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Rafe stopped dead, oblivious to the people around them. “I would never do that,” he countered, their faces inches apart.
“Men like you have no idea what responsibility is,” Abbe ranted.
“Men like me?” he scoffed. “You really think you know me?”
She made an impatient sound. “Oh, don’t even. I know you’re the kind of guy who always gets what he wants and then doesn’t want it anymore when it gets hard, or scary, or messy. I won’t let you hurt Daisy like that.”
His eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. “Are you sure we’re still talking about the dog?” he asked.
“This isn’t a game.” She put her hand on his, trying to take Daisy’s lead out of it.
“Good, because I’m done playing around,” he warned, pulling Abbe up against him.
Their lips came together in a kiss. It was a collision of anger, frustration, and desire, and it shocked him as much as it shocked her. She saw his eyes flash wider before he closed them, giving in.
His lips moved hers apart, and he pressed her body closer. Abbe's hands instinctively found their way to Rafe's chest, and his arms encircled her waist, pulling her up and against him insistently. She gave herself over to him, going soft in his arms. He made a deep animal sound and she felt him lift her as he moved them into the shade under the trees. The world around them faded away as they continued to kiss. She felt the rough bark of an oak tree against her back, and smelled the spice of his scent mixed with the green tang of the tree. It filled up everything until there was nothing but the feeling of his tongue stroking hers, the hard wall of his chest against her hands.
For a while Abbe couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing around her body and the sound of Rafe’s hands brushing against her clothes, looking for a way under them, but then the joyful shriek of a child in the distance brought her back to herself. What was she doing?
Just as quickly as it had started, Abbe pulled away, her chest heaving as she looked at Rafe with a mixture of shock and confusion. She took a few steps back, her hand flying to her lips as if to erase the lingering sensation of their kiss.
Rafe's expression mirrored her surprise, and he took a step toward her, his voice filled with urgency. "Abbe, I—"
But before he could finish his sentence, Abbe turned and fled. She was semi-aware of the fact that she was running away from him like a child, but she couldn’t stop herself. She couldn't believe what had just happened, how she had thrown herself at a man, any man, let alone one she despised. It was completely out of character for her.
“Abbe, please come back!” he called. “Daisy can’t run!”
For the first time, Abbe was grateful that Rafe had Daisy because it meant that he couldn’t chase after her. She ran through the park, tears stinging her eyes, feeling a mixture of shame and desire that made it impossible for her to take a deep breath. The sound of Rafe calling after her echoed in her ears, but she couldn't bear to face him. Not now, not after what had just happened.
She needed to get away from him, away from this feeling. It was too much, too fast, and Abbe knew that if she gave into it, this feeling would swallow her whole.
Four
Abbe beat herself up the entire way back to the quaint guest house she called home. She didn’t even go back to the shelter to get her bike, instead, she walked the whole way from the T station back to her house.
Coming up the drive, Abbe was greeted by the quintessential New England tableau, with centuries-old oak and birch trees lining the gravel path leading to the main house. Their leaves, ablaze in shades of fiery red, burnt orange, and honeyed gold, rustled in the gentle breeze. The scent of earthy, fallen leaves permeated the air, mingling harmoniously with the distant fragrance of wood smoke from a nearby chimney. As she passed by the front windows of the elegant colonial mansion, she waved at Mrs. Harris, the old widow Abbe rented from, but didn’t go inside to greet her. She wasn’t fit for company at the moment. She went straight to her guest house at the back.
The guest house itself was a picture of understated elegance. Its white clapboard siding and dark green shutters framed a series of large, multi-paned windows, each adorned with window boxes overflowing with vivid, autumnal blooms. The door, painted a rich shade of burgundy, was flanked by lanterns, casting a warm, welcoming glow at night. Abbe couldn’t go inside yet. Despite the fact she’d walked over a mile, she still had too much nervous energy and knew she’d just climb the walls.
As Abbe paced around the cobbled courtyard, her boots crunched softly on the carpet of fallen leaves. The courtyard was an oasis of serenity, boasting a meticulously maintained garden filled with late-blooming roses and marigolds, their colors adding a touch of vibrancy to the surrounding earthy palette. She took many deep breaths, blowing out great clouds of white steam as the temperature dropped. It was getting dark, and though the afternoon had been sunny and warm, there was a chill creeping in.
Good,Abbe thought.I could use some cooling off.
A wrought-iron bench sat beneath one of the ancient oak trees, its branches adorned with fairy lights that twinkled as daylight began to wane. On the bench, a plaid throw blanket awaited Abbe's return, a cozy refuge for moments of contemplation. She sat down. Looking around at the romantic setting, she pictured Rafe sitting next to her, and she immediately jumped up and went inside, taking the blanket.
Abbe’s guest house was enchanting, and usually, it gave her peace. The living room featured exposed wooden beams that crisscrossed the ceiling. A stone fireplace, festooned with an assortment of antique books and dried flowers, served as the focal point of the room. The walls were adorned with tasteful artwork, including pastoral landscapes and watercolor portraits, all in cheerful colors. A worn leather armchair waited by the fireplace.
Abbe, however, found herself pacing the room. Should she go out? Stay in? Call a therapist to talk her down off the ledge? She pulled out her phone. There was a text message from an unknown number.
We should talk about that kiss,the text read.
She stared at the screen, debating her reply. While she was staring at it, another text popped up.
This is Rafe, by the way. In case you kissed anyone else today.
She gasped, insulted, and stabbed her screen with her finger.I’ll have you know I don’t make a habit of kissing anyone!
Like a dummy, she sent it before she really considered how it read. Smacking her forehead, she wondered why there wasn’t an app that realized which texts you’d regret and talked you out of sending them. Technology really needed to catch up.
