after-hours look through your salon so I can get a feel for how I can make sure the test run can be kept private?”
He’d moved on. It took Abby a moment to realize that and switch gears, too.
But she did.
“We don’t do the special occasions work at the salon,” she informed him. “The owner—Sheila—has two salons and there’s a third location midway between the two where we only do the special occasions work. It makes it so our brides and their wedding parties—or whoever else we’re working with for a special event—can spread out and get a little pampered without regular clients around.”
“Then can you give me a tour of that place so I can check it out? The sooner the better.”
He was really expecting a lot of her in her befuddled state. But she tried to think about work and scheduling and finally came up with an answer. “I guess I could meet you there tomorrow night—I know it’s Saturday night but I’m booked from early tomorrow morning until closing at the shop so that would be the soonest... I know it’s probably a date night for you with your girlfriend or wife or whatever, but—”
“There’s no girlfriend or wife or date night or whatever. Would meeting with me be messing with any of that for you?”
“Me?” she said as if that was unthinkable. “No. There’s none of that for me right now, either.”
“Then we can do it tomorrow night?”
“I’ll text you the address and directions. I can probably be there by seven.”
“Seven it is, then,” he agreed. “Now, how about that burger place over there? Can I buy you dinner?” He pointed his sculpted chin in the direction of a small redbrick building that housed two restaurants just in front of the old Victorian house where Abby rented a studio apartment.
Clearly he had no idea how overwhelmed she was if he thought there was any way she could be good company right now. She declined the invitation with the polite excuse that she’d promised to eat with China tonight.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night, then,” Dylan said without seeming to take any offense from the rejection.
They both stood and as he did, he picked up the key from the picnic table. “I think you should hang on to this.”
This time Abby took it from him, her fingers brushing his as she did and making her oddly aware of some kind of heat passing between them.
“Are you okay?” he asked then, as if he’d just noticed that she was a little dazed.
“I’m fine. There’s just been a lot that came at me all of a sudden...”
“Why don’t you at least let me drive you home.”
Abby took a deep breath of the evening air to clear her mind and shook her head. “I’m only a block away. The walk will do me good.”
“Are you sure?” he asked skeptically.
“I am,” she said, wondering if she should thank him or something.
But she didn’t feel altogether grateful for what she’d learned tonight, so instead she just said goodbye and headed back the way she’d come.
It was only as she walked home that she recalled feeling somehow strengthened by the thought of picking through her past with him by her side.
Why would that have happened? she asked herself when it struck her as weird all over again.
It certainly couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that he was fabulous looking—even though she suddenly found herself happy to think that she’d be seeing him again tomorrow night.
Maybe it was just because he was a big, strong guy who gave the impression that he could handle himself and anything thrown at him.
Except that whatever got thrown would be thrown at her...and so far, he’d been the one doing all the throwing.
But still, that must be it, she decided.
Because after all, what else could it be?
Certainly not that she was attracted to him.
They were worlds apart and she knew better than to try crossing over from her world to anyone else’s.
“So... Dylan Camden didn’t come to tell you you’re the secret, illegitimate daughter of a high-society socialite.”
Like Abby, China fantasized a lot of scenarios for her friend that had extravagant happy endings.
It was early Saturday morning. After years of sharing an apartment to make ends meet when they’d aged out of foster care, Abby and China now had their own studio apartments across the hall from each other in a north Denver Victorian house that had been converted into an apartment building.
China had been on a date on Friday night and had come home too late for Abby to tell her about the meeting with Dylan. But the minute China woke up this morning she’d padded across the hall in her pajamas and bare feet to hear what Abby had learned.
Abby had told her the whole thing over coffee and cereal at her small pedestaled kitchen table.
“What do you think is in the lockbox?” China asked then. “A million dollars in gold coins? Another key and the number of a safety deposit box full of diamonds? A will that makes you—”
“Queen of a small country?” Abby finished with a laugh. “Somehow I don’t think being the abandoned daughter of someone who rich people used to strong-arm their employees leads to stuff like that.” And she didn’t want to entertain any more hopes for anything. Not after suffering the kind of crash she’d had last night when it finally sank in that the real story of her past was so much seedier than she’d ever imagined.
She turned her open laptop so China could see the screen. “I looked up old newspaper articles on Gus Glassman last night. Here’s his picture.”
“Oh, well, no wonder you’re gorgeous—you came from good genes,” China said the minute she saw the photograph. “But you didn’t get your dark eyes or dark curly hair from him—his eyes are lighter and the hair is straight and sandy brown. You have his nose and mouth, though. Anything about him look familiar?”
Abby shook her head. “Other than that little bit of resemblance, no. There were no flashes of looking up at him from my crib.”
“He has nice eyes. I wouldn’t be afraid to date him if I met him somewhere. He doesn’t look like someone who could kill someone else,” China said.
Abby knew her friend was searching for the positive side. But the facts didn’t seem to bear that out.
“The articles back up what Dylan told me,” she said. “Except that Dylan made it sound more like an accident and the articles don’t. Gus had threatened the supervisor before—often enough that
