Chapter 18 #2
“Are you all right?” Evan asked from beside her. “You’ve been standing for a long time. Would you like to sit?”
Abby turned too quickly and found him closer than she expected. His hand lifted toward her elbow before stopping short of contact.
“I’m fine.” She took a drink of sparkling water to give herself a moment. “Your speech was good.”
“It was brief.” Evan looked toward the employees returning to their conversations. “They already know how much work remains.”
“You made sure they knew what they accomplished.” Abby watched his face rather than the room. “People notice when someone gives them credit.”
“They earned it.” Evan glanced down at her glass. “Do you want another water?”
“No, but you’re right, I do need to sit.” Abby moved toward a low sofa near the windows. “Your office has too many places designed for people who stand all day.”
Evan sat in the chair opposite instead of joining her on the sofa. The distance allowed Abby’s breathing to settle, though part of her resented it.
“I’m glad you came,” he said as he rested his forearms on his knees. “I wanted you to see the company when something went right.”
“I’m glad I came too.” Abby looked around the crowded room. “You seem different here.”
“I speak all day here.” Evan’s mouth shifted toward a smile. “That may account for the difference.”
“You know what I mean.” Abby traced one finger through the condensation on her glass. “You’re very certain when you talk about the work.”
“I know the work.” His gaze remained on her face. “People are harder.”
The room seemed louder around the quiet sentence. Abby looked away first, aware that the conversation had moved closer to something neither of them was prepared to discuss.
Evan left the celebration shortly after nine and walked Abby to her car. The warm day had given way to a cool night, and Abby wished she had brought a jacket.
“You don’t have to leave because I’m leaving,” she said as they crossed the parking lot. “Your team is still upstairs.”
“They’ll enjoy themselves more without the person who approves their expense reports.” Evan took his keys from his pocket. “I was ready to go.”
Abby stopped beside her car. “Alexa told me you schedule around our dinners.”
Evan looked toward the building. “Alexa tells people things I would prefer she didn’t.”
“She wasn’t criticizing you.” Abby unlocked the car but did not open the door. “She said you’ve been more rested.”
“That’s probably true.” Evan turned back to her. “Thursday dinner gives me a reason to stop work at a specific time.”
Abby folded her arms against the cold. “You could stop on other nights.”
“I could.” His eyes held hers. “I usually don’t.”
The answer tightened the space between them. Abby became aware of the late hour, the nearly empty lot, and the way Evan’s shirt moved against his chest when he breathed.
He took one step closer, then removed his jacket and held it toward her. “You’re cold.”
“I’m five steps from my car.” Abby accepted the jacket despite the protest. “You don’t need to give me this.”
“You can return it.” Evan waited while she placed it around her shoulders.
The jacket held the faint scent of soap and coffee. Abby looked down while she arranged it over her dress, unsettled by how easily she could imagine keeping it around her longer than the journey home required.
“Thank you,” she said as she opened the car door. “And congratulations on the contract.”
Evan held the edge of the door while she lowered herself into the seat. “Text me when you get home.”
“I always do.” Abby removed the jacket and handed it back. Their fingers brushed along the collar, and neither of them withdrew immediately.
Evan’s hand closed around the fabric. His gaze dropped to her mouth before returning to her eyes, and the restraint she had relied on became visible as effort.
“Good night, Abby,” he said as he stepped back. “Drive carefully.”
She closed the door and waited until he moved away before starting the car. Her hands remained warm against the steering wheel despite the cold.
The folding crib waited another week before Abby admitted she did not want to assemble it alone. Sadie had volunteered, but the instruction sheet contained enough diagrams to make both sisters lose patience before they removed the pieces from the box.
“Ask Evan,” Sadie said as she pushed the unopened package against the study wall. “He repaired a cabinet with washers he carried in his own bag. He probably reads instruction manuals voluntarily.”
“He has a hospital pilot starting in two weeks.” Abby picked up the plastic packet of screws Sadie had dropped. “I’m not asking him to spend Sunday building furniture.”
Sadie sat back on her heels and looked at her. “You want to ask him, and you’re inventing his refusal before giving him the opportunity to say yes.”
Abby returned the screws to the box. Since the company celebration, she had replayed the moment beside her car often enough to question whether she had imagined it.
Evan had looked at her mouth. She was almost certain of that much, though certainty did not tell her what he intended to do about it.
“Fine,” Abby said as she reached for her phone. “I’ll ask whether he has time next weekend.”
Evan came that afternoon.
He arrived carrying the tool bag Abby recognized and a paper sack from the bakery near her apartment.
“You didn’t have to come today,” she said as she stepped aside. “I said next weekend.”
“I was already nearby.” Evan placed the bakery bag on the counter. “I brought the lemon cookies you like.”
Abby looked inside and recognized the thin cookies from the dessert table. She had eaten two during his speech and taken another before leaving.
“You noticed which ones I ate?” she asked as she folded the top of the bag closed. “There were at least six desserts.”
“You liked them that night, a long time ago. With Makayla and Hudson.” Evan set his tools near the study doorway.
The simple explanation affected Abby more than the gift. Hudson remembered preferences when they could be displayed through an expensive purchase; Evan remembered a cookie because he had listened to a conversation that did not matter.
“Thank you.” Abby placed the bag beside the kettle. “I’ll make tea after we finish.”
They assembled the crib on the living-room rug because the study did not provide enough space to spread out the pieces. Evan read each step before tightening anything, while Abby sorted screws and held the rails in place.
“Sadie predicted you would read the entire instruction manual,” Abby said as she passed him a bolt. “She sounded disapproving, but I think she appreciates it.”
“The parts look similar.” Evan fitted the bolt through the rail. “Guessing would take longer.”
“That is why Sadie and I stopped.” Abby held the opposite side steady. “We prefer immediate evidence that we’re making progress.”
Evan looked over the wooden rail at her. “How does Sadie feel about repeating the work after immediate progress fails?”
“She usually blames the manufacturer.” Abby smiled as she shifted her grip. “I blame Sadie, so the system remains balanced.”
The crib took less than an hour. When Evan lifted it upright, Abby moved forward to check the locking mechanism and felt the baby kick sharply beneath her ribs.
She pressed one hand against the spot. The movement came again, stronger than the soft flutters of previous weeks.
“She’s moving,” Abby said as she looked up. “More than she has before.”
Evan remained beside the crib. “Does it hurt?”
“No.” Abby felt another firm push against her palm and laughed softly. “It feels strange, but she’s strong.”
Evan watched her hand. He made no move toward her, though the interest in his face was unmistakable.
“Do you want to feel?” Abby asked. “She may stop as soon as you try.”
“Only if you’re sure.” Evan wiped his hand against his trousers as though concerned about sawdust that was not there. “You don’t have to offer because I’m standing here.”
“I’m sure.” Abby held out her hand. “Come here.”
Evan stepped closer and gave her his right hand. Abby placed it against the side of her stomach, spreading his fingers slightly over the place where the baby had moved.
His palm was warm through the thin fabric of her shirt. The contact felt more intimate than Abby anticipated, and her hand remained over his after she had positioned it.
They waited without speaking. Evan stood close enough that Abby could see the faint shadow of fatigue beneath his eyes and the small line beside his mouth that appeared when he concentrated.
The baby kicked beneath his palm. Evan inhaled sharply, and his eyes lifted to Abby’s.
“I felt her,” he said. “Was that a foot?”
“Possibly.” Abby did not remove her hand. “It’s hard to tell.”
The baby moved again, but Abby barely registered it. Evan’s attention remained on her face, and the air between them carried the same tension she had felt beside her car.
His thumb shifted once beneath her hand. The movement was slight, but Abby felt it across her skin as if the fabric were absent.
Evan stepped back first. He lowered his hand and looked toward the completed crib.
“The locking mechanism works,” he said, though his voice had changed. “You should be able to fold it without removing the mattress.”
Abby let her hand fall from her stomach. “I’ll probably leave it open.”
“That works too.” Evan gathered the instruction pages and aligned their edges. “Do you still want tea?”
“Yes.” Abby walked toward the kitchen before he could see how unsettled the moment had left her. “The lemon cookies should be tested with the correct drink.”
Evan followed several steps behind. Neither of them mentioned what had passed between them, but the silence no longer felt neutral.