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Before I hung up, I heard her speak to Trenton. “She wants to have coffee!”
“That’s great, baby,” Trenton said.
I pressed End before she realized I could hear her, and then gently dropped my phone into the cup holder. “She’s excited.”
Travis chuckled. “I heard. I think you made her whole year.”
I leaned back, looking up. “I want to get along. I do. But I can’t shake this feeling—like I should keep my guard up with her.”
“Whatever it is, I’m confident you’ll find out tomorrow.”
“But tonight,” I said, looking over at him with a smile, “you owe me dinner at Biasetti’s.”
Chapter Seventeen
Whatever She Wants
Travis
WALKING INTO PLACES WITH MYwife and watching people stare never got old. I swept the door open for her and both of the hostesses’ eyes lit up. They were college girls like Abby, but my wife was perfection, her baby pink-colored dress set off her tan from her days by the pool with America and whatever the hell she did to make her skin glow.
Abby didn’t believe it, but she looked like a super model, and it was as amusing as it was irritating to watch men seated at tables with their own wives or girlfriends notice her, then look at me, and then quickly back at their date. Even the women couldn’t keep from staring.
As the hostess seated us at a four-top, Abby settled into her chair and put her purse on the seat next to her. Her loose curls bounced, the golden ends falling past her shoulders. She called it a midi dress, whatever that was, the ribbed fabric of the cotton-ish fabric stopping at her shin. It looked like a cotton tank top on top with thicker straps, then BAM! Curve-hugging perfection. It reminded me of something a celebrity would wear, and as curious as the other patrons were, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“What?” she asked, smiling at me from the across the square table.
“I just can’t get over how beautiful you look tonight.”
She scoffed. “You’re just used to me looking homeless.”
I shrugged as I opened the menu. “That’s how you looked the first time you came to my apartment, and I still fell for you.”
She nodded once, unable to stop grinning. “True.”
As soon as the waiter took our drink order, a woman approached the table. She was middle-aged, sophisticated, and dripping in gaudy jewelry. Although she seemed familiar, I couldn’t place her.
“Abby! It’s so nice to see you, darling.” The woman was smiling, but her tone was anything but genuine. Abby seemed to notice, too, and was instantly uncomfortable, although the woman probably didn’t see it.
“Vivienne,” Abby said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Good to see you, too. This is my husband, Travis Maddox. Travis, this is Vivienne Hayes.”
Fanfuckingtastic. Parker’s mom.
I outstretched my hand, forcing myself to be polite and pretend I didn’t want to murder her son. The last thing I wanted was to get kicked out of Biasetti’s.
She forced a smile like I did, but just stared at my hand.
I looked down at it. “I washed it. No peasant residue.”
Her forced smile faded. “I doubt that.” The outer corners of her over-filled lips turned up as she looked at Abby again. “Try to enjoy your night, dear. And your life.”
“Excuse me?” Abby said, only able to utter the words after Vivienne walked away. She closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Pidge, I couldn’t stop myself.”
“Try harder,” she said, opening her eyes and trying to stifle a grin.
Oh, thank God. She isn’t mad.
