
“Gillian, did someone come up to you outside? Did they touch you?”
“No. No. Nothing like that. I’m not even sure anymore if someone was really there. I’m sorry. It’s nothing. Really. Let’s not spoil the evening.” She took a sip of her drink. Her eyes went wide on him. “Is this peach iced tea?”
“Your favorite.”
“It’s nice they serve it here.”
“They don’t. I got it for you.” Blake picked up his beer—the first one he’d had in front of her—and took a deep swallow. She didn’t even notice or comment.