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“Oh, no,” he reassured her. “Maybe tomorrow...” When Abby bit her lip, he continued, “Or next week sometime?”
Outwasn’t really her thing. And Scott owed her nothing for doing her job. Well, her used-to-be job. But as she opened her mouth to say no, Gen whined. When Abby glanced down, the dog dropped into a play bow.
“See, she’s saying yes.” Scott grinned, his stupid dimple deepening.
She wasn’t saying yes; she hadn’t been taught that command. But Abby couldn’t help the small smile sneaking across her lips as she watched her silly dog buttering up Scott in the hopes of getting him to play.
“Okay,” she relented. “Sure, maybe next week sometime.”
Four
CARA INSISTED ON coming over beforehand to help Abby pick out her clothes.
“It’s not a date. It’s coffee,” she reiterated, yet again. “It’s to say thanks for helping his son.”
“It’s not a date,yet,” Cara replied, holding up one finger. “It will be by the time I’m done with you.”
Abby’s throat dried out and she swallowed hard. “Please, no.”
Cara spun to face her. “Fine, I won’t hold out hope, but this is the first time you’ve been out with anyone other than me in literalyears. I’m not passing up this chance to be girly with you.”
“I wasn’t planning to dress up,” Abby mumbled.
“Blah, blah, blah.” Cara made a talking mouth out of her hand and rolled her eyes at Abby. “Let me have my fun. Scrubs do no one any favors, and you can hardly wear leggings and a tank top.”
“You love your scrubs.”
Cara had at least fifty different patterns, from pink and glittery fairies to rainbow-hued dump trucks. She got it from her father, who firmly believed working in pediatrics required a healthy dose of whimsy.
“I do, because the kids love them. I do not, however, wear them on a date.”
Abby sighed. “It’s not a date, Cara. It’s just...”
“Coffee. I know.” Cara rolled her eyes. “I heard you the first six hundred times.”
Abby folded the clothes they’d already rejected, stacking them neatly at the foot of the bed. Turning, she froze as Cara pulled a breezy sundress from the closet.
She wavered on her feet. “Not that one.”
Cara held it up to herself and spun around, watching the skirt flair. “Are you sure?” She glanced at Abby, then hurried to hang the dress back up. “Sorry.”
Abby’s hands shook. “It’s fine. Pick out a top and I’ll wear some nice jeans.”
“And the boots? You know how much I love those boots.”
Abby shot Cara an indulgent half smile. “You picked them out for me; of course you love them.”
“You love them, too. Don’t act like you don’t.”
Abby tapped a finger against her chin, pretending to consider, but when Cara balled up her fists and set them on her hips, Abby relented. “You know I love the boots.”
Abby reached into the clean laundry bin by the bedroom door and dug around until she found Gen’s vest. Brushing a few stray bits of lint from the bright red canvas, she smoothed the heavy fabric between her hands.
“You’re not bringing Gen, are you?” Cara frowned at Abby. “You know she’s a giant distraction, and you’re always paying attention to her instead of the people you’re with.”
Abby flinched. “I don’t do that. Do I?”
Cara shrugged, expression shuttering as she dove back into the closet. “Here, this one.” She handed Abby a floral printed top.