I heard Dane exhale on his end, and my heart went out to him. I'd been rejecting his calls for so long, he probably had little hope left that I'd have ever picked up. I wondered if his heart was in his throat like mine was, and if he was also torn in half between fear and happiness, although perhaps for different reasons.
"Abby, first of all, I want to apologize. You're right, there's a ton of things about my past that you don't know about. And maybe I should have told you. But I'll be honest in saying I just didn't know how. I need to see you. At least give me a chance to tell my side of the story. There's more to it than what you know. I'm not asking for redemption, but . . . I want to see if there is more between us than just one night. And most of all, I don't want you to think I'm a monster."
"Hold on," I said. I took the phone away from my ear and covered the mouthpiece. "He wants to meet. Not a date, just to talk."
"And what does your heart tell you?" Shawnie asked.
"To say yes," I replied. "But how should I set it up?"
"How about a coffee shop or someplace public? If you want, I can go with you."
I smiled in appreciation at her offer and nodded. Uncovering the mouthpiece, I took a deep breath. "All right, Dane, but it's where I want and on my terms, agreed?"
"Agreed," he said immediately, relief evident in his voice.
"Good. Then meet me at The Nook, on the edge of Piedmont Park. You know where that is, I assume?"
"Just down the street," Dane said eagerly. "What time should I meet you there?"
"You can meet us there at seven thirty. But Dane, if we don't see you by seven thirty-five, I'm walking out and blocking your number. Okay?"
"I'll be there," he said. He was so eager, he didn't even ask who the other person was. "Abby?"
"Yes, Dane?"
"Thank you. I'll see you tonight."
"Good-bye, Dane."
I hung up my phone, looking over at Shawnie. "So, what do you say to the two of us getting one more study session in on European History before I take you out for burgers and tots at The Nook?"
Chapter 10
Dane
I was nervous standing outside the door to The Nook, even more nervous than at my court martial. The tavern wasn't too busy for a Tuesday night, but I'd still made sure to arrive five minutes early. I was wearing my best clothes short of a suit, which I still didn't own. Instead, I’d put on my best pressed-collared linen shirt, dark khaki dress pants, and my only set of dress shoes, slip-on black shoes that I'd polished not to a military-level shine, but still pretty good.
I looked down at myself and nearly slapped my head. I felt so stupid. The night I'd met Abby, I'd been wearing jeans and boots and a t-shirt underneath my hooded shirt. Now, I probably looked like a loser who was trying to look like something he wasn’t. “The worst that can happen is she says no. You've gotten plenty of that in your life."
Somewhat reassured, I entered the place, looking around for Abby's face. I panicked for a second after my first look didn't see anything, but then when I checked again, I saw what looked like a familiar face behind a burly-looking man at a corner table. She was seated with a friend, I guess, and I did a double take when I realized it was the same girl that Chris had his sights on back at Roundups.
I went over, her friend seeing me first. She leaned over, and Abby turned, finding me and raising her hand not so much in a wave as a signal that I had found the right table. I couldn't help it. My heart jumped in my chest when our eyes met, and it felt like at least a little bit of the weight that had been sitting on my shoulders since she'd run out of the apartment was gone.
"Abby . . .” I said, not sure how to continue when I reached the table. I wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss her again, to feel the lips that I'd dreamed about for weeks. I wanted to whisk her away to a fantasy land that didn't exist outside of movies. Finally, I knew I had to say something. "It's good to see you. Can I sit down?"
Abby's eyes cut over to her friend, whose lips twitched in an amused smile. "Sit down, Dane. By the way, I'm Shawnie, Abby's friend."
"It's good to meet you," I said, offering my hand. We shook, and I was impressed with her grip. Most women in the South either wilt or give you a weird sort of grip that doesn't quite align properly with the way a man grips your hand, web of thumb to web of thumb, fingers wrapped properly. Most women give you some sort of three-quarter grip where their thumb ends up right about the base knuckle of your fingers, a half-inch short, with their own fingers in some sort of strange stiff pincer grip. Shawnie could shake hands correctly, and I was pleased with that at least. "So I guess you're the other part of us that Abby mentioned earlier?"
"I am," she answered playfully. "I get to play the silent muscle, or the Inquisitor, whichever is needed. Do you have any sins to confess?"