Page 5

Abby dug the pads of her fingers into the coffee mug she held, willing herself not to react. “I kind of...fell into it.” She forced her hands to relax. “So, tell me about Dylan.”

Scott’s eyes lit up and Abby revised her previous thought. She loved Gen with her whole heart, but her bond with the dog, as sweet as it was, couldn’t replicate the relationship between a parent and their child.

“He’s the greatest kid. A lot of parents love their children but maybe don’t like them, you know?

They don’t like to play with them or hang out with them, or they spend so much time trying to get them to behave that they’re exhausted by them.

Dylan is super smart and he’s a ton of fun to be around.

He’s in all advanced classes at school, and last year he started playing the trumpet.

” Scott grimaced. “He had a rough start, but he’s much better now. ”

Abby cringed. “I’ve heard musical instruments can be pretty brutal.”

“It could have been violin, so I guess I should be grateful. He’s into jazz, which is a lot of fun.

When I promised him next year we’d go to New Orleans over his spring break and hear it for real, he ran back into the auditorium and told his orchestra teacher. I was kind of committed at that point.”

Abby pictured an ecstatic Dylan. In her mind, his face twisted in pain as he cradled his broken arm, but she’d had enough practice putting broken puzzle pieces of shattered expressions back together.

“Wait. He can’t be playing trumpet right now.”

Scott shook his head. “No, not until the cast comes off, but he’s still going to orchestra, and he spends a lot of time humming and tapping and using his good hand to practice blowing into his mouthpiece.

I’m kind of worried he’ll dent his cast if he’s not careful.

He thinks it’s funny to smack it on every possible surface. ”

“They’re pretty sturdy. I’ve only ever seen one crack.

” She didn’t tell him the person already had a cast when they were hit by a car and pinned against a brick wall.

That had been a bad one. She shuddered, then pushed the memory away, forcing her vision of Dylan’s delighted face back to the forefront of her mind.

Scott winced. Abby hadn’t even flinched when treating Dylan in the park. If a cracked cast made her shudder, he never wanted to experience one.

“Phew, good to know. Now I have to make sure I don’t crack listening to it day and night for the next few weeks.”

Abby snorted. “Nah, I’m sure you’re made of stronger stuff.”

“Than cotton batting and fiberglass? I sure hope so.”

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, the easy answer 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’s cerebral , 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.”

The bell above the door chimed her exit, and Scott sank back into his seat.

Given his quasi-celebrity status, it wasn’t the first time he’d been either blown off or cold-shouldered.

Of course, sometimes that reaction beat the inevitable queue of girls lining up whenever the media got wind he’d be attending a benefit or gala without a date.

He had to be careful; his reputation had taken a beating during his divorce from Dylan’s mother, and it had nearly cost him custody.

He shivered. Lindsay had never wanted children, had certainly never wanted custody of Dylan, but it hadn’t stopped her from threatening to take his son away throughout the proceedings, and even now, long after the ink had dried, Scott still got nervous anytime she hinted she might reopen litigation.

He’d only been granted full custody because she hadn’t fought him.

And because he hadn’t asked for child support.

He could afford to take care of his son without her help, or the strings that would inevitably have come tangled up with it.

Almost full custody , he amended. Although, given how often she cancels, it might as well be.

In any case, his name had been linked to a few too many women in the year after his divorce had been finalized, and Lindsay’s threats had been the wake-up call he’d needed.

Now, he considered himself “settled,” with a nanny for Dylan and a five-year contract to play for the Raptors.

In fact, he hadn’t had a serious love interest in years, and his sister had long since gotten fed up with attending events with him.

Of course, she’d also moved to Montana last year to take over their grandparents’ farm and gotten herself married to one of the trainers in the process, so he went stag, and hoped to avoid the pawing hands of every celebrity-hunter in the city.

Well, Abby clearly wasn’t a celebrity-hunter or a gold-digger. Could she be the kind of person he could call a friend? Or more?

His mind fixated on the way her eyes lit up when she talked about Gen. He’d never seen that shade of green before, light, like sage leaves, and sparkling with passion and determination. There was no denying her beauty, but it wasn’t just physical. She had a beautiful soul, too.

He sipped the last of his coffee, then rose, placing the empty mug in the plastic bin by the door. He had Abby’s information; he’d wait a few weeks and give her another call. In the meantime, maybe he and Dylan would visit the park more often.