characteristically nondescript. On her way to the front doors, Abigail realized that the
entire car ride had been on autopilot. Along with that realization came the panic
associated with losing a chunk of one’s precious life to monotony. And along with that
came a sudden worry that she might have flattened a child without realizing it.
No. Surely that would have been memorable—right?
Right in the middle of a panicked mental recap of the events from picking up her
book to arriving in the parking lot, she slammed face-first into a surprisingly warm wall
of a person. She rebounded, only now taking in the red-and-black flannel shirt she had
plowed into. Her hands shot out in an attempt to keep balance. A moment later, she felt
someone’s hands on her forearms.
“Easy there,” came a gruff voice. Pulling herself out of her daze, Abigail looked
up at the person she had run into, who was now also, kindly enough, keeping her upright.
He was scruffy, a mop of brown hair bleeding into a full (if short) beard worried with the
occasional silver strands. His eyes were an intense green, which, coupled with the red in
his shirt, gave his appearance an unintentionally festive look. He was pale, but that was
nothing out of the ordinary, considering Abigail had forgotten what the sun looked like in
the weeks she’d been calling the Pacific Northwest home.
He was cute. In a ruggedly handsome way. Like a grizzled lumberjack.
Perhaps cute was not the word for it.
Abigail giggled, suddenly overtaken with the silliness of what just happened.
“Thank you,” she said, certain she was coming across like an idiot. “You can let go now.”
She smiled. The man obliged, returning a tight-lipped smile that seemed to err on the side
of suffering-the-eccentric.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to…” he began before clearing his throat, “exist where you
wanted to exist at the same time.” He looked every bit as awkward as she felt, which
made her own discomfort slightly less overbearing.
She swallowed sheepishly. “It happens.” She suddenly felt the need to clarify what
she meant, so she gestured back and forth between the two of them. “Existing at the same
time and all.” She realized that the gesture didn’t seem to quite work in the situation, so
she let her hand fall at her side as she averted her gaze.
“Try as we might!” he said with an exaggerated shrug. They exchanged
unconvincing laughs before silence filled the void, mutated into a pause, then sat long
enough to be uncomfortable. While the quiet was maliciously evolving, Abigail couldn’t
help but trace her eyes up the man’s exposed and muscular forearms. When she caught
what she was doing, she wondered where her unintentional partner’s eyes were
glued—no doubt, here was another person in Whitewater who would take any
opportunity to drink in the sight of the newest and blackest resident.
Instead, she was a little shocked—and pleased—to see he was staring at the
ground. He was legitimately embarrassed for slamming into her. In the city, if someone
ran into you it was either a pickpocketing or just a nonstandard and jostly hello. In her
hometown, it had been met with an impertinent huff and followed by a subpar apology.
Here… well, if this was the first, being bumped into was hardly the worst way to get to
know someone.
Hey, mountain man Joe, why don’t we walk into each other in front of a coffee
shop some time? she thought. This Whitewater-only pickup line seemed dopey enough to
be charming enough to work—and she couldn’t help snickering at the thought.
“What’s so funny?” he asked. She looked up at his eyes which had made a
momentary migration to her face.
The smile from her laughter remained unbroken, but grew a touch larger.
“Nothing, just, uh…” She gestured to her temple. “I’m hilarious up here, trust me.”
He tilted his head back, enough to give her a full look at what she assumed was
post-embarrassment face-saving stoniness. He nodded. “Sorry again.” And with that, he
brushed aside her, carrying some intense body heat with him, and walked away. She
looked over her shoulder at the man, watching him for a few seconds. Something
registered as odd, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
Regardless of what it was that presently pricked at her brain, she shook it off. She
had spent weeks feeling exasperated when people felt they were privileged enough to
stare at her like a lab specimen; she wasn’t too keen on forcing that behavior on someone
No matter how green his stupid sexy eyes were.
She turned around to the glass doors and jolted at the sight of Lacy Renault, the
woman in charge of business coverage. A tiny woman in her fifties with short-cropped
silver hair, she watched Abigail come in with icy blue eyes and a gotcha-smile. She wore
an immaculately tailored red business suit, giving her the appearance of a circa 2008
female presidential candidate.
Abigail stepped into the vestibule, grateful for the limited respite it provided from
the elements. “Were you watching that the whole time?” she asked, trying not to look too
confused by Lacy’s grin. The expression was becoming a bit too knowing for her tastes.
“You running into Collins?” She asked. She opened her eyes widely, teasingly,
and nodded. “Oh, my, yes!”
Abigail shrugged. “Something I should know?”
Lacy gave an embellished frown. “No, no. Just, uh…” She trailed off in the way
people do when overstressing a manufactured difficulty with words. “Glad to see you’re
taking in the sights.”
Well, this conversation immediately failed the Bechdel Test, Abigail thought icily.
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