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"This is so unfair. You can’t go pulling out all the stops like this. You can’t plead your case with such sincerity. You can’t come across as being all contrite and remorseful and repentant, and actually seem to mean it."
"But I do mean it. I do. Just give me a chance, Abby, that’s all I ask."
She squeezes her eyes shut and draws in a breath.
I wait. And wait. The seconds stretch. My entire body feels like it’s frozen. It feels like I’m out of my body, looking down on this scene. I’ve never felt this…discombobulated in my life. I keep my gaze on her face, and then she nods. A slight quick jerk of her chin, but she nods.
The tension drains from my shoulders. The oxygen rushes into my lungs. My head spins a little—a familiar sensation when it comes to her.
"Okay, I haven’t forgiven you yet, but I’ll give you one chance, Cade." She opens her eyelids and looks down at me. "One chance."
"That’s all I need. You won’t regret it, Abby, I promise."
She lowers her hand to her side. "Now please, can you get to your feet?"
I rise and promptly sway. Fuck, standing out in the rain must have tired me more than I realized. She grips my arm. “Come on, sit down, I’ve got you a cup of tea.”
I allow her to lead me to her bed then sink down. She fetches me the cup and hands it over. I glance down at it, noting the tea bag she’s dunked into the water. I sniff the liquid and almost gag, managing to hide it, barely.
"It’s chamomile. It’ll help warm you up and soothe you, at the same time."
Fucking hell. Knew it! Clearly, this is my new nemesis. Fucking chamomile. Whoever invented it has, obviously, never experienced the vile taste of the concoction they’re responsible for.
I take a sip, force it down my throat, then shoot her what I hope is a gentle smile. "It’s good."
"It is?"
I nod. "Great stuff. Really does warm the bones." I take another sip, my stomach heaves, but I swallow down the nasty brew.
"I’m really pleased it’s helping. Never could stand the taste myself."
Bloody fuck! Trapped again. This whole being nice thing really is challenging.
She turns toward the chair, and I glance around, wondering if I can pour out the contents of my mug. But then she moves toward me with a bath robe in her hands and holds it out.
"You don’t have to drink it, if you don’t like it,” she murmurs.
"Like it? I love it, baby. I’d drink poison if you gave it to me with your own hands."Which, I’m beginning to suspect, is what this is.
She rolls her eyes. "Now you’re being dramatic."
"Just stating a fact." I lift the mug and drain it. "There, all done."
She accepts the mug from me, then holds out the bathrobe. "That’s the biggest thing I have in my wardrobe… It might be too small for you."
I rise to me feet, then shrug on the bathrobe. It stretches across my shoulders and comes to mid-thigh. I barely manage to knot the belt around my waist before I whip off the towel. She holds out her hand for the towel, then giggles.
"What?" I stare down at what I’m wearing. "Pink not my color?"
"It has a certain appeal on you." She chuckles.
"I could take it off, but I’d rather not. I’m serious, Abby, I’m not going to waste this chance you’ve given me.
"Okay,"—she accepts the towel from me—"want something to eat?"
55
Abby
