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Simon grinned to acknowledge the parry and thrust. “It seems like your father isn’t the only person in the Reese family who doesn’t like talking about themselves.”
“It’s just there’s not much to say.” Abby let out a little laugh, or tried to. “Honestly. I’m very dull. I’ve been thinking about that all evening, how very boring I must seem to you. I haven’t gone anywhere, or done anything, except live and work on this orchard, which is actually fine, if a bit dull to the outsider.”
“Not at all,” Simon assured her. “But have you wanted to go somewhere?” He chose to press. “Anywhere, ever? That’s the real question.”
“Maybe, a long time ago.” Abby’s voice had a faraway quality that Simon wondered at. “But I grew out of it.”
“Is it something you have to grow out of?”
“My life is here.” She spoke firmly. “And it always will be. I’m very happy with that.”
Was that a warning, Simon wondered, not to get too close? He
was just being friendly, but occasionally he felt himself veer into flirting, which was weird, since he hadn’t dated anyone in years, and he generally wasn’t a flirtatious kind of guy. Yet Abby intrigued him. He liked her—or at least he wanted to, if she would let him. Maybe it was her reserve that fascinated him; it felt safe. She wouldn’t blow up on him. She wouldn’t start shrieking about how something was all his fault. Yes, he had emotional baggage, just as she seemed to have hers.
Suppressing the inevitable sigh, Simon turned back to her. “Well, you don’t seem boring to me. Not boring at all.” He held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, noticing her blush, liking it.
All right, yes, he was definitely flirting. So what? It felt good. It didn’t have to make him feel guilty, to think about home, about Maggie, and how she still hadn’t responded to his message. He was a free man. Unfortunately.
Abby turned back to the sink, shaking her head a little. He’d hardly done anything, yet Simon wondered if already he’d pushed her too far.
ABBY
Why couldn’t she handle this? Abby wondered as she continued to rinse plates. This was all so new, so different from her dependable days, her empty nights. Besides Shannon and Tina, she had few friends, and most of them were older, or married, or living somewhere far away. Her life was quiet—a deliberate choice she’d made at just seventeen, the only atonement she could offer, and the only thing from that time that she didn’t regret. But it left her woefully unprepared for moments like this one—a little light flirting over dirty dishes as a violet twilight settled softly over the fields outside, and the cicadas started up in a noisy hum.
“You didn’t actually say,” she said as she closed the dishwasher and then went to get the ice cream. “Whether you stayed put or not, I mean.”
“No, I didn’t stay.” For a second, Simon’s voice dropped its usual good humor and irrepressible energy. He sounded strangely bleak.
The gallon of ice cream in her hands, Abby turned to look at him. He seemed lost in thought, but as he caught her gaze he perked up, giving her a quick smile that for once didn’t reach his eyes.
“Childhood in Lincolnshire, university in Nottingham, and then on to Cambridge, where I teach sixth form. I’ve been around, although I’ve never gone anywhere too far.”
“Don’t forget your year in Philadelphia.”
“True.”
They took their bowls of ice cream out to the back porch, Bailey following them hopefully, although Abby regretted the decision when she realized the only place to sit was on the old bench swing, which seemed a little too cozy.
Simon solved the problem by plonking himself down on the back steps, and Abby did likewise, with Bailey planted between them. Dusk was settling on the fields and orchards in a purple blanket, the air still warm and drowsy from a day under the baking sun. An owl hooted in the distance, audible over the determined chirping of the cicadas. A perfect summer night.
Abby took a bite of ice cream, savoring the sweet, creamy coldness of it.
Simon gave a sigh of appreciation. “Delicious.”
“Straight out of the freezer.”
He glanced at her. “I can see why you’d stay here. It seems pretty perfect to me.”
It felt like an apology of sorts, for pushing her earlier. Not that he had all that much. It just felt that way to Abby, because she’d become so private.
She didn’t know what to say in response—there was so much that was both right and wrong with his statement—so she just popped another bite of ice cream into her mouth and savored the taste, along with the peaceful silence.
“So, will you work on your book?” she asked after she’d swallowed it down. “That’s why you came, right?”
“I’ll do my best.” He propped his elbows on his knees. “Did you know seventy thousand British women married GIs after the war? That’s quite a number.”
“I didn’t know that.”
