I kiss her soft lips and hand her one of the two cups of tea in my hands. We sit comfortably side by side for a while, watching a horny squirrel chase the playing-hard-to-get object of his affection in frantic circles before disappearing into a bushel of secluded branches up a tree.
He’s like my spirit animal.
“Your mother hates me,” Abby states in a matter-of-fact sort of way.
I take a sip of my tea.
“It’s not personal. She was going to dislike anyone she didn’t handpick herself.”
Abby nods silently.
“And I don’t exactly blend with your family either,” I add. “Though I’m betting they’re too dignified to say it, I don’t imagine they like you with me.”
“No,” she says quietly, “I don’t imagine they do.”
Then she reaches down, putting her hand over mine where it’s resting on my leg, threading our fingers together and holding on tight.
“But I like you with me.”
And I’m so fucking proud of her. This is all new, hard territory, but she’s facing it headfirst—holding her ground, holding our ground.
“I figured as much.” I smirk. “Especially the other night—you seemed to like you with me a whole lot when I pulled you up onto my face and you gripped the headboard and I did that thing with my tongue . . . ”
She starts blushing fiercely and bumps my shoulder, but I go on.
“And you moaned so loud I think you scared the life back into those pitiful plants. What did you do to them, anyway?”
Abby’s laughing now, shy and giggly.
“Shut up, Tommy.”
The sunlight’s all around her, making her hair shimmer with gold and her long-lashed eyes a seafoam green—so damn pretty it tugs right at my heart.
I lean towards her, smiling, brushing her nose with mine . . . because how can I not.
“Make me.”
She doesn’t disappoint. Abby presses her sweet lips against mine, playful at first, then delving and stroking—making it wet and hot and messy.
Shutting me up in the very best way.
She rests her forehead against mine, breathing out a little sigh.
“Our families are kind of the worst.”
“They are.” I look into her eyes. “It’s going to have to be just you and me, then.”
“Just you and me . . .” Abby smiles. “Yeah.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Abby
TIME GOES ON, AS IT tends to do. And life changes—the good, slow, building sort of change that’s only decipherable months later when you gaze backward and realize your past existence is unrecognizable to you now.
Tommy insists on buying me a television and installs it on the wall of my front parlor.
I resist at first, but as deftly as its irresistible installer did, it lures me in, seducing me completely. And before I know it, we’re wrestling for control of the remote and spending lazy afternoons on the sofa, snuggling and kissing, while I point out the inaccuracies of an otherwise riveting medical drama.
One day I insist on reorganizing the closets and cabinets in Tommy’s flat—because it’s a bloody miracle the man can find anything in the chaos of their shelves. He doesn’t just let me, we do it together.
I get used to the sight of him coming home on days when he’s been guarding a client—how he slips out of his suit jacket, all broad shoulders and thick arms, and removes his gun from its holster and stores it in the bedside table drawer. He picks up my habit of sparing the lives of spiders and other crawly things that have wandered inside, setting them free outdoors instead of splatting them with a shoe.
And our lives weave around each other—a beautiful mismatched quilt of laughter and sex, sleeping and rushing around, silly chats and soul-stripping conversations and perfect unforgettable moments.
My fourth year of residency melds into the fifth—challenging and demanding and amazing. S&S Securities grows larger, expanding their operation and reputation. Sometimes our schedules keep us apart for days, but the reunion is blissfully worth it.
Ellie St. James gives birth to her and Logan’s second child—a chubby-cheeked cherub of a boy they name Declan—and just four months later, she’s pregnant again with their third.
We don’t avoid our families out loud, but we’re not chomping at the bit to see them, either. There’s the occasional awkward brunch at Bumblebridge, and it’s not Tommy’s presence that makes it awkward—it always was, I see that now—I don’t think my family knows how to be any other way. But it’s his presence in my life that allows me to admit it.
There’s the unavoidable birthday at the Sullivans’ here and there. Tommy’s sisters warm to me, his brothers are endearing and his father is a delight. But Mrs. Sullivan remains cold and unhappy—going out of her way to make me uncomfortable in those small, subtle ways some women are so skilled at.
On Christmas Eve, Tommy meets me for dinner in the hospital cafeteria during my shift. It snows on Christmas Day and we use that excuse to not step a toe out of bed.