Chapter 11
The entire previous day had simultaneously felt a thousand hours long and like a surrealist film. They had been returned to their hotel at almost midnight, but John wouldn’t tell them why the change of heart. She had somehow felt less safe to be sleeping in the room when she knew an armed law enforcement officer was in the room next door but when she had woken that morning, back to back with Byron on his side of the bed, she’d had a few delicious moments of blissful, sleepy ignorance before she remembered what had happened.
After rising for a shower and brushing her teeth, she debated calling a delivery service to get them breakfast. Byron had woken a few minutes after her. She’d heard him slip out the door while she was in the bathroom. She really needed to talk to him, but how was she going to manage that with whatever was going on?
A knock on the door startled her, but Byron’s voice called out and she relaxed.
“Only me,” he said, giving her a few seconds before twisting the handle and entering armed with multiple paper bags and a tray of coffee.
Perfect, she thought, he’s actually perfect.
She quickly banished the thought from her mind.
“I have a question,” she said, “and I want you to answer me honestly.”
“Okay,” he said seriously, “I accidentally sipped your vanilla chai latte thing the other day and didn’t tell you. That was rude.”
Abigail laughed involuntarily at the sober look on his face as he deadpanned his line.
“I’ll forgive you,” she said, “If you tell me why the payments for the caretaking mysteriously stopped being taken from my expenses account.”
“Oh, that,” he said, suddenly awkward.
“Yeah, that.”
She rose and crossed the room to take the coffees from him and start unpacking the breakfast things.
“Well,” he said, “it felt weird to be taking your money when I was hardly doing any of the caretaking things... and anyway, we’re kind of, you know, friends? Right?”
For some reason his explanation didn’t make her feel better, despite making perfect sense.
“Yeah, friends,” she said, “of course.”
She looked up at him. He wasn’t all that much taller than her, but somehow, it felt like he was towering over her, and a thrill of electricity ran through her as she realized how close she was staring at him.
Byron’s throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard and Abigail realized she was staring. Again! What the heck was happening to her!? She was acting like a love-sick teenager. Even as she had the thought, she realized her hand had come to rest on his chest; it was like having an out-of-body experience, but the tenuous restraint that the idea of him being in her employ had previously had on her shattered. She wanted to reach up and put her arms around his neck, run her fingers through his hair, and—
He stepped back, clearing his throat.
“Sorry, Abby,” he said, “I just, I can’t. You and Liam—”
“Excuse me?” she exclaimed, “me and who?”
He turned and stared, “That’s not funny. I heard you two on the phone, and you still have joint bank accounts, and it seems pretty clear you’re looking to reconcile.”
A bark of laughter burst from her. “Uh, no. Absolutely not. He has a pretty serious girlfriend, and we fell out of romantic love a long time ago. We respect each other, like each other, and have two children together but we are not looking to reconcile.”
Byron’s face had fallen as he listened to her speak, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.
“But... but, the call?”
“We co-parent very successfully,” she finished for him, “nothing—and I mean nothing—else.”
The room felt very small all of a sudden, and without warning, she realized Byron was striding towards her. Before another thought could enter her mind, one of his arms was around her waist, pulling her up and towards him. His hold on her was tight, his kiss intense, both of which lit every one of her nerve endings on fire as she wrapped her arms around him the exact way she had been trying desperately not to think about for the last few months.
A knock on the door sent them bolting away from each other like teenagers caught by their parents.
“Uh,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “hang on!”
Abigail’s fingers brushed her mouth. Thankfully, she hadn’t put lipstick on yet, but she was breathing hard, and it would be obvious to anyone that she was flustered. She grabbed the coffee from the table and raised it in front of her face. Byron nodded, and she smiled nervously, trying not to laugh.
“Come in!” she called.
John’s frame filled the door. “Morning, you two. Abby, I have some bad news. Your house was broken into again. This time, they took a whole bunch of papers from the office and some photographs off the walls.”
“What!?” she exclaimed, dropping the coffee away from her face, “Is Cleo okay? Was she there?”
“Your neighbor is fine,” John said, “and I think we know why they came back.”
He stepped aside and gestured for someone to enter the room. Her face was tearstained with a dark blue bruise over her cheekbone and what looked like a stitch in her lip; her lip was quivering as she fought back tears.
“Hey guys,” Bee said, “I’m really sorry...”