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Again she got that prickling feeling he was working her, plying guilt, dropping hints, worming his way into her life. Waiting for that moment she'd welcome him home with open arms.
"Well, good night, Cal."
He stepped outside. "I'll be seeing you."
Abigail watched her ex-husband walk away, lifting her hand when he looked over his shoulder at her. And then he was gone.
She twisted the lock and switched off the lamp in the parlor, leaving the buffet lamps on the foyer table lit in case one of her guests decided to go for an early morning walk. Then she went upstairs to her room, hair still damp, body replete from making love with Leif, thoughts tumbling with relationship parameters, ex-husbands, and the fact she had to go to art class tomorrow night.
Yawning, she decided to tuck away the guilt and snuggle beneath her down comforter with the next episode ofCall the Midwife.
TUESDAY WASLEIF'S busy day. After working car pool, he had little more than an hour between the end of one job and the start of his part-time gig at the community college nearly twenty miles away. Just enough time to leaf through the photo album Abigail had let him borrow yesterday while choking down a veggie roll.
Not many photos of the cabins used by the artists were included, but there were plenty of the grand house before renovations. Notes beneath the photos acknowledged many of the original furnishings had remained- some of which had been restored and were currently used in the bed-and-breakfast. Before renovations, the staircase bore a broken banister and chipped marble, and as Leif studied the structure, he wondered what had really happened the night Simeon had plunged to his death.
One thing he knew with certainty was his mother was no killer.
Which meant he needed to talk to Bartholomew Harvey. But how did one bring up that sort of conversation without revealing his true intent? Though he'd told both Abigail and Hilda about the real reason he was in Magnolia Bend, he wasn't ready for the censure that would likely come when people learned Calliope was his mother. According to Hilda, many in Magnolia Bend didn't like the artist, but that had been over thirty years ago. Surely, many had forgotten.
But if some townspeople still called the Civil War the War of Northern Aggression, maybe not.
The South was slow in many ways-both a good and bad thing. Nothing wrong with moseying-a term they used in rotation with lollygagging-but he didn't care for the way many held on to past prejudice.
Leif rose from the couch, moving to the sliding glass door. The sun neared the horizon, casting long shadows on his backyard, one ray spotlighting the fire pit where he'd held Abigail.
She'd felt so good in his arms, and seeing her abandon her tight rein on life and let go had been rewarding.
God, she'd been beautiful with the water sluicing from her pale skin, the luminous moon highlighting her curves, shadows darkening the valleys. He loved her unexpected boldness, the passion she'd shown. In the depths of her eyes he'd found a kindred spirit... if only for a few hours.
But then she'd gone, leaving an empty place even though she’d still sat beside him. He'd felt the change. Not necessarily regret, but she'd pulled into herself, tugging on a woolen coat of protection. Abigail was like Mr. Rogers in that old children's TV show. Taking off what the world expected of her in order to play in a world of make-believe, knowing she must return to the person everyone expected when the magic abated.
The dark lanterns swayed in the wind as the sun took a final bow. His exotic world of make-believe was a darkened set, awaiting another magical moment.
If only...
Earlier he'd texted Abigail, feeling a bit clingy but wanting her to know he'd been thinking of her.
Great first date. You're welcome to hang out at my house anytime.
He'd sent it, and then wished he hadn't. Maybe it was too blatant. Abigail didn't seem the kind of woman to dial in a booty call... and his text had made it sound like that was what he expected between them.
Dumb move.
Or maybe she would see the text for what it was-a tap on the shoulder, a reminder he wanted to see her again. Not in the classroom, but alone, in the privacy they'd shared last night.
What they'd shared wasn't just about sex... though that particular activity had been mind-blowing. There was something inside him that craved more. That wanted Abigail to be apart of his life while he stayed in Magnolia Bend.
If only for a while.
He sighed and turned toward his austere- aka empty- living room. Maybe he was lonely. Leif wasn't great at being alone. Oh, he could do it for a while, but it wasn't his ideal. Underneath his "don't nail me down" persona was a human being who thirsted for what he'd had in the commune as a child- a place to belong. This needy feeling was what had led to a string of romantic entanglements. He wanted to be the guy stayed, but each time he approached the final step, each time he faced true commitment, he balked. Ran. Got the hell out of town.
Speaking of which …he glanced at his watch.
No more time to ponder what was missing from his life. He had a class to teach, and Abigail would be there.
How things had changed in a mere week.
Crazy.
