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“Gray.” She gnawed on her lower lip. “Thanks for meeting me.”
Where she was awkward and uncertain, he was suave and confident, as though he did this kind of thing all the time. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek, then straightened, his eyes roaming hers.
“Abby. How are you?”
“Fine.” She gestured to the table. “I ordered a pot of coffee. Do you still drink it black?”
She didn’t want to be a mumbling idiot. Nor did she particularly want to reveal how much she remembered about him.
“Yeah.” He made no effort to pour a cup. Nor did she. It was a hot day out there, one of those stifling, muggy New York days best suited to drinking frappucinos in the shade of Bryant Park, trying to catch any hint of a breeze, and she’d chosen a summery dress out of habit. It wasn’t like she had an expansive wardrobe. This was cotton and comfortable, pale pink with thin straps and a v neck, it fell to her ankles. It gave nothing away, and yet when his eyes dropped lower, his appraisal slow and intent, she felt as though she might as well have been naked.
She sat down quickly, desire flaming her, making her forget – for a moment – the reason they’d come here.
“Thanks for meeting me.” She’d had two coffees already this morning but poured herself another, simply so her hands had some occupation.
“Of course.” He frowned as she lifted the coffee to her lips.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be in the city –,”
“I am.”
She was babbling and he was cutting her off. Asking her, without saying the words, to cut to the chase.
“Right.” But this conversation was almost impossible to have. Nerves and anxiety were crippling her.
“I presume you’ve done a test?”
She blinked at him. “For what?”
“A pregnancy test?”
And Abby groaned, because ofcoursehe’d think she was pregnant! She’d found out only a week after he’d left that she wasn’t. Perhaps she should have let him know. But Charlotte had occupied all of her thoughts.
“I’m not pregnant.”
“You’re not?” His surprise was obvious. So too his relief. Regret crushed her, because his relief would be short lived.
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” He smiled. “That’s good.”
Oh, crap. She sipped her coffee, almost pleased when it scalded her mouth. “I always knew you didn’t want children,” she said slowly, thoughtfully, trying to catch the strands of the speech she’d spent four weeks preparing.
“I don’t make a habit of lying about it,” he said with a small shrug, his relief palpable.
“No,” she agreed softly. “Even back then, I knew.”
He didn’t say anything, and she was glad. In her mind, when she’d practiced this speech, she hadn’t written his lines, only her own, and she wasn’t very good at improvising.
“I’ve been thinking a lot, this past month, about what happened between us.”
“In the alley?” He prompted, a sensual glint in his eyes. She felt the flirtation and had to quell a rising heat in her abdomen.
“No, two years ago.” She toyed with the fabric of her dress beneath the table.
