Free Crossing Abby Road by Ophelia London

when she’d been in my arms. Abby’s cheeks were slowly turning pink. For all I knew, mine were, too.
    For a second, I thought about buying every piece of food in the damn place so our lunch together would last a week.
    “On the tab?” Bob asked, pulling me away from her again.
    “Uh, yeah, yeah.” I took both bags and added a couple bottles of water. “Thanks.”
    “It all looks amazing,” Abby said to him. “Thank you so much.”
    Bob glanced at her but didn’t reply for a moment. Then he smiled, captivated by her charm like the rest of us. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Come back and see us.”
    She beamed. “I will!”
    As we left the store, I noticed the bill of her ball cap wasn’t as low over her eyes as it had been before. I hoped this was a sign she was feeling more comfortable.
    “I have to take this to Chandler,” I said, holding up one bag. “Then we can bring ours to the beach, if that’s cool.”
    Abby smiled brightly up at me, but then a cloud passed across her face. “Um, like the public beach, or…”
    “Oh.” I had to think for a second, because I’d kind of forgotten our situation. I was automatically taking her to the beach behind the Watercolor development. It was kind of a hike, but that was all part of the plan. On second thought, though, that’d make her way too exposed. Plan B quickly formed.
    “Not public,” I said. “It’s in a residential area, a little more secluded, but not so isolated that no one will hear you scream for help.”
    It was a joke, obviously, but a look of shock bent Abby’s face.
    “No, sorry.” I laughed under my breath and put a hand over my heart. “I’m kidding. It’s private property, like an HOA. Plenty of people to hear you scream.”
    “How comforting,” she said, but she was smiling again. “So, do you eat at Modica’s a lot?”
    “I probably single-handedly keep him in business,” I replied as we crossed the circle lawn of the amphitheater.
    “Not a big cook?”
    I shrugged. “I get by. But I think it’s more fun to cook for someone else.”
    “Hmm.” She tapped a finger to her lips, and I really appreciated any excuse to look at her mouth. “Got any specialties I’d be interested in trying?”
    I laughed and shook my head, stepping so our shoulders bumped. “Damn, woman, anyone ever tell you that you ask the best questions?”
    “Nope, you’re the first.” She grinned. “So, what would you cook for me? Ya know, pretend we’re going on a date tonight or something.”
    “ Ravioli con sugo di maiale alla Modicana ,” I said, faster than if I’d had the answer ready. Abby stopped walking and blinked up at me with the expression I could only call “cheese lust.” “It’s pork ravioli,” I said. “My mother’s recipe from Sicily and I’ve spent a lot of time there.”
    “Ohhh.” She nodded a few times. “I was wondering about the accent.”
    “Mine? I thought it was pretty much faded.”
    “No, I noticed it right away. Subtle, though, like you’re a mafia Don undercover as a surfer boy.” She puckered her lips and blew out a breath. “Gotta say, that’s pretty hot.”
    “Yeah?” I arched an eyebrow, loving it a little too much that Abby thought I was hot. “Wanna hear what I’d make you for dessert? I have to roll my R s a lot.”
    She laughed and shoved my arm. “There you go, making me all swoony again. I’ve never been to Sicily. I’d love to hear about it—” She cut herself off, and the flirty smile on her face faded as her eyes left me to stare forward. It was almost like the second half of her sentence was supposed to be “tomorrow” or “later.” And judging by the way that hadn’t made it out of her mouth, she definitely wasn’t going to be here tomorrow.
    Damn, I hated that. I hated this. I hated how I met an incredibly cool girl, and though, yeah, it’d only been two hours, I was seriously digging her. And maybe it was delusional or my overly healthy ego, but I felt like she