The Tea Shop Page 8

  "Send her in.”

  Emily handed him a cup of coffee and set the papers on the table in the corner of the room where he would hold private meetings. As she left his office, he took a long sip of coffee to give his blood a little jolt.

  Abigail walked into his office, as bright as a ray of sunshine, he thought. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a bright yellow dress. Her coat was draped over her arm. And though her outfit was bright and welcoming, distress was painted on her face.

  Carson stood from behind his desk and moved to her. "Did something happen? I assumed you came to look at the architectural plans for the Ford Street church, but your face says something different."

  "I'm sorry to bother you at work," she said picking something off her jacket that he couldn't see. "I just thought it was important enough I should tell you."

  So perhaps she had decided to come clean about Katie Meadows, he thought. Good. He'd rather hear her side without having to ask for it.

  He reached out and touched her arms, which were cold. "Come sit down. Can I get you some coffee?"

  "I can't stay for long. I need to get to work. We have a tour bus coming in, and if I'm not there in time, Clare will lose her mind.”

  "Okay, what did you need to tell me?”

  Abigail chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. "I had a dream last night. I have lots of strange dreams. But this one was at Mrs. Winters'. So I got up early this morning, and went to her house.”

  "I was at her house this morning. When were you there?”

  "Maybe fifteen minutes ago."

  "I must have just missed you then."

  Abigail nodded. "She said that you had been there." She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Carson, she starting to fail. You need to convince her family to move her into a home.”

  "I agree. This morning she was telling me she had been talking to Jeffery.”

  "Yes, she told me that too. But that's not the part that startles me." She shut her eyes tight and gripped his hand. When she opened her eyes, they affixed on his. "I want you to trust me. I want you to know that I know things, and I'll explain later. I'm afraid if she doesn't get out of the house in the next week, there's going to be a fire."

  Carson pulled from Abigail and took a step back to pace. He raked his fingers through his hair and then shoved his hands in his pockets. "Did she say she was going to build a fire? Was she going to cook?”

  "I'm asking you to trust me.”

  Carson rubbed his fingers over his chin. "And here I thought you came to complain about the church again.”

  He saw the flash of anger in her eyes. "Complain? I came to help. But evidently, you don't want my help. Perhaps you could get in touch with her family.”

  Carson sucked in a breath. He tripped over the fine line. "I'll go by, make sure she's safe. I'll go through the house, turn off the oven, make sure there are no matches," he said sincerely.

  Any other woman this would have been it. To have a woman walking to his office and casually give him information that she couldn't back up, that was cause for thinking she was crazy. But not Abigail. He needed to calm her. He needed to please her. He couldn't let this hang in the air.

  Carson moved to her and caressed her cheek with his hand. "I'm sorry I jumped you. I seem to be in a bit of a bad mood.”

  "Please trust me. I'll explain it all soon."

  Abigail moved into him. She pressed her lips to his and lingered there softly. He breathed in her scent, let the calm of the kiss wash over him.

  When she pulled back, her eyes were softer. "Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?”

  "To the store?”

  Abigail shook her head. "No. Come to my house. I’d like to cook dinner for you.”

  They made a turn in their new relationship, he decided. They'd had their first argument and the first big kiss. Now she was inviting him to her home. He figured that was a big step. Maybe she'd open up to him there.

  "I would love that.”

  "I'll text you my address. I should be home around seven.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  She lingered in front of him for just another moment, kissed the tips of her fingers and pressed it to his cheek before she strode out of his office.

  Carson backed up and leaned on the top of his desk. He loved her. He thought he had loved others, which he now knew he hadn't, but he loved Abigail Weston. They hadn't gotten to know each other well, hadn't even slept in the same bed, yet he knew. He'd get to the bottom of all his questions. There was time.

  He decided he take her warning, and head over to Mrs. Winters' again. What would it hurt to take a look around? As he opened his desk drawer to retrieve his car keys, Emily walked through the door.

  “The men from zoning are here in the conference room," Emily informed him.

  Where had his morning gone? "I'll be there in a moment." Emily left the office, and Carson gathered his notes. He'd check on Mrs. Winters later.

  Chapter 17

  Once all the high tea reservations had closed out, Abigail left the store. She stopped by the grocery store and gathered her items for the evening, and something for breakfast just in case.

  She had no idea what kind of wine he would drink. The man at the liquor store guided her to something that would go with what she was cooking for dinner.

  As she set everything out on her counter, she pulled up the text message from Clare with instructions on how to prepare the meal she had planned. Abigail wasn't a fantastic cook, though she would never starve. Clare, on the other hand, was not only fantastic with baking, but an amazing chef.

  Abigail turned on some music, wrapped an apron around her waist, and began to cook dinner. She mixed, cut, and chopped, realizing the work was pleasant. Exactly at seven o'clock, there was a knock at the door.

  She took a cleansing breath, untied the apron around her waist, and opened the front door.

  Standing in front of her, Carson held out a grocery store bouquet of flowers. "I thought I was going to be late. These are an apology gift, even though I'm on time.”

  Abigail took the flowers and held them to her chest. "I guess since no apology is necessary, they are a delightfully nice gift.”

  Carson raised both hands to her cheeks and moved in to kiss her. His lips were warm and inviting. Her heart raced, and her head swam with the kiss. Perhaps she made the right choice to buy breakfast. She was ready to have him in her home.

  As he pulled back and studied her for a moment, she noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Had he not been sleeping? Had the awkwardness of their date the night before caused his turmoil?

  This was her way of making it up to him. “Can I offer you a glass of wine?”

  "I'd like that.”

  She shut the front door and took his hand. Looking into her kitchen, she wondered what he thought of her little home. She had an inheritance from her grandmother, and when she moved to Colorado, she bought the house. It needed some work, and she'd done some. But what did the developer in him see? Was renovation in his blood?

  Taking the bottle, which was open so it could breathe, upon recommendation from the man at the liquor store, she poured each glass. She handed him his glass and held hers as if to toast. "Here's to you coming to my house.”

  “Here's to the first invitation.”

  She drank to that, and as she did, she wondered what his house looked like. Assuming he lived in a modern place, she inwardly questioned whether he lived in a condo or townhouse. Was his decor more modern, as hers was eclectic? Did he have a housekeeper, or did he tidy up himself? She'd seen his car and his office, and she assumed he was very fastidious. The number of toiletries on the back of her sink might make him cringe. She supposed she’d find out.

  "I just finished dinner. It's ready anytime you are.”

  He gazed at her, and then a faint smile formed on his lips. "Do you mind if we sit for a few minutes? Enjoy our wine?”

  "It's a little chilly, but I have
an enclosed patio that looks out over South Table Mountain if you’re interested.”

  "If you sit close enough to me, perhaps it won't be too chilly.”

  She took his hand again, and let him out the back door to the enclosed patio. There was a small wicker sofa, draped with a blanket, where she often sat and read. Abigail sat down, and Carson followed. She took the blanket and draped it over their legs. "This is my favorite part of the house. Rabbits hop around the yard, and once in a while you see deer grazing right outside.”

  Carson wound his fingers in her ponytail. "Your home is charming, just like you.”

  She wondered why when he touched her she didn't see anything of the future. Thinking back to that morning when she had gone to see Mrs. Winters, she had gone to see if the premonition of her and Carson may have been wrong. A week ago she had wished it was. It was interesting that after their first, what she considered a disagreement, she didn't want it to be wrong at all.

  The dream she had the night before about the fire must have clouded anything else. When Mrs. Winters had patted her arm, there was an immense sense of calm. No premonition of the fire. No premonition of her and Carson.

  Had she not been correct so many times in her life, she would have decided that it was all a mistake. How could a woman who was dying be so calm, especially when she was explaining a conversation she’d had with her dead grandson?

  Carson trailed a finger down the side of her neck. She turned to look at him. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

  No, she didn't want to tell him what she was thinking. She just wasn't ready yet. "I was wondering what you thought of my house. And, I was wondering what your house looked like.”

  His hand moved back to her hair. “My house is not as quaint as yours.”

  “So you have a house?”

  "You thought I lived in a condo, didn’t you?”

  Abigail laughed, then took a sip of her wine. "It was between a condo and a townhouse.”

  "It's a ranch. A flip job just off Highway 93 at the base of North Table Mountain.”

  Abigail was quite sure that the look on her face demonstrated her surprise. "Did you flip it?”

  “Am flipping it," he said as he took a sip from his wine. "The bedroom is gorgeous. The bathroom is to die for. That's where I started. I don't have much done in the kitchen. A sink and a microwave. The flooring is next, and then I can look at putting appliances back in. As for the living room, I have a futon and a card table.”

  Abigail sat back and pressed her hand to her chest as she laughed even harder. "I didn't see that coming. Will you take me someday, show me?”

  "Absolutely. From the outside, which I had painted, and a nice front door added, you’d never know the inside is a mess. You do promise not to laugh at my housekeeping skills, correct?"

  "I assume your housekeeping skills are fine and it’s the house that's the problem. I know when I was painting this one, everything was in disarray.”

  Carson nodded. "Exactly." He held his glass again to toast. "Here's to making the old new again.”

  He tapped his glass to hers and then sipped. Abigail felt his words sucker punch her in the gut. That's exactly what he was doing, wasn't it? Taking what was run down and, making it new. She sipped her wine. Perhaps, she’d try to understand.

  Chapter 18

  Carson had nearly scraped everything off his dinner plate. Had it been that long since he’d had a home-cooked meal? His mother, though competent in the kitchen, was no gourmet. She had two or three good meals in her, but Abigail was a genius.

  She laughed a genuine, and beautiful laugh when he told her so.

  Abigail lifted her wine to her lips and took a sip. "You have no idea how I fretted over this dinner. Clare gave me the instructions. I’m good with instructions.”

  “Well, I could eat like this the rest of my life.”

  He saw her eyes widen before she sipped her wine again. Perhaps that scared her, but for some reason, it didn't scare him.

  Carson sat back in his chair and sipped his wine. He studied her as she mixed the dressing around her leaves of lettuce, without taking a bite. “You don’t like salad?”

  "I eat too much of it at work.”

  Carson leaned his arms on the table. "Perhaps we should start having lunch together too. I’d hate to see you wither away like an uneaten salad.”

  "I promise you I'll never wither away. I enjoy food way too much.”

  “Well, whatever you eat looks good on you and so does that yellow dress. A ray of sunshine on a crisp fall day.”

  She watched him over the rim of her glass and sipped. "You're very good at this flirting. Should I worry about that?”

  He sat back again and grinned widely. "Honestly, if I were any good at it I would assume I'd have been swept away by now." He reached across the table and gripped her hand. “Or maybe, I've just been waiting for the right girl to use my charm on."

  Abigail set her wine down and pressed her free hand to her chest. "Wow. The right girl?”

  “That scares you, doesn’t it?”

  Her eyes fixed on his, and her expression changed to a serious one. She shook her head. "No. It doesn't scare me at all."

  * * *

  She watched the heat flicker in his eyes as he stood from the table and moved swiftly to her. He took her hand and brought her to her feet, pressing her against him.

  Carson released her hair from the band that held it back and ran his fingers through it until it cascaded over her shoulders. Then, with his hand tangled in her blonde curls, he brought his mouth to hers with a passion she’d never felt before.

  Abigail found herself gripping tightly to the front of his shirt just to hold herself up. She fought for breath because she searched for more—more passion—more heat.

  Carson’s hand moved down her back and gripped her bottom, pulling her even closer to him. This was the moment. There was no turning back. She was tumbling straight into love with the man who had her whole body ablaze with feelings and sensations. No images swirled in her head, no premonitions of what was to happen beyond this moment. His effect on her was different than any other person in the entire world. He was a blessing to her, in many ways.

  He pressed his forehead to hers, and they both gasped. “Do we continue?” he asked with a ragged breath.

  She couldn’t vocalize her need. Instead, she nodded.

  “Good,” he said as he took possession of her mouth again, lifted her off the ground, and carried her to the sofa where he lowered her down without releasing the kiss.

  Abigail’s skirt rose up as Carson moved against her. His hands came to her breasts and caressed. His mouth worked against her throat. She reached between them and fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, until he sat up and released the buttons for himself, pulling the shirt from his body.

  The need to touch his bare skin had her placing her hands on his chest. The fact that her hands were splayed on his skin and only electricity buzzed between them, made her want to love him more.

  Carson managed the top of her dress down over her shoulders and arms, and flipped the hook on the front of her bra, exposing her to him. She heard the throaty groan that escaped him as he lowered his mouth to her breasts.

  Abigail moved beneath him, the sensations overwhelming her as his mouth moved back to hers.

  "I think this would be better if we moved," he said breathlessly as he took her mouth again. "Can I take you to your bed?”

  Abigail gazed back at him. She'd never had a man in her bedroom, and wouldn't it be special for the first man that walked through the door to be the man she was going to marry?

  "Yes," she sighed the word as he scooped her up and carried her down the hall.

  In the darkness of a moonless night, Abigail's head rested on Carson's bare chest. She heard his heartbeat, now in sync with hers. The experience had been more beautiful than she could've imagined.

  What she thought might have started out as reckless, passionate sex, had carried into
the bedroom as an evening of lovemaking. Carson was very attentive to her every need. There was no quick roll on the bed. Touches, kisses, and caresses lasted through the night. Now, he rested softly beneath her.

  Her hand touched his bare skin, and all she felt was his heartbeat. It was an unbelievable moment, not worrying about seeing beyond the now. So, she might know that at some point this man would become her husband, but she was delighted in the fact that not everything would come to her by touching him.

  Abigail let her eyes drift closed. This man would spend the first, what she figured would be many nights in her bed and her arms. She already loved him. There was no way she would tell him. She still didn't agree with everything he stood for. But she knew deep in her heart that she loved him.

  * * *

  Carson's arms had nearly gone numb with Abigail in them. But he wouldn't move. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to move.

  How is it possible that he happened into the store where this angel waited for him? He smiled as he thought about Mrs. Winters’ absolution that they changed plans and go for tea. From that very moment he first watched her, his mind had been obsessively occupied by her. Was it possible to fall in love with somebody so quickly? Of course it was. Mrs. Winters had proved that, hadn't she?

  He'd awakened from a deep sleep to see that she was still nestled up next to him. And now he lay there, in the silence of the night, just watching her.

  She stirred. He saw the movement of her eyes beneath her eyelids, and her breathing began to grow heavier. She moved from his body, and then sat up and coughed. Again she coughed and sucked in a breath reaching for her throat.

  "Abigail? Are you okay?" He asked frantically as he sat up and touched her. Her eyes were closed, and she coughed as though something was choking her.

  Carson reached out to her and shook her. "Abigail, wake up!”

  Her eyes flew open, and she continued to gasp for air. "Fire! Fire! Smoke is thick. We have to help.”