Page 9

The banter came easily, authentically. Yes, that was his general impression of Abby. Authentic, from her simple, blond ponytail to the way her skin glowed honey-golden, a true tan from her time as a runner, instead of a fake, orange-tinted color. Athletic, too, but not the kind that came from hours in the gym toning each individual muscle group; the kind that told you what activities she liked, if you could read it. Scott could.
Her comment about his strength might have rankled from anyone else, might have reminded him he’d been little more than a commodity in others’ eyes for a long, long time. But from her, the gentle teasing invited him into the joke, rather than forcing him to be the butt of it. Though she looked nothing like his best friend—with her sparkling green eyes, fringed by the palest of lashes, she reminded him of Finn—who didn’t shy away from telling things to him straight, but did it in a way that Scott never doubted he had his back. Finn would like Abby.
“So, trumpet, and really smart. Does Dylan play any sports?”
Scott forced himself to pause before answering. The quick answer, theeasyanswer would have been, “Not the right one,” but he didn’t let the words slip out. His son was his own person, not simply a younger reflection of himself.
“This and that. I try to keep him in something for most of the year, but he hasn’t found his passion, yet. We do a lot of swim lessons – kind of a necessity around here – and he likes soccer, but not the kids he plays with. He’s kind of...” Scott paused as he thought about how to best describe his son. “He’scerebral, I guess. I don’t always know what to do with that. He’s a lot like... Well, he’s not a lot like me, so we’re still figuring it out.”
He caught her glance as it dropped to his left hand, wrapped around the handle of his coffee mug.
“And his mom?”
Scott gritted his teeth. He’d left that one wide open. “Every other holiday and one week in the summer. Otherwise, not in the picture. Not for a long time.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s long past.”
Abby took another sip of her coffee, then obligingly changed the subject. It should have been awkward. It wasn’t. “So, we’ve talked about my work and Dylan. What about you? What do you do?”
Most people expected a certain range of answers when they asked that question: doctor, lawyer, accountant, or perhaps car salesman or marketing director. Scott found people’s reactions funny when his answer wasn’t any of those, but in that brief moment, he hoped for a positive response from Abby.
“Actually, I play football.”
Her expression froze as she processed his statement, then recognition flashed across her face.
“Scott Edwards, quarterback for the Raptors... I can’t believe I didn’t realize...” She bit her lip and shook her head, shifting in her seat.
Gen pushed up to a sitting position, ears twitching forward in response to the edge in Abby’s voice.
“That’s okay, people are always surprised when they see me without a helmet... and pads. I’m smaller than they think I am.” The corner of his mouth ticked up, a self-deprecating expression he’d practiced.
Abby let out a strangled laugh, but her clipped words were a far cry from the easy banter they’d been sharing a few moments before. “Yeah, I bet.”
Gen glanced from Abby to Scott, then back again, before relaxing her ears and leaning into Abby’s leg.
Scott noted the dog’s reaction. How accurate a barometer of Abby’s emotions could Gen be? She did not lay back down.
A moment later, Gen’s ears perked again as classical piano music floated up from Abby’s bag on the floor.
For a second, Scott thought she would ignore it, then she sighed and slid her phone out of an inside pocket.
“It’s the hospital,” she told him as she checked the ID, then turned in her seat to answer it.
Scott reached down to scratch Gen’s ears while Abby talked, but the dog jerked away, looking at her handler as she twitched, phone tucked against her ear.
Her face blanked, then, closing her eyes, she nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be right there.”
“I’m sorry, I have to go.” Abby shoved the phone back into her bag, gulped down the last few swallows of coffee, and wound Gen’s leash around her hand. “One of my kids took a bad turn and it helps when we’re there.”
He stood as she did and nodded. “It’s okay, go. They need you and Gen.”
He reached out to touch her shoulder in sympathy, but she slid away, avoiding him. Scott cleared his throat, then went on, “Let me give you a call later, maybe we could do dinner sometime, after all?”
Her eyes widened, reminding Scott of summers spent on his grandparents’ horse farm in Montana, before football camp became more important. They’d had a skittish mare who bolted from everything, even the grass when it waved wrong in the wind.
“I don’t...” Gen whined and pressed herself against Abby’s leg. Several expressions flitted across her face, then she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” She turned and hurried away, then paused and glanced back. “Good luck with Dylan. I hope he’s better soon.”