Further to that, she worried about worrying about Cash not thinking it was amazing and what that said.
Friday night, she made sure she was at his house in plenty of time to make him dinner. She was careful to make something nice, better than pasta shells, but not too nice which would say she was trying too hard. She also went back to her Dinner at Cash’s House Look, jeans, a nice sweater and for courage, her makeup was done in “Carefree Splendour” (casual with a hint of glamour).
She heard the door open upstairs at ten past eight and she found to her agony that she was nervous as a teenager on her first date.
She was listening to Billie Holiday turned down low and freaking out about her decision to buy, and bring, a few scented candles which she had lit.
His home, although gorgeous, had zero personal touches and she thought it could use some. Furthermore, she liked candles and knew the scent would soothe her.
But as she heard Cash approach, she looked around and it seemed like she was both being way too familiar in adding anything to his house when this was not her place and that she looked like she was trying to strike a mood.
Before she could dash through the room, blow them out, toss them in the rubbish and turn off Billie singing the blues, she saw his legs on the stairs.
Bloody hell, she thought as he came into view, wearing a charcoal grey suit, a forest green shirt and a great tie which made her wonder (somewhat frantically but also not for the first time) if he just had good taste in clothing or if he had a personal shopper.
He was carrying a large, glossy bag containing various-sized, thin but wide, boxes.
She didn’t think about the bag, she thought instead about how to stop herself from fainting.
He stepped off the last stair and, eyes on her, walked to the comfy seating area off the kitchen and put the bag on a chair. Then he shrugged off his suit jacket and that joined it. Then he tugged off his tie and that joined it as well.
He was turned to her and in the process of unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt, he spoke.
“What’s the matter?” he asked and her body jerked when his deep voice hit the room.
“What?” she queried, her mind blank.
His hands, finished with his buttons, went to rest on his hips.
“What’s the matter?” he repeated.
Her brain decided to function and, trying to sound calm (and fearing it didn’t work), she replied, “Nothing’s the matter.”
“Then why are you standing across the room staring at me like I’m a dread serial killer and you’re in my clutches?” His voice was bland, his words filled with dry humour.
Abby, however, didn’t laugh.
“I am not,” Abby returned but his words told her that she’d failed at sounding or appearing calm.
She watched in fascination as his face took on a warm, soft look.
Normally, he looked amazing.
When he smiled, he was breath-takingly handsome.
When he laughed, the world seemed to stop.
That look beat all of them.
“Abby, come here,” he said gently.
On shaking legs she did as he commanded.
When she got close enough, his arms went around her loosely and he held her close but not too close.
In his deeper, throatier, sexier brogue, he demanded, “Now, tell me, what’s the matter?”
And for some unhinged reason, Abby blurted, “You had Moira call me.”
His head gave a small jerk then tilted slightly to the side. “I’m sorry?”
“Moira, your assistant?” she said on a question as if he didn’t know his own assistant’s name. “She called me today,” she explained and went on, “you didn’t.”
Cash stared at her a moment and Abby held her breath.
Then she watched as he threw his head back and let out a deep, rich bark of laughter before his arms closed tightly around her, crushing her body to his. His head came down and he buried his face in her neck.
Still laughing against her neck, he muttered, “I see.”
She pushed her body back and twisted her head to look at him. “You see what?”
He was still smiling when his head came up and his eyes locked on hers. “I see you’re pissed off that I didn’t call.”
“No, I –” she started but his arms gave her a gentle squeeze, effectively silencing her.
“I was in meetings all day. Unfortunately what I do means I have a lot of meetings. Even though I’d vastly prefer to be on the phone talking to you, or listening to the crazy shit that goes on in your house, sometimes I won’t be able to call.” One of his hands came up and gave her neck that gentle squeeze she liked way too damned much. “Abby, you’re going to have to get used to that.”
She felt a tremor slide through her body at his words and it wasn’t a tremor of fear.
“Get used to it?” she whispered, wondering what he meant.
His lips touched hers then he said, “Yes. You’re going to have to get used to it.” And he obviously wasn’t going to say any more, as in explain what on God’s green earth he was talking about, because he let her go and casually walked into the kitchen while saying, “I’m getting a drink. You open your boxes.”
For what seemed like years (but obviously wasn’t) she stared at his back as he moved around the kitchen pouring himself a whisky.
Then she looked at the bag with the boxes.
Then she looked back to him.
“My boxes?” she asked.
Back still to her, he took a sip from his whisky while standing in front of an attractive, modern, stainless steel wine rack, pulling out bottles and inspecting them, before shoving them back and he said, “In the bag. Those are for you.”
She sucked in breath and her eyes went back to the boxes.
“For me?” she whispered but he didn’t answer. He’d found what he was looking for and went about the task of opening a bottle of red wine.
On legs that felt like they were made of wood, Abby moved to the boxes and found there were three. She pulled them out and, one-by-one, unveiled three robes.
One was tailored in a man’s style but it was made from a sumptuous pink silk so pale it was almost, but not quite, colourless. The next was a long, cream, cotton, waffle-weave but its lapel was smooth. The last was also long but this one was made of the finest, dove grey cashmere, luxuriously soft to the touch.
Abby stood frozen, the lush cashmere in her hands, and she didn’t wonder why Cash was giving her presents. She also didn’t wonder why those presents were all robes.
All she could think was that she’d always wanted a cashmere robe.
Always.
During the good times with Ben in all her spending she’d never bought herself one. She could explain away purchasing expensive shoes, handbags and pieces of jewellery with a variety of womanly excuses but spending hundreds of dollars on a robe you wouldn’t wear out of the house seemed over the top.
And she knew exactly how much it cost. She’d looked covetously at many of them and not one had cost less than multiple hundreds.
And the one in her hands was of a superior quality to any of the ones she’d seen.
“Abby?” she heard Cash call and her head shot up.
He was standing at the end of the counter, his weight resting on one hand, the fingers of his other hand curled around his whisky glass, his eyes were on her.
“I –” she felt her throat close which she thought at that moment was a good thing as she had no idea what to say. She cleared her throat, the pertinent question springing into her head and she asked, “Why?”
His face went hard and for one frightening second, she thought he was angry.
Then when he spoke, she realised it wasn’t anger but a very scary resolve.