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"From the twisting," he said, nodding toward where Birdie still fussed over the teeniest line of her fruit bowl. ''Overachiever like her mother?"
Abigail's lips held a ghost of a smile. "She's serious about art."
"She has natural talent," he said, winking at Birdie when she glanced up, gratitude in her eyes. "So, we'll be working together on the committee? That should be fun."
"I've never found committee work fun."
He was certain Abigail found very little in life fun... and what a travesty. Life wasn't always a party, but he always dressed for one, hoping that whatever lay ahead would be good, soaked in bubbly with a decent dance floor. To approach life as if it were anything less didn't make sense to him. "Well, I'll bring some tofu dip and some beer I've brewed. We'll make it fun."
Abigail's eyes widened. "You're going to bring beer to a committee meeting?"
"No?"
"Probably shouldn't. We're meeting at Hilda's."
"Scotch, then?"
"Uh..."
"Well, I'm running out of the fun stuff." He gave her a wolfish smile just because he wanted to. Maybe he wanted her to feel the full effect of his charm or maybe he simply liked putting her out of her comfort zone. Because it was... fun.
"I'm sure you don't have to bring a thing but a willingness to serve."
She sounded like a Sunday schoolteacher. Abigail wasn't just a good girl- she was the girl everyone hated because she didn't screw up, because she gave others "that look'' when they did. "You don't like me much, do you?"
Abigail pulled back. "Oh, no, that's not true at all. We're just very different people with different views."
"But different is good. Makeslife much more interesting, don't you think?"
Abigail seemed to tum that over in her head like a virtual convenience store hotdog rack. "Sure. I guess that's a good way to look at it."
But he could see she was lying. Different likely scared Abigail right out of those loafers. He glanced at her feet and saw that she wore boots. Sensible boots. The woman was as challenging as a blank canvas. What wonder could be brought forth if one bothered to spend the time creating on her page?
But as tantalizing as the thought of pulling out his brushes and tackling the wall she’d erected was, something inside him warned against delving beneath her stoic facade. It was presumptuous of him to think he stood a chance with the obviously damaged woman. Still, he'd seen her gaze linger on him. He'd felt the interest she tried to hide behind her disapproval.
But Leif never went where he wasn't welcome.
Birdie gave a sigh, lifting her drawing, eyeing it critically.
"So I'll see you at the next meeting?" Leif said. Abigail had been staring at him, her eyes revealing... desire? She quickly looked away.
At that moment he wanted to gather her close to him, push back that intriguing dark hair with the silver streak, cup her face, and break through. Whether either of them admitted it, the music had started. There were only two ways to go-leave the dance floor or hold on tight.
Abigail raised her chin- the gesture seemed stubborn to him-and looked at him with eyes the color of emerald gulf waters. "I'll see you on Thursday."
"Yes, you will."
The sound of the door opening and a "Yoo-hoo" made them all turn. In the doorway was a man Leif had never seen before.
"This the Intro to Drawing class?" he asked, his gaze landing on Birdie and Abigail. He laughed. "Well, well. There're my girls."
Birdie jumped from her chair, sending it screeching back. "Daddy!"
Abigail stiffened, a panicked look on her face.
"Hello, baby doll," the man said, catching Birdie in midair as she launched herself at him. “A little birdie told me my little Birdie was taking art lessons."
"Cal?" Abigail said, her voice incredulous. She appeared to vibrate beside him. As if a unicorn had stepped through the door. Or, on second thought, a dragon.
