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
