How to Knit a Love Song (28 page)

She was no Betty. She was Abigail. That’s all he needed. He held her hand tightly and they ran.

Chapter Twenty-eight

While you’re knitting the yoke, if you grow bored, think about buttons. It’s always delightful to think about buttons.

—
E.C.

W
hat had gotten into her? She didn’t make out with and—oh, Lord—give hand jobs to men during her own parties. She didn’t even
have
parties. Especially with men who were on other dates. Did that make her the other woman, if only for ten minutes? And she most certainly didn’t run out of said party with said man, fishtailing up the driveway at sixty miles per hour. Cade hadn’t even turned on the headlights in the rapidly dropped evening, not wanting to attract any attention. Abigail’s heart rate increased as they raced up the small hill in the dark. Cade obviously knew every curve of the road, but that didn’t slow her pulse.

Or was it him? Sitting in the darkened cab of his truck, she was suddenly at a complete loss as to what to say.

Did he feel like this, too? Was he as nervous as she was?

God, of course not. Look at him. Manhandling the wheel, palming it. Caressing it.

She had to get herself back under control. Abigail put her cell phone back in her pocket.

“You send that text message?” he asked. They’d reached the main road now and he flipped on his headlights. Abigail was relieved to be able to clearly see the road in front of her.

“Yeah, I told her that we were going to the hospital.”

“Did you really? That might not have been the best thing. They’re all going to show up there looking for us. Did you give a reason?”

“I said you’d tried something in the kitchen and that I’d popped you in the nose and started a nosebleed that I couldn’t stop. And that I was going to drop you off and then go get more liquor, since that one woman with the sequins…”

“The one sitting closest to the fireplace?”

“That one, had drunk it all.”

“You said all that on your phone? Right now?”

“Basically. She knows me well enough to read between the lines.”

“Well enough to know that maybe we needed to be alone?”

“That well. She’ll do our dirty work for us,” Abigail said.

“I don’t want her to do
all
our dirty work.”

Abigail couldn’t respond. She was too busy tightening her hand into a small ball in her lap, releasing it, clutching it again. She wanted to place it on his lap, on that thigh that she knew from experience was exactly as firm and strong as it looked, but she couldn’t.

They shouldn’t be on a date. They weren’t the kind of people that dated each other. Abigail dated white-collar men, men who enjoyed Chardonnays and quiet sex, and Cade, well, he dated women with big breasts who liked to sing karaoke and had favorite brands of whiskey. Okay, and Betty, who was a mathematician. But who
looked
like she probably loved karaoke.

She stared out the truck window. They were getting closer to the shoreline, and he turned south down the coast road. They were going into town. Out to eat. On a date.

She’d forgotten what this felt like.

What it felt like when something was important. When someone was important.

They ate at a small restaurant in Cypress Hollow near the water, an expensive one that she’d heard of but hadn’t been to since she moved to town. It wasn’t the kind of place you went with friends: the dining room was filled with people gazing romantically into each other’s eyes.

Abigail had a hard time not falling into this demographic.

Cade looked so good. He looked like he belonged here. In the candlelight, she could make out small laugh or weather lines around his eyes. They suited him, she thought. He’d be too perfect without them.

They had martinis, crab cakes for an appetizer, steak and lobster for dinner. She went slowly so she didn’t get juice all over her clothes. Sometimes her sweater felt too tight, and too low cut. She tugged at the neckline more than she should have. Every time she did, his eyes followed.

“Do you mind if I knit?” Abigail pulled a sock-in-progress out of her purse. It might not be the most polite thing to do, knitting in a nice restaurant, but she had to ease these nerves somehow. He shook his head.

They made small talk.

“Have you ever traveled?” she asked. “Do you like to?”

“Never had time. Been working ever since I got out of school. During school, too.” He cleared his throat. “What about you?”

He was only being polite but she clutched at the question.

“I love traveling. It’s my favorite thing in the world, I think. Venice. I love Venice best. But Paris is lovely. And Prague. New Zealand! You’d love New Zealand.”

“Sheep.”

“Yes, sheep.”

The food came. She dropped the sock onto her lap.

Cade ate gracefully. Abigail felt like she was all thumbs.

She cracked a piece of the lobster tail with her fork. She hit it too hard and a glob of lobster landed on her sweater. She cleaned it off with her napkin, willing him to look away from her red face. But he didn’t. He gazed at her.

Her hands shook.

She told him about her father and aunts who raised her, she asked what he did in his leisure time, and she listened as he spoke of his newfound interest in woodcarving.

It was a quiet restaurant, all dim candlelight and soft edges, the waiters speaking in muted sonorous tones, the patrons matching their tone. But Abigail could hardly hear Cade’s voice over the roar of blood pounding.

“And Tom? How long have you known him?”

“Tom’s family. I feel like he’s been around forever. He worked for Eliza before he worked for me….” He trailed off. His eyes rested somewhere over Abigail’s left shoulder.

“Was he ever married?”

“What?” Cade looked back at her. It seemed like it took some effort. “Yeah, married once. She died. He was heartbroken. Um…” His eyes left hers again, gazing again over her shoulder.

Abigail turned. A gorgeous woman, dressed in a low-cut little black dress, sat at the table behind them. Her hair was up in a smooth French knot, emphasizing the length of her neck.

Her heart hurt. She turned back to Cade. One more try.

“When was that?”

“What?”

“How long ago did she die?”

Now he wasn’t even trying to hide it, openly staring behind her. He craned his neck to get a better look.

Abigail took her napkin out of her lap and threw it on the table. “Take me home.”

He barely glanced at her. He half stood, looking over her shoulder harder.

“Seriously? No wonder you can’t get a girlfriend!” She sounded as shrill as she felt.

“Sorry, hang on….”

“You’ve
got
to be kidding me.”

Cade pushed his chair out from behind him, not seeming to care that it fell over backward, hitting the man at the table behind him.

“Wha…”

“Call 911!” Cade yelled to the hovering waiter.

Abigail turned around again. The man at the table with the beautiful blond was shaking. His lips were blue, the rest of his face mottled. Cade lifted him to a standing position while sweeping his chair out from under him. Cade’s arms went around the man from behind, and using both hands, he jerked his balled fist up under the man’s ribs.

The man stayed blue. His eyes rolled back in his head. The blond screamed.

Cade jerked his fist up into the man’s ribs again. A dark-colored piece of food flew out of the man’s mouth. His eyes opened and he gasped like a large fish.

The following moments were chaotic—the man was embarrassed and grateful and wheezing; the blond cried and clung to the man after kissing Cade on the cheek. The paramedics arrived.

So did dessert.

They finished dinner in silence. She was so stupid. He was a hero, and she was a moron.

Cade paid, dismissing her efforts to give him money.

He helped her with her coat.

He opened her door for her, and smiled. He drove in the direction of the boardwalk.

Abigail wanted to scream with frustration. How long was this date going to take? When could they go home, where she might remember who she was?

When was he going to touch her again?

They didn’t speak as he parked, and he took her hand as they walked out onto the sand. They both slipped out of their shoes and carried them, still without speaking.

She should comment on the beauty of the night. A low harvest moon drooped in the sky, painting a silvery ladder against the water. She should say something about it, something smart about the angle of the moon, or something romantic about the feeling in the air.

But she had a feeling that if she spoke, she’d either break the mood or she wouldn’t be able to control the words, and they’d pour out of her.

And she wasn’t sure what she would end up saying.

So Abigail stayed quiet as they walked, as he led her down the deserted beach toward the pier. The moon was so bright she could see the ripples in the sand, the footprints of people and dogs who’d walked here earlier today. Had any of them felt as nervous as she did? Had the setting seemed as surreal to them as it did to her?

Cade took her by the hand and led her under the pier.

Abigail said, “I’m sorry. About the way I was. In the restaurant.”

He turned to face her and raised his eyebrows.

“You were amazing. You saved his life. I didn’t know what you were doing, what you were going to do.”

“Neither did I. But I know what I’m doing now.”

He leaned down and kissed her, no part of their bodies touching but their lips. And in the kiss, she could feel every part of him, his strength, his heat. She kissed him back, conveying everything that she couldn’t say. This was what her body needed, wanted, craved.

Him. Just him.

For a long moment she was able to hold her body away from his, almost as an experiment. How long could she bear it? To not touch him with anything but her mouth when her whole body craved the intimacy of him pressed against her.

Cade gave up first, and she was glad to give in. He grasped her by the shoulders and moved her backward, stepping forward against her, until her back was pressed against a piling. Then he was against her, full-length and hard as he’d been before, in the pantry.

She couldn’t breathe, her head spun. She had no idea where her hands went or where his were going. They moved against each other in the dark in ways that Abigail would have normally found shocking. If she’d been walking the beach and been witness to something like this, she would have been mildly offended. Get a room. Take it somewhere else. Pull your clothes down, up, back into place.

But it wasn’t someone else, it was her clothing being moved and rearranged. It was her hand pulling at Cade’s belt, loosening the top button….

His lips moved more quietly now against hers, and his hands stilled hers.

“We should probably go,” he said.

“Y-yes. You’re right.” Abigail twisted out of his arms, away from the piling, which, now that she thought about it, had most likely left tar on the back of her clothing. Great. Focus on anything. The tar, the beautiful scenery. Anything but why he was stopping them.

“I’m sorry,” Cade said.

“I know. Me, too. I let myself get a little carried away.” She shook her head. “No, a lot carried away. I apologize.”

“No, don’t, there’s nothing for you to apologize about.”

She walked back toward the stairs they’d come down. “You started it.”

“The kiss?”

“The apology. But the kiss, too.”

“Right.”

Abigail turned to face him. His green eyes in the moonlight were a brilliant surprise. “Why did you take me down here, then? Without talking? And now you want to go?”

He spread his hands out in front of him. “Did I make a mistake? I don’t actually enjoy sand in my underwear or other sensitive places, but I’ll do it for you.”

“Was that the whole plan?”

He walked past her, striding quickly.

“I know you must have a reason.”

Without turning around, he called over his shoulder, “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Make a girl crazy?” She caught up to him and pulled on his elbow. “It worked.”

“No, I’ve always wanted to take someone here. In the moonlight.”

“Nice line, buddy. You can’t tell me you never have.”

“I never have. I don’t take women to the beach.”

“So this is like taking me home to Mom?”

“Yep, only you don’t have to pretend to like stroganoff.”

“It was a test?”

“Don’t worry. You passed.” He held out his hand. She slipped her hand in his.

This was all right, then. She hadn’t made a mistake.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Let’s go home.”

She had no idea where this was going, holding his hand like this, letting her heart get entangled. She was caught up in his eyes and his hands and the moonlight. But she trusted him.

And she wanted more.

“Drive fast,” Abigail said.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Hold bamboo needles firmly, so the yarn doesn’t slip. Move stitches neatly and joyfully, from one needle to the next. But don’t clutch the work too tightly or the needles will snap and your work will unravel.

—
E.C.

H
e drove fast, speeding through town. He took curves ten miles an hour faster than she would have ever attempted, even in daylight. But Abigail felt safe. She felt cocooned inside the cab of the truck, steady and happy in the knowledge of what was going to happen when they got home.

Home. Where they lived.

Under completely unnatural conditions.

But for now it worked for her.

When they got home, she’d be seductive. She’d take her time wooing him, leading him through the house, perhaps taking one piece of clothing off at a time, trailing him, panting, behind her.