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“I’m a natural,” she said with a grin.
“A natural klutz,” he finished for her.
They skated for two hours. When Tate suggested they stop, Abby glanced at her watch and was astonished by the time.
“Hungry?” Tate asked next.
“Famished.”
The place Tate took her to was one of those relatively upscale restaurants that charged a great deal for its retro diner atmosphere, but where the reputation for excellent food was well earned. Abby couldn’t imagine Logan bringing her someplace like this. Knowing that made the outing all the more enticing.
When the waitress came, Abby ordered an avocado burger with a large stuffed baked potato, and strawberry shortcake for dessert.
Tate smiled. “I’ll have the same,” he told the waitress, who wrote down their order and stepped away from the table.
“So you do volunteer work at the zoo?” Abby was interested in learning the details he’d promised to share with her.
“I’ve always loved animals,” he began.
“I could tell from the way you talked to the ducks and the squirrels,” Abby inserted, recalling the first time she’d seen Tate.
He acknowledged her statement with a nod. “Even as a child I’d bring home injured animals—rabbits, raccoons, squirrels—and do what I could to make them well.”
“Why didn’t you become a veterinarian?”
Tate ignored the question. “The hardest part was setting them free once they were well. I might have been a veterinarian if things in my life had gone differently, but I’m good with cars, too.”
“You’re a mechanic?” Abby asked, already knowing the answer. The callused hands told her that her guess couldn’t be far off.
“I work at Bessler’s Auto Repair.”
“Sure. I know it. That’s across the street from the Albertsons’ store.”
“That’s it.”
So it had just been a coincidence that she’d seen Tate in the store; he worked in the immediate vicinity.
“I’ve been working there since I was seventeen,” Tate added. “Jack Bessler is thinking about retirement these days.”
“What’ll happen to the shop?”
“I’m hoping to buy it,” Tate said as he held his fork, nervously rotating it between two fingers.
Tate was uneasy about something. He ran his fingers up and down the fork, not lifting his gaze from his silverware.
Their meal was as delicious as Abby knew it would be. Whatever had bothered Tate was soon gone and the remainder of the evening was spent talking, getting to know each other with an eagerness that was as strong as their mutual attraction. They talked nonstop for hours, sauntering lazily along the water’s edge and laughing, neither of them eager to bring their time together to a close.
When Abby finally got home it was nearly midnight. She floated into the apartment on a cloud of happiness. Even as she readied for bed, she couldn’t forget how wonderful the night had been. Tate was a man she could talk to, really talk to. He listened to her and seemed to understand her feelings. Logan listened, too, but Abby had the impression that he sometimes felt impatient with her. But perhaps that wasn’t it at all. Maybe she was looking for ways to soothe her conscience. His reaction today still shocked her; as far as she was concerned, they hadn’t made any commitment to each other beyond that of friendship. Sometimes Abby wondered if she really knew Logan.
The phone rang fifteen minutes after she was in the door.
Assuming it was Tate, Abby all but flew across the room to answer it, not bothering to check caller ID. “Hello,” she said in a low, sultry voice.
“Abby, is that you? You don’t sound right. Are you sick?”
It was Logan.
Instantly, Abby stiffened and sank into the comfort of her chair. “Logan,” she said in her normal voice. “Hi. Is something wrong?” He wouldn’t be phoning this late otherwise.
