Chapter 5
“Abby, wait,” Oliver calls. His footsteps echo over the marble floor of the White House as he catches up to me.
Agent Shaw and Oliver’s Secret Service agent exchange glances when they see Oliver and me head to the front entrance instead of the East Room to join my family for the performance.
I glance in that direction, wondering if Gabriel went back, but see no sign of him.
I inhale deeply. He’s probably long gone by now and I don’t blame him. Oliver treated him badly, and I said nothing. I feel terrible.
Maybe I can get Tita Karra to send him a note for me because I doubt he’d want to see me again. And I doubt I’ll have a chance. Oliver and I leave for Hawaii this weekend.
My shoulders sag. Realistically, never seeing Gabriel is likely for the best. My chest tightens and I’m overcome with a strong urge to run.
“I just need to get some air,” I say to Shaw as I attempt a smile.
“We need to get some air,” Oliver adds.
Our agents don’t say it aloud, but I can read their thoughts: Lucky us having to babysit two teenagers and their drama. We don’t get paid enough.
Shaw opens the door for us.
The warm summer air is a relief as I step outside, inhaling a blend of blooming flowers, sunbaked earth, and fresh-cut grass. The evening hums with Friday-night energy as Washington, DC, bustles with laughter and life. The rhythmic chirp of crickets fills the air.
Even Oliver seems appreciative as he takes in the scene. “It’s a nice night for a walk,” he concedes.
“Oliver, I’m going to get my pizza,” I say with a resolve that surprises even me. But, I rationalize, this is in bucket list territory—trying new foods and new perspectives. This counts.
My statement is clearly not what Oliver wants to hear.
“Abby, I really think that’s a suboptimal choice. What if we get in trouble?”
I nudge him with my shoulder. “Let’s walk and I’ll just happen to stroll over to security and pick up the pizza. I’ll say you have nothing to do with it.”
He inhales deeply as he mutters, but to his credit goes with it.
I survey the lawn and our surroundings. The North Lawn features a large water fountain in front of the White House and a semicircular driveway that is framed by trees and boxwood hedges.
Our timing is perfect. Everybody, including the press, is inside watching the performances. The only people outside are us, our agents, and the security guards at the gates at the bottom of the driveway.
And it’s a given there are always people passing by the tall black fences that guard the perimeter of the White House.
Fortunately, no one appears to be looking our way; people are just walking past, minding their own business.
If Oliver and I keep to the driveway and behind the trees, we should be okay making our way to the security gate.
“How do you know which security gate the delivery guy is coming to?” Oliver asks.
It’s a good question because we have several. “Not sure, guess I’ll wait and see?”
He nods. “Actually, I’m glad we’re alone. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
My step falters and my heart skips a beat. Is he going to ask me to be his girlfriend? I laugh nervously. Shouldn’t I be excited? Shouldn’t this be one of those moments I’ll cherish?
“Abby,” Oliver says. “I don’t think I have your full attention.”
A red scooter approaches one of the gates. “Hold on,” I say, holding up a finger. I silently cheer seeing the square “boxes of comfort” strapped to the back.
I look back at our agents, who are several feet behind, then at Oliver, who looks uncertain. I make a split-second decision.
Lifting my constricting skirt, I kick off my heels and hurry to the gate.
“Abby,” Oliver hisses, but nothing’s stopping me now.
As I approach the gate, the poor guard who’s stationed there looks my way, bewildered. I ignore him and turn my attention to the scrawny college-aged guy carrying a red pizza delivery bag.
“I’ve got a delivery for a Jack and Rose Dawson,” he says, scratching his chin.
Gabriel sure has a sense of humor. “Yup, that’s me, I’ll take it,” I say, and the guy slides a cardboard box out of the bag.
By this point, the security guard has stepped in front of me and a furious Agent Shaw has caught up with us.
“There’s a mistake,” he says, looking from me to the guard to the pizza delivery guy.
“No mistake,” I say, and reach through the gate to grab the box from the stunned delivery guy, maneuvering it sideways through the gate. It’s a tight squeeze but thankfully it fits.
“Abby!” Oliver warns, but I ignore him as I open the lid to smell my pizza.
My nose wrinkles. “Um. Maybe a slight mistake,” I tell the delivery guy. “Why is there yucky pineapple on this pizza? Gross!”
Still bewildered, he shakes his shaggy head. “It’s a Hawaiian pizza.”
Hawaiian? My laugh is thunderous. Oh, Gabriel is too much. “Is there another pizza in that bag? One with mushrooms and ham?”
“If there is, keep it,” Shaw barks at the guy, and shoots me a look. “Back inside,” he orders me and Oliver, grabbing the box from me. “We’ll have to get this analyzed first.”
I frown, knowing he means they need to check if the food is safe before I can eat it.
“Don’t bother,” I say, rolling my eyes. I wave at the delivery guy and suddenly feel guilty for all the trouble. “I’m sorry. Did we pay for the pizzas?”
“Yes, on the app,” he says, voice squeaky. Still, I feel bad for him. I pat my nonexistent pockets. “I don’t have a tip.” I look at Oliver, who shrugs.
“Wallet’s in the house,” he says.
I twist my mouth and swiftly remove my watch and give it to the delivery guy. Oliver stares at the exchange, wide-eyed, while the delivery guy is equally speechless as he takes the watch.
“Abby, we’ve got to go,” Oliver says tersely.
I follow his gaze and notice a few excited onlookers with their phones up. They’re outside the gate and several feet away, but they’re definitely close enough to see something going down.
Oh no. I gulp, hoping no one posts those.
Shaw looks like he’s about to have a meltdown. He motions for me to hurry up and I follow his lead back to the Residence, questioning everything I’ve done this evening and wondering what has gotten into me.
Maybe the better question is: Who got to me?