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“I love it.” She hadn’t skated since she was a teen at the local roller rink, but if Tate suggested they stand on their heads in the middle of the road, Abby probably would have agreed.
“Would you like to meet me here tomorrow afternoon?”
“Sure,” she said without hesitating. “Here?” she repeated, sitting up.
“You have skated?” He gave her a worried glance.
“Oh, sure.” Her voice squeaked, embarrassing her. “Tomorrow? What time?”
“Three,” Tate suggested. “After that, we’ll go out for something to eat.”
“This is sounding better all the time,” Abby teased. “But be warned, I do have a healthy appetite. Logan says—” She nearly choked on the name, immediately wishing she could take it back.
“You were saying something about Logan,” Tate prompted.
“Not really.” She gave a light shrug, flushing involuntarily.
Mai-Ling stepped off the bus just then and walked toward them. Abby stood up. Brushing the grass from her legs, she smiled warmly at her friend.
“Why do you meet her every week?” Tate asked. The teasing light vanished from his eyes.
“I do volunteer work with the World Literacy Movement. Mai-Ling can read perfectly in Chinese, but she’s an American now so I’m helping her learn to read and write English.”
“Have you been a volunteer long?”
“A couple of years. Why? Would you like to help? We’re always looking for volunteers.”
“Me?” He looked stunned and a little shocked. “Not now. I’ve got more than I can handle helping at the zoo.”
“The zoo?” Abby shot back excitedly. “Are you a volunteer?”
“Yes,” Tate said as he stood and glanced at his watch. “I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow. Right now I’ve got to get back to work before the boss discovers why I’ve taken extended lunch breaks the past four Saturdays.”
“I’ll look forward to tomorrow,” Abby murmured, thinking she’d never known anyone as compelling as Tate.
—
“You met the man?” Mai-Ling asked as she came over to Abby’s side and followed her gaze to the retreating male figure.
“Yes, I met him,” Abby answered wistfully. “Oh Mai-Ling, I think I’m in love!”
“Love?” Mai-Ling frowned. “The American word for love is bad.”
“Bad?” Abby repeated, not comprehending.
“Yes. In English one word means many kinds of love.”
Abby turned her attention from Tate to her friend and asked, “What do you mean?”
“In America, love for a husband is the same as…as love for chocolate. I heard a lady on the bus say she loves chocolate, then say she is in love with a new man.” Mai-Ling shook her head in astonishment and disbelief. “In Chinese it is much different. Better.”
“No doubt you’re right,” Abby said with a bemused grin. “I guess it’s all about context.”
Mai-Ling ignored that. “You will see the man again?”
“Tomorrow,” Abby said dreamily. Suddenly her eyes widened. Tomorrow was Sunday, and Logan would expect her to do something with him. Oh dear, this was becoming a problem. Not only hadn’t she skated in years, but she was bound to have another uncomfortable confrontation with Logan. Her eager anticipation for tomorrow was quickly replaced by a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Abby spent another miserable night. She’d attempted to phone Logan and make up another excuse about not being able to get together, but he hadn’t been home. She didn’t feel it was right to leave a message, which struck her as cowardly. Consequently, her sleep was fitful and intermittent. It wasn’t as if Logan called and arranged a time each week; they had a simple understanding that Sundays were their day. Arrangements for most other days were more flexible. But Abby couldn’t remember a week when they hadn’t gotten together on a Sunday. Her sudden decision would be as readable as the morning headlines. Logan would know she was meeting Tate.
