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Three hours later, it was closing time.
“Promise you’ll bring me again,” Abby begged, her eyes held by Tate’s with mesmerizing ease.
“I promise,” he whispered as he led her toward his car.
The way he said it made her feel weak in the knees, made her forget everything and everyone else. She lapsed into a dreamy silence on the drive home.
Tate drove back to Minneapolis and they stopped at a Mexican restaurant near Diamond Lake Park. Abby had passed it on several occasions but had never eaten there.
A young waitress smiled at them and led them to a table.
Tate spoke to the woman in Spanish. She nodded and turned around.
“What did you ask?” Abby whispered.
“I wanted to know if we could eat outside. You don’t mind, do you? The evening is lovely.”
“No, that sounds great.” But she did mind. Because it immediately occurred to her that Logan might drive past and see her eating there with Tate. Abby managed to squelch her worries as she sat down at a table on the patio and opened her menu. She studied its contents, but her appetite had unexpectedly disappeared.
“You’ve got that thoughtful look again,” Tate remarked. “Is everything okay, Abby?”
“Oh sure,” she said.
Abby decided what she’d order and took the opportunity to watch Tate as he reviewed the menu. His brow was creased, his eyes narrowed in concentration. When he happened to glance up and found her looking at him, he set the menu aside.
An awkwardness followed. It continued until the waitress finally stopped at their table. Abby ordered cheese enchiladas and a margarita; Tate echoed her choice but asked for a Corona beer. “I had a good time today,” Abby said, in an attempt to breach the silence after the waitress left.
“I did, too.” Tate sounded stiff, as if he suddenly felt uneasy.
“Is something wrong?” Abby asked after another silence.
It could have been Abby’s imagination, but she sensed that Tate was struggling within himself.
“Tate?” she prompted.
He leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose before exhaling loudly. “No…nothing.”
Long after he’d dropped her off at the apartment, Abby couldn’t shake the sensation that something was troubling him. Twice he’d seemed about to speak, but both times he’d stopped himself.
Abby’s thoughts were heavy as she drifted into sleep. Tomorrow she’d be spending the afternoon with Logan. She had to tell him she’d decided to see Tate; delaying it any longer was a grave disservice to them both—to Logan and to Tate.
—
Sunday afternoon, Logan sat on the sofa beside Abby and reached for her hand. She had to force herself not to snatch it away. So often in the past Abby had wanted Logan to be more demonstrative. And now that he was, it caused such turmoil inside her that she wanted to cry.
“You’re looking pale, Abby. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” he asked her, his voice concerned.
“Logan, I’ve got to talk to you,” she blurted out miserably. “I need to—”
“What you need is to get out of this stuffy apartment.” He stood up, bringing her with him. Slipping an arm around her waist, Logan directed her out of the apartment and to his car.
Abby didn’t have time to protest as he opened the door. She climbed inside and he leaned across to fasten her seat belt.
“Where are we going?” she asked, confused and unhappy as he backed out of the parking area.
“For a drive.”
“I don’t want to go for a drive.”
