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“I love messy.” Roman slips a lock of loose hair behind my ear and a sigh escapes me as he smiles.
“I don’t even know if I like you.” I’m pouting and muttering. He laughs out loud, hugging me close to his rumbling chest.
“That’s fine. I don’t know if I like you either, Hollywood.”
“LA, Roman. I live in LA.” He squeezes me and I can barely get the words out, grumbling.
“Whatever, princess. Come with me to Seattle for the weekend and find out.” He twirls me around, picking me up off the ground, and in my dizziness, I give him the only answer possible.
“Yes.”
Chapter Eight
ROMAN
Nervous as hell doesn’t begin to describe how I feel about bringing Abby home. She twists me up in knots no sailor could untangle, but to cut her out guts me even more. I don’t even know where the ‘invite Abigail Holliday to your personal sanctum’ came from. Not because I’m ashamed of it or anything, far from it, but I’d never brought a woman here before—and not one I’d met in Gold Beach. I have my dad’s house for sleepovers there, if I really wanted too, not that I’ve done so, because I’ve always gone elsewhere first. I spent my days tomcatting, but Seattle has plenty of nice hotel suites for that. Gold Beach is sacred in a way, like a twilight zone of happiness and childhood memories mixed with the burn of losing my parents at separate times in my life. Somehow, Abby infiltrates that mix and makes an annoying place for herself. I’ve yet to figure out how that makes me feel.
My loft apartment in Seattle is where I pay homage to my parents and my dream of building boats. Pictures of growing up in Gold Beach fill the walls, and despite the tragedy of losing them, I know I was lucky to have known them for as long as I did. I own the building I converted into my living quarters upstairs, and my handcrafted boat is downstairs in my open-air workshop. Abby will be the first to see this boat that consumed the prior six months of my life. Hand-sanded and painted, crafted with my own hands—hands that itch to get on Abby once I get her there.
My less than vanilla fantasies of spanking her over my wood sanding bench are interrupted when Abby speaks. “Roman?” Taking off her little gold flip-flops, she rests her feet against the dashboard of my truck. I’d given her permission to relax and put her feet up, but only now hours outside of Gold Beach is she actually doing it. I’m driving up scenic Highway 101, and while the view is incredible, I want to stop and glance over to the woman sitting next to me more than drive—her little pink toenails crest the top of the dash as sunlight filters through and bounces off the pale painted shells. Cute. Adorable. Mine. Or she will be soon.
“Yeah, Abs?” I look over briefly, wondering what she wants to talk about now. We stopped for coffee and doughnuts earlier at a local bakery. Watching her eat the fresh sticky doughnut, licking the icing off her little fingers really did a number on me. Again. I’m pretty sure she knows what she is doing, taking her time w
ith her tongue rolling up and down her shiny wet fingers to get that icing off. Damn brat.
“I hate that nickname, you know.” She looks at me sideways from over the top of her new sunglasses, which ride the bridge of her pert little nose, and I just smile. I notice they definitely aren’t the expensive ones she lost in the ocean and these fit her better. Our teasing is a light banter, and there’s no way I want to set the banshee free on a long drive like this.
I nudge her gently from my seat. “Yeah, but you hate me less today, so you’ll tolerate it.” I wink, and she says nothing, so I know she isn’t really mad. Gauging her moods is difficult at best.
“I’ve never been to Seattle before, so tell me what you like best about it. I’ve been an LA girl my whole life.” Abby goes back to looking at the road and I figure I should concentrate on driving while I answer her questions.
Clearing my throat, I begin feeling my excitement build. “Well, I might have mentioned I like boats and work for a company that builds them.” All right, I didn’t mention I own the company, but whatever. As I have said before, its semantics, folks.
“So it’s like any other city except it focuses on boats? Okay, that sounds stupid—I just mean is that like the main economy here?” She wrinkles her nose, waiting for me to say something, and I wait out her nervous energy. “Come on, Roman, LA is known for celebrities and St. Louis is known for its barbeque. What’s Seattle all about?”
“St. Louis? Really? That’s random. What’s a girl got against St. Louis?” She rolls her eyes at me—or at least I’m sure she does under her sunglasses, and I have to wonder why poor St. Louis was dragged into this in the first place.
“I’m not a Cardinals fan that’s all.” Slim shoulders shrug and I’m shocked. A baseball girl, huh, who knew? I better not tell her I have Mariners season tickets right now. She could be a jumper, and I’m driving the truck just a hair over the speed limit on the coastal highway.
Feigning shock, she nudges me back. “Gasp!”
“Whatever, Roman.” She taps her feet on the dash with that nervous energy I want soothe.
My own fingers tap the steering wheel and I jump into telling her all about my home away from Gold Beach. “I don’t think you’ll suffer culture shock or anything like that. Seattle is pretty much like any other city except we’ve got kick-ass sushi. I mean tons of Asian food if you love that. I hope you love that.”
“Roman?”
“The fish market is the best you’ll ever see. Actually, when we go, I’ll have to introduce you to the fish toss.” Getting to show her around reminds me of some of the fun things I’ve yet to do myself.
“The what?” She leans closer to me, and I’m excited to get there, pressing the truck peddle a little faster.
“It’s where you pay the fishmonger like ten bucks to toss and catch fish.” Her mouth is gaped open, unbelieving. “Or flies with your mouth open.” Grabbing her by the neck, I pull her close and peck her lips quickly, earning a blush before I ramble on. “Coffee on every corner, the Space Needle, which we are totally going in, so don’t even give me any crap about being afraid of heights.” I turn and point my finger at her, and she’s smiling a beautiful smile that lights up her entire face. I realize I’m eager to tell her about my home city and can’t shut up.
“Roman?” she says again, but I steamroll right over her interruptions.
“Oh and a Mariners game—we’ll have to catch one of those too. I’ve got box seats, which is fine if it rains, and it usually does, so I must have like thirty umbrellas at home in the closet. I’m not an umbrella freak, I swear.” Shit, I just dropped the baseball bomb and uncertainty stirs. I grab her hand closest to me and squeeze it tenderly.
“Hey, shut up already! I get it, you love Seattle.” Abby sits up, retrieving her hand back while moving closer to me, pulling me down to her by my shirt. I’m watching the road but turn enough, knowing she’s going to kiss me on the cheek. I move my face and she catches my lips instead. Hey, I’m not one to miss an opportunity here. I see her eyes go wide and she backs away quickly just when I want to scoop her up into my lap in the driver’s seat. “Drive the car, Roman,” she articulates sharply while smiling shyly and big this time. I put my focus back on the road. “Umbrella freak,” she mutters under her breath, beaming from cheek to cheek.
