2. Chapter 2
Chapter two
ABIGAIL
My alarm sang the Cinderella birdy song, and I smiled. It never failed to amuse me, and it was a perfect find from one of my regular thrift stores. It should have played another five Disney songs, but it only played Cinderella now, though that was okay. I woke up every morning dreaming bluebirds were pulling the covers down. I groaned as I remembered work, but then brightened a little as I also remembered Friday was my half day. I loved my job, but it didn’t pay nearly enough, which was why I was in a crap apartment. It was also hourly, not salaried, and since it was a private daycare, they kept all their employees just under the full-time threshold so it was cheaper.
I’d tried to take on a second job to supplement my income but it had been a disaster, and with my medical issues I’d been let go from so many full-time ones it wasn’t funny, so managing two was impossible.
The official diagnosis was chronic low blood pressure. I also had anxiety attacks which caused the low blood pressure to be worse and I generally passed out. Most people thought that anxiety caused high blood pressure, but that wasn’t always the case. Not with me, anyway, and it always made my condition worse. Guess I was special. Not that I hadn’t been called “special” a time or two by a lot of different foster parents that assumed I wanted attention.
Anyway, none of this self-reflection was going to get me ready for work. Thirsty, I reached over for my water, grabbed the sippy cup, and took a long drink.
Then it hit me.
Last night.
The time I’d spent with Gideon. How he felt. How he smelled. I lay back down carefully and breathed evenly until I felt confident about sitting up again. I remembered him bringing me home and I looked at the sippy cup. Shame burned through me, but how could he have known? Did I go get my own water after he left?
I got up and took a shower as quickly as I could. I usually gave myself enough time in the morning so nothing would have to be rushed or stressed, but I was a little rattled. Then I got dressed in my favorite blue shorts—knee-length so still professional—and pink blouse. I exited the en-suite bathroom—great to have but also why I never had any visitors as they had to walk through my bedroom to get there and that was my sanctuary—and headed into the kitchen to boil some water for tea.
I’d learned a long time ago that coffee didn’t agree with me .
I stopped as soon as I saw the front door.
And the lock.
The big-ass lock that definitely hadn’t been there last night.
Then I glanced at the business card from the company that had installed it and the brand-new sparkling key for me. I made my tea and tried to puzzle it out. I’d gotten into my apartment last night even if Gideon had brought me here, and that lock had definitely not been there when I left, which meant it had been installed sometime after I went to bed.
Which made zero sense.
I picked up the card and before I could second-guess myself, I called the number. “Hi,” I said and rattled off my name and address. “I wondered if you could tell me what I owe for the lock so I can get that squared away?”
A very efficient lady proceeded to tell me that Mr. Sinclair had already paid for it and I didn’t owe any money.
Sinclair? As in Gideon Sinclair? Of course, it had to be even if I didn’t understand why.
I decided to go to work. Well, I had no choice, but it would take my mind off other things.
I caught the bus and listened patiently as Mrs. Chandler updated me on all the happenings with her seven grandchildren. I listened because she was kind. She was also lonely because her son-in-law’s company had posted them all to Hong-Kong and while her daughter visited when she could, which was about once every two years, she had no other relatives.
She, and her daughter, hoped they would be back soon.
I was so glad it was Friday. I usually ate my lunch at work, then got changed into my puppy clothes, as I called them, which were basically old jeans that it didn’t matter if they got slobber all over.
I was tired, but all I needed to do was sit down and cuddle my four-legged friends at Four Paws Animal Shelter where I volunteered twice a week. The staff were used to finding me asleep in the middle of a puppy pile and I was sure this Friday would be no different.
Work was crazy. Emily had called out sick, and while we were still on the legal side of the staff versus children ratio, it meant none of my needy kids got me to themselves, which I hated.
I did better with one-on-one scenarios than large groups, and I was looking into courses that might make me able to get a job as a TA in a school. The problem was always the same though. I wasn’t physically capable of working the hours I needed to pay my rent or the extra study hours I would need, so I was stuck. I finally dragged myself outside after barely taking the time to eat my sandwich and stopped.
Right there, in the parking lot, was a huge monster car that I imagined cost more than most people’s houses, but it wasn’t the car that got my attention. It was the man casually leaning against the door.
Gideon.
He was also holding flowers.
And then I remembered I had planned to call him and thank him for the lock, but my squirrel brain had decided it needed to focus on getting to work, then work itself. I was sure I would have remembered at some point. Maybe.
Not that I knew which question to ask first. What are you doing here? battled with Why did you pay for a new door lock , until my tongue was tied with indecision. So, of course, the first words out of my mouth when I walked up to him were, “I’m sorry, but I have to go play with Poppy.”
He never even blinked, just took my bag, settled me comfortably in the car seat—even fastening the seatbelt—then got in the front himself and drove away. My statement hung between us until he spoke.
“How about you tell me who Poppy is?”
So I did. For some crazy reason, it seemed important that he knew. “She’s a golden retriever that spent years in a cage in a puppy mill, and no-one ever wants old dogs. I mean, we don’t exactly play,” I clarified. “More cuddle.”
“Which rescue?” he said calmly. And I was so stunned it took me a moment to answer. “Four Paws. It’s next to Bright Sparks. The garage on North Florida Ave,” I added.
“I know it,” he said and turned left, which I knew was the correct way. And the fact that he’d done it without question made my heartbeat settle.
“Thank you for taking me home and for the door. I should have started with that.” But my conversations always seemed to get derailed. I’d start with talking about a book a child had been able to tell me the correct colors in and end up talking about fire alarm drills because her daddy had gotten her a red firetruck for her birthday, because her brother had one and wasn’t that unfair? I was lucky because my manager liked talking about how as a society we were perpetuating sexism without even realizing it.
“Wanna tell me why you’re going to Four Paws today when you’re clearly still exhausted?” Gideon asked quietly. I glanced at him suspiciously, but I hadn’t detected any criticism. Which made for a change. All my decisions seemed to upset someone .
“Because Michael is at work, and Saturday is too busy for quiet cuddles.” I realized belatedly Gideon wouldn’t know who Michael was, so I explained. “Michael is one of their volunteers but works full time like most people and won’t be in until much later. The shelter is busy Saturdays, so they don’t like humans.”
No, that wasn’t right either. Sometimes my explanations didn’t even make sense to me.
“I mean to sleep with the dogs.”
There was a small silence and then he asked, “You sleep with them? Overnight?” His voice was dark and sent shivers up my arms and other places that probably shouldn’t be allowed, and I shook my head.
“No, just Friday afternoon and Sunday morning. Before the people come,” I added helpfully.
“And when do you get proper rest?”
I hesitated. It was a valid question, I supposed. Not that I understood why he was asking. “Why do you care?” Then I groaned because that was rude. He’d bought me flowers and a new lock and the whole thing was just really odd. Or maybe it wasn’t odd at all.
He smiled. “I’m going to take you for cuddles. You get one hour. After that, I’m going to take you for something to eat.”
“I can’t.”
He arched an eyebrow as if that was all his question needed. Just a look. But I needed to be clean if we were going out to eat. I knew I was jumping around from thought to thought. I sometimes even confused myself, so goodness knows what Gideon thought.
“I don’t have a bath. Just a little shower,” I said mournfully, which could be a little tricky. The water seemed to toe a fine line between freezing and scalding. But I really didn’t want my landlord to come in, ever. I shuddered. “He makes me feel icky.”
“Who does?” Gideon asked, his voice suddenly threaded with steel.
“Mr. Kirkman. He’s always wanting me to call him Dave, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Absolutely not,” Gideon agreed, and I beamed, glad I had said something he approved of, then smothered a yawn.
“Sorry.”
“Who’s Kirkman?”
I sighed. “My landlord. And I bet he doesn’t like dogs.”
Gideon sent me a look that should have a warning notice attached. “This is what we’re going to do. An hour of cuddles because I understand you don’t want to let Poppy down, then we’re going to my home, which isn’t too far from the club, where you can take a proper bath. Then we’re going to eat, and you’re going to have an early night and get lots of sleep.”
I gaped at him. “I am?”
Gideon nodded. “Yes.” I waited for another explanation, but apparently the eyebrow lift only worked when he was using it. But I didn’t know him, really.
“How do I know I’ll be safe?” Which was a huge thing to me. Years and years of never being totally safe made that a priority. He nodded as if that had been a reasonable question.
“Do you have an emergency contact? Maybe someone you work with?” I flushed. Because, no, no, I didn’t.
“A friend?”
And I thought about my boss except I really didn’t want to involve her .
“What about one of the helpers at the shelter?” His voice had lowered, gentle, soothing, and I was reminded that I was in my old jeans and a ratty t-shirt, yet somehow, he’d brought me flowers. Not that the two thoughts connected because he’d bought me flowers before he’d seen what I was wearing.
But he was still here even though most of the time I was exhausting to talk to. I was still sitting in his car and he was taking me to see Poppy.
“Yes,” I said, mentally dragging myself back to his question. “Kara works there part time. I don’t know if I’d put her as an emergency contact,” I hesitated.
“Will Kara be there when we arrive?”
I nodded.
“Then don’t worry. I’ll talk to her and make sure she knows where you’re going to be.” He flashed me another secret smile. “I’ve got this, baby girl.”
Baby girl?
What was I doing? This man seemed to be steamrolling over my life.
But he made you safe and got you a new lock.
And flowers. Although, the lock meant more to me than roses. Way more. I looked at him in surprise as something teased at the edge of my brain. He was acting for all the world like a Daddy. Was he?
“Thank you for the lock,” I said in case I’d forgotten to say it already.
He smiled and reached over to pat my hand. He signaled and turned, then he put his hand back over both of mine to still them. I hadn’t realized they were doing their usual twisty thing, but his touch was way too comforting for my peace of mind. How could I believe that a perfect man wanted me?
That was impossible.
I could be easily convinced he was a Daddy. Duh. But nothing would convince me that he wanted to keep me. At some point, either my scatterbrained thoughts or my medical issues would spoil things.
They always did.