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She chuckles as she brings the glass of wine to her lips and takes a sip. “He hides that side of himself very well.” She sets her glass down, but her fingers stay clutched around the stem. “I found out later all the shit he used to get up to. None of it like the perfect doting boyfriend he pretended to be in front of our families and me.”
I stroke my finger along the ones she’s holding tightly onto the glass with, and she relaxes them. I take the opportunity to pry her grip away and link our fingers together, resting them on the table.
“Hey, that says everything about him and nothing about you. He’s an asshole, but at least you found out before you married him.”
“Yeah, thank God for small miracles, huh?” One side of her lips turns up in a half smile as she releases her hand from mine and takes another sip of the delicious red.
“I ran into Raelynn at the luncheon,” she tells me with a quirk of her brow.
My eyes go wide with surprise. Why, I’m not sure. Of course her mom and sister invited her. It’s not as though they would be concerned with how it would make Abigail feel.
“Does she still have all her teeth?” I’m only half joking.
Abigail giggles and shakes her head. “Yes. I save my violent tendencies for special occasions.”
“Like plane rides?”
She scrunches her nose and smiles at me. God, she’s adorable. “Something like that. We actually had a decent talk.” Abigail tells me the sad story of her former friend’s marriage and how it came about.
“I honestly felt bad she doesn’t have anyone to turn to. I get she did a lot of that to herself, but when I left Charleston, I met Kasey and Lindsey. I’ve never been alone like that, y’know?”
This is a far cry from the woman who explained to me what happened before we came. Then, I could feel the anger at what they did rolling off her in waves. Now, she seems almost sad for her onetime friend.
“I’m not saying we’re going to be the best of friends, or friends at all again for that matter, but hearing what she went through, I don’t know, she fell for his bullshit too. I might not forgive her yet, but I’m on my way there.” Abigail shrugs her shoulders while letting out a sigh.
“Years of anger and hurt don’t just disappear after one conversation,” I tell her. “But hey, if you can forgive me for being a raging douchebag, then you can forgive Raelynn at some point, right?” My lips tip up in a grin.
Abigail rolls her eyes at me. “Who says I have?” She raises an eyebrow in challenge, but the glint in her eye tells me she knows good and well that she has.
We enjoy the French cuisine and wine, the relaxing dinner having the intended effect, and Abigail is in better spirits after her time with her mom and sister. She gave me a rundown of her and Cesily’s conversation. I’d hoped maybe her sister would be somewhat in her corner after all this time, but it seems she’s gone the way of their mom, image over family loyalty.
After dinner, Abigail and I decide to wander around the city. The slow stroll through the streets of downtown is a far cry from walking in Philadelphia. The air here is sweeter. I asked the cabby on my way back to the hotel this afternoon what that sweet, fruity fragrance was, and he told me they were the Tea Olive trees that bloom from fall through winter. It’s intoxicating. The streets are lined with old Southern buildings ranging from the colonial era to Art Deco. The eclectic style somehow works here and gives the city character. Never something I would have noticed had I not been a fan of evening walks myself.
Looking over at Abigail, it strikes me how at home she seems. It’s a huge difference from when we arrived yesterday. Her red locks are in loose waves down her back and the worry lines that ran across her face and mouth yesterday have smoothed. As she walks next to me, a small smile brightens her face.
“I forgot how much I love this area.” She takes a deep breath of the fragrant air as she grasps my hand in hers. This is new. Abigail never struck me as a hand-holder, nor has she ever initiated this kind of innocent physical contact with me before. What’s even more surprising is how much I like walking down the street with her holding her hand.
“You seem calmer today,” I observe.
“There’s something about being here again after a few years away. Yeah, the family stuff still sucks, but I’ve missed the city. There’s a kind of magic here.” She smiles and squeezes my hand. “The company isn’t half bad either.”
“That’s half a compliment, but I’ll take it.” I look into her smiling green eyes, and I’m overcome with the urge to feel her lips against mine. Not for it to lead anywhere else, but just to feel her soft lips pressed to mine in a place that makes her happy.
Abigail starts laughing under her breath as a group of what I presume are tourists walk past us, led by some sort of guide.
“I always thought those tours were so cheesy,” she tells me, watching the people with their cameras out, ready to snap pictures.
“What are they doing?”
“It’s a ghost tour. The city’s filled with them. They walk around graveyards and supposedly haunted houses to scare the vacationers.” She rolls her eyes, but I’m intrigued.
“Let’s tag along. I’ve never done one before.”
“You can’t be serious. You don’t believe in that stuff, do you?” Skepticism and mirth dance in her eyes.
“Maybe, maybe not, but when in Rome.” Clutching her hand in mine, I pull her to the back of the group and act like we’ve been here the whole time. The tour guide drones on about the house in front of us, apparently well known for its ghost sightings of a Civil War widow. The crowd stops to take pictures as the guide catches us freeloading on his tour. I leave Abigail and approach the guide, pulling a wad of twenties from my wallet.
“Mind if we follow? I’ve never been on a ghost tour.” I hold out the cash to him, which is probably more than what he charges, but it’s worth it to me. This isn’t remotely anything I would think to do on a date, but seeing Abigail laugh at my silly excitement has me rethinking my typical strategy with this woman.
