SAFELY BACK AT THE sweet little house she was subletting, Abra was stewing. It wasn’t as if stewing were a new thing for her, just that she had a new subject to stew about. Instead of angsting over the baby and Julian and her career and where she could possibly go from here, now she was worried about one Sean Calhoun, how much he knew, and when he knew it. And where she could possibly go from here.
“Damn it, anyway,” she swore, getting up from the kitchen table to root in the fridge. She was starving again. She had a taste for ice cream, and nothing but Chunky Monkey, with the banana and the chocolate and the walnuts, would do. Of course she had none. She’d already eaten four pints of the stuff in two days, and she was going to have to make a run to the grocery store for more. But she didn’t have a car, so she was limited to what she could carry on foot or on the bus. At the moment, she was going through this particular ice cream faster than she could store it.
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