The Courage To Say Yes

CHAPTER TWO

TO MOST NEW YORK residents, McKenzie House was nothing more than an inconspicuous brick row house with a faded green door. To the women inside, however, the house represented far more than an address. The run-down rooms meant a fresh start without abuse or domination. Abby was well aware that her story was mild in comparison to her roommates’, but she was no less grateful. The gratitude rose in her chest once more as she fell back on the living area sofa. She was soon joined by Carmella, one of her fellow residents. “You look dead. Long day?”

“The longest. Warren showed up.”

“What?” Carmella sat up like a shot. “He tracked you down? How?”

“I don’t...”

Wait. Yes, she did. Oh, all the stupid...

“What?” Carmella asked.

“My mother. I called and gave her the diner’s phone number in case of an emergency.”

Abby grabbed her phone from her bag and punched the speed dial. Two rings and a harried female voice answered.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Abby, um, hi! What a surprise.” Joanne Gray sounded like she always did, as though looking over her shoulder. Which she probably was. “I can’t really talk right now. I’m getting ready to put dinner on the table.”

Abby checked her watch. By her calculations there was still ten minutes before the assigned dinnertime. “I’ll only take a second, I promise. I was wondering if anyone’s called the house looking for me.”

“No one except your boyfriend, that is. He lost your new work number, and figured I knew it.”

Mystery solved. “Mom, I told you Warren and I broke up.”

Same way she had when Abby told her about the breakup, her mother disregarded the comment. “Warren explained how that was all a big misunderstanding.”

“No. It was a breakup. I moved out of the apartment. Remember, I explained to you?” Along with the rest of the sordid story.

“I know what you said, honey, but I figured you’d changed your mind. Warren was so polite on the phone. And he’s doing so well. You’re lucky to have a man like that interested in taking you back.”

Because that’s what mattered. In Joanne Gray’s eyes, a lousy man was better than no man at all. Didn’t matter how miserable or mistreating—

“Joanne!” Abby’s stepfather’s bellow came through so loud she had to jerk the receiver from her ear. “What are you doing, talking on the phone?”

“I’m sorry,” she heard her mother reply. “It’s Abby. She had a question.”

“She should know better than to call when it’s dinnertime. Hang up. I’m hungry!”

There was some shuffling and her mother’s voice came back online, a little more ragged than before. “I have to go, honey.”

“Sure, Mom. I’ll call soon.”

Whether her mother heard the promise or not, Abby didn’t know. She’d hung up, leaving her daughter on the line, with a headache and a sense of defeat. Some things weren’t ever going to change. Not her mother. Not the way her mom viewed life.

“I was right,” Abby said, letting the phone drop in her lap. “Warren called her.”

Talk about ironic. When they lived together, Warren had no use for her parents. Called them useless white trash. He’d spoken to her parents no more than three times at most.

But of course, her mother would cave with the phone number. Warren, salesman that he was, would hardly break a sweat sweet-talking her.

Abby rubbed her suddenly aching head. “I honestly thought that, after six weeks, he’d move on.”

“Well, some guys just don’t like to give up what they think is theirs.”

Carmella should know. Her ex had torched their apartment during a fight. Thankfully, Warren never did more than twist Abby’s arm or deliver a swift backhand.

The silver bracelets lining Carmella’s arm shimmered against her dark skin as she pulled back the curtain covering the window. “Any chance he followed you?”

“No. He, um...left.” Aided by a field jacket and aviator sunglasses. “Hopefully, he got the message and won’t be back.”

“Yeah, right. And I’m gonna be on the cover of Vogue next week. You’re kidding yourself if you think he’s giving up now that he’s tracked you down.”

That’s what she was afraid of, Abby thought, rubbing her wrist. The marks had blossomed to full-blown bruises. Annoyance and shame rose in her throat. She was mad. Mad at Warren. Mad at her mother.

Most of all she was mad with herself for believing that living with him was the best she could ever do in life. For letting him take over her entire world, until she’d lost control and herself.

Well, no more. She’d rather be alone for the rest of her life than lose herself in a relationship again.

Why her mind drifted to Hunter at that moment, she didn’t know. Correction. Hunter Smith. She’d read the name off his credit card. Now that she thought about it, she was mad with him, too.

A new emotion joined the others already warring inside her: embarrassment. She’d worked long and hard to escape Warren’s clutches and start her new life. Last thing she needed was her action-hero customer thinking he knew her secrets. Or worse, sending her pitying looks with those steel-colored eyes of his.

It’d be too much to ask that he leave town by morning, wouldn’t it?

Knowing her luck, he’d be back at his table tomorrow, with that field coat and those big broad shoulders. Checking the bruises on her wrist.

She’d rather face down her ex.

* * *

“Eggs over easy, wheat toast, side of bacon.”

Abby held her order pad in front of her face like a shield. If she didn’t look at Hunter’s face, she wouldn’t have to see his expression. Bad enough that the mere thought of facing him gave her stress dreams.

Given everything that had happened yesterday, she’d think Warren would be the one haunting her subconscious. But when she closed her eyes, it was Hunter who invaded her thoughts.

She knew why he was on her mind. It was because he knew her dirty little secret. For so long, keeping secrets was how she’d lived her life. Her mistakes—and man, did she make some whoppers—were hers to hide. To think that now someone else knew—saw—the evidence... Part of her wanted to crawl into a hole. Another part wanted to tell Hunter to take his sympathy and shove it. She settled for focusing on the two-by-three square in front of her face.

“You going to write the order down?” Hunter asked.

“Not necessary.”

There was a long, drawn-out pause. “You sure?”

Against her better judgment, Abby lowered the pad to stare at him. “You don’t think I can remember?”

“Did I say that?”

His silence said so for him. Granted, she’d forgotten a few orders in the beginning, but she’d improved a lot since then. “You’ve ordered the same thing for twelve days,” she told him.

“Nice to know I’m so memorable.”

More like predictable, she wanted to say. Though that wouldn’t be quite true. She certainly hadn’t predicted his behavior yesterday. “I’ll go get your coffee.”

“How’s your wrist?”

Exactly the topic she hoped to avoid. “Fine,” she replied in a stiff voice. Her fingers twitched with the urge to tug on her cardigan, to hide the gauze bandage peering out from beneath the cuff. The bruises were darker this morning. Dark enough that simply wearing long sleeves wouldn’t be enough to hide them, so she’d covered them with a bandage. Her plan was to tell anyone who asked that she burned herself. Didn’t it figure, the first person to say anything would be the one man she didn’t want to hear from?

“I’ll be back with your coffee,” she said, turning on her heel.

Damned if she couldn’t feel him watching her walk back to the counter. Awareness washed over her, making her insides quiver. She wasn’t used to being looked at under any circumstances. In fact, Warren was the first man who’d ever paid her any kind of attention. Look how terrific that had turned out. Naturally, having a man as handsome as Hunter scrutinizing her set Abby’s nerves on edge. Doubly so since she knew his scrutiny wasn’t anything more than sympathetic curiosity. It made her feel like some wounded animal in the zoo. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her reflection in the stainless steel. Limp, uncooperative hair; pale skin. Yeah, like she’d attract attention. It scared her to think Warren was right. That he was the best she could do.

Good thing she didn’t mind being alone.

Tugging her cuff down to her knuckles, she made her way back to Hunter’s table.

“You’re going to pull that sleeve out of shape,” he remarked.

So what? It was her sweater. If she wanted to stretch it out, she would. “Do you need cream?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot already?”

“Sorry. Guess you’re not so memorable, after all.” She reached into her apron pocket and removed the plastic creamer pods she’d grabbed when getting his coffee. The motion caused her sleeve to pull upward. Whether Hunter looked at the exposed bandage or not didn’t matter; she felt he was and that was enough.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said suddenly.

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He thought he knew her story based on one short encounter. “You’re wrong, though. I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“Not...” She raised her bandaged arm. “Not anymore. I left Warren.”

“Oh.”

That was it? Oh? Abby watched him as he blew across the top of his cup, his lips pursing ever so slightly. It was the only change in his expression.

“Doesn’t seem to be taking the breakup too well,” he said finally.

“He’ll adjust. Yesterday was...” No need getting into a long, drawn-out explanation. “Look, I’m only explaining because you—”

“Saw the bruises?”

“Say it a little louder, why don’t you? They didn’t hear you downtown.” Swiping at her bangs, Abby looked around at the other tables. Fortunately, no one had heard, or if they did, had decided not to share.

“I wanted to make sure you understood the deal. Because of yesterday. Not that I don’t appreciate what you did and all.”

“You’re welcome.”

Abby pursed her lips. “Point is, your help wasn’t necessary. I have the situation under control.”

“I could tell.”

“Seriously, I do.” She didn’t like how his response sounded mocking. It made her even more defensive. Maybe she hadn’t had control at that exact moment, but she would have handled the situation. “So you won’t need to repeat the performance.”

“In other words, mind my own business.”

Exactly. “I’m saying it’s not necessary.”

Hunter nodded into the rim of his cup. “Good to know. I’m not really into rescues to begin with.”

“You’re not?” Could have fooled her.

“Nah. Like you said, it’s not my business.”

“Then why...?”

“Did I step in yesterday?” He shrugged. “What can I say? My mother was a Southerner and raised me to be a gentleman.”

So he was protecting her honor? Abby’s stomach fluttered. “Well, you can tell your mother the lesson sank in.”

“I would, but she’s dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged again. “Don’t be. It was twenty years ago.”

When he was a kid. The action hero had a sad past. A human side to balance the movie star exterior. Her edge toward him softened a little.

“Abby! Customers!” Guy’s voice cut over the clanging of plates and silverware. “Stick and move, will ya?”

“Duty calls.” Any more conversation would have to wait. “I’ll be back with your eggs soon as they’re ready.”

* * *

Under control, huh? Hunter watched as she bustled off to wait on two businessmen seated two tables over, her knotted ponytail bouncing in cadence with her steps. The gauze on her wrist flashed white as she raised her order pad. Who was she trying to convince with that statement? Him or herself?

Not his business. The lady said she had the situation under control. He was off the hook.

Which suited him fine. Besides, he thought as he raised his coffee mug, maybe the lady did have the situation under control, and that air of vulnerability was all in his head. Wouldn’t be the first time.

He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a manila folder. Probably not the best way to keep the dark thoughts at bay, but he looked at the photo anyway. It was the picture he’d taken of Abby. After much deliberation, he’d decided to print the photo in black-and-white, finding the absence of color highlighted the shadows on her cheeks.

Hunter stared at her eyes. There it was. The sadness. They always said eyes were the windows of the soul and that photography captured a little slice of that spirit. In Abby’s case, her spirit was wrapped in a kaleidoscope of emotions. Question was, what emotions were they? Photography, like all art, was open to interpretation. What looked soulful could really be distant, simmering resentment waiting to blow up in your face.

Another argument for focusing on simply taking the picture.

Finished with the businessmen, Abby had moved back to the order window, where she was now dancing back and forth with another waitress who was laden with plates. Hunter let his eyes skim Abby’s figure. The misshapen cardigans she wore every day didn’t do her silhouette any favors. She had great legs, though. They managed to look shapely despite the sensible shoes. He tried to imagine what they’d look like with her in a shorter skirt and high heels. Not bad, he bet.

He was still contemplating when Abby set a plate in front of him. “What’s this?” she asked.

She’d spotted the photo. Since the subject was self-explanatory, he took a bite of his eggs before answering. “You.”

“I know it’s me. When did you take it?”

“Yesterday. Right here on the sidewalk.”

Her brows drew together. “How? Were you following me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Although given her ex, he could see how she might jump to that conclusion. “I live across the street. I took the photo on my way back to my building.”

“Without saying anything?”

“Alerting you to my presence would have spoiled the shot.”

“So instead, you creeped.”

Hunter set down his fork. “I was discreet. It’s what a good photographer does.”

“Is it now?” Shooting him a dubious look, she wiped her hands on her apron and picked up the photo.

“Wow,” she said after a minute.

Exactly his reaction when he’d finished the digital enhancement. Hunter didn’t usually care about compliments; he had enough confidence in his skills that other opinions didn’t affect him. But hearing Abby’s whispered surprise, and seeing the look of genuine wonder that accompanied it, set off an eruption of heated satisfaction.

“I look...” As she paused to find the word, she worried her upper lip between her teeth. It was such an expressive gesture, Hunter had to fight the urge to grab his camera and snap away.

At last she set the photo down. “Tired,” she said. “I look tired.”

“Yeah, you do.” No sense lying when there were such pronounced circles under her eyes. “But I think you’re missing the point.” The weariness was part of what made her—that is, her picture—so captivating. “The photo is telling the story.”

“What? Woman works hard for the money? Donna Summer already covered it.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m here all week.” Her mood sobered as she brushed her fingertips along the glossy paper. “Sadly, this might be the best picture I’ve ever had taken.”

“Not surprising. It’s probably the first time you were shot by a quality photographer.”

She laughed. A short, sweet laugh that turned her features bright. To Hunter’s surprise, seeing her face light up sent the heat in his gut six inches lower. “Wish I’d known. Might have saved me from years of awful holiday photos. Warren said I looked like a deer about to be plowed into.”

“Were you?” Hunter asked. “About to be run over?”

Brown eyes raised to look at him. “I thought you said the problem was the photographer.”

“Photographers also capture reality.”

“Doesn’t that just support my argument about looking terrible?”

“Only if you’re terrible-looking to begin with.”

“Generally speaking, of course.” Pink colored her cheeks and she looked at the floor. It made him wonder how often she heard compliments. Considering her d-bag of an ex-boyfriend, it likely wasn’t often.

Hunter handed her the photograph. “Here.”

“You’re giving it to me?”

“Why not? It’s a picture of you.”

“Yeah, but...” Whatever she was going to say drifted off as her hand brushed against his. Hunter watched as her eyes widened at the contact. Fear of another man’s touch? Her pupils were wide and dark, turning her irises into thin, brown frames.

For some reason, he found himself wanting to extend the contact, and so he dragged his index finger slowly across the back of her hand as he withdrew. Beneath his touch, he felt her skin quiver.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome.”

“So this is how you take care of your customers.”

Warren. Abby yanked her hand away, sending the picture fluttering to the ground. Before either she or Hunter could move, her ex-boyfriend leaned over and picked it up. Abby tried to snatch it from his grip, but he held tight. “Nice picture. You look...good.”

Abby couldn’t answer. Her insides were too tense. Across the way, she could see Guy watching them. Please don’t let there be trouble. “I thought I told you yesterday that I didn’t want to see you.”

“That was yesterday. I figured now that you had time to sleep on things, you’d changed your mind. Course, that was before I realized why you didn’t want me around.”

Warren’s eyes were hard and glittered like diamonds. Abby knew the look well. His calm demeanor was an act, a respite before the storm.

Hadn’t she told Hunter she had the situation under control? She squared her shoulders. “Warren, you need to leave.”

“Not until we talk. You changed your phone number.”

“That should have been a clue that I don’t want to talk with you.”

“Come on, babe, stop being stubborn. I know I messed up, but that’s no reason to run away. Let’s get out of here and talk. You’ll see how sorry I am, and you’ll change your mind.”

No way. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she told him.

“There you go, being stubborn again.”

He moved to grab her hand. Abby jerked out of his grasp. “Oh, sure, I can’t touch you, but you got no problem letting him paw you,” he snarled.

“She said she didn’t want to talk with you.”

Great. Until then, Hunter had been quiet. What happened to staying on the sidelines? “I’ve got this, Hunter,” she told him. Last thing she needed was for him to butt in and make a bad situation worse.

Warren’s mottled face grew a shade redder. “‘This’?” Too late, Abby realized her poor choice words. The switch flipped and the true Warren appeared. “You think I’m something you need to ‘handle’?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant, you ungrateful cow.” This time when he reached for her, he was successful, latching on to her arm with an iron grip. “I’m done playing around. Let’s go.”

She stood her ground. “No.”

Warren yanked her arm. Abby winced.

“The lady said no.” Hunter had gotten up and moved between them, essentially blocking their exit.

“Get out of my way,” Warren said.

“How about you let go of her arm?”

By now the other customers were watching. Guy had come out from the kitchen and was about two seconds away from throwing them all out. Abby’s pulse began to race. She half considered going, if to only keep the scene from escalating any further.

“We can talk,” she said, scrambling for a compromise. “But here. Sit down and I’ll bring you some coffee.”

It didn’t work. “Since when do you tell me what I can and can’t do? After everything I’ve done for you? You’re lucky I’m taking you back after the way you humiliated me.”

“I’m not going back!” For crying out loud, it was like a broken record. Abby yanked herself free, only to stumble backward into Hunter’s table, knocking his coffee cup off balance. The cup fell on its side, hot liquid spilling over the edge, where it dripped on the camera below.

“Son of a—” Hunter grabbed for it just as the liquid began running down the outer casing. “This is a five-thousand-dollar camera.”

“Serves you right for butting in where you don’t belong.” Warren sneered.

Hunter set the camera down on a clean table. “That so?” he asked. His voice was low and precise. Compared with Warren’s bluster, the quiet deliberateness sounded like ice. The air in the diner chilled.

“Seems to me,” Hunter said, stepping into the other man’s space, “that the problem started when you walked in the door. Now if my camera has any damage at all, you’re going to pay.”

Her ex-boyfriend scoffed, not realizing he was out of his league. “I’m not paying you for anything.”

Hunter took another step. “Oh, I think you will.”

“Okay, you three...”

A standoff. Just great. It figured Warren would choose today to become macho and proud. It was the money. He would run into a burning building to protect five thousand dollars. Meanwhile, Guy was limping over to them. Abby almost groaned out loud. This could only end one way. Badly and with her getting fired. Quickly she stepped between the two men, hoping to regain control before Guy took action. “Look, guys, I’m sure if there’s a problem we can—”

“Stay out of this!” Warren snapped. With that, he did what he did best—shoved her aside. Stuck between two tables, Abby found herself with little room to maneuver. Her feet tangled with a chair leg and she fell to the floor, but not before her back slammed into the edge of one of the tables. The table tipped, scraping her skin from bra strap to waist, and sending its contents spilling. Glass and silverware landed on the floor behind her.