Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on her cheek, a marking of territory, as much for her benefit as Hunter’s. Abby had to fight the urge to wipe the feel of his mouth from her skin. “I’ll see you later, babe.”
His promise made her stomach churn.
“Nice guy,” Hunter drawled from behind her shoulder.
“Yeah, he’s a real peach.”
She rubbed her aching wrist. What made her think she could walk away, and Warren wouldn’t try to track her down? Just because he told her repeatedly that she was a worthless piece of trash didn’t mean he was ready to give her up. As far as he was concerned, she was his property.
Warren’s car pulled away from the curb. He was gone, but not for good. He’d be back. Later today. Tomorrow. A week from tomorrow. Ready to beg, scream, and try to drag her back home.
Oh, God, what if she wasn’t in a public place when he returned? Or if he decided to do more than beg and scream? There were all sorts of stories in the news....
Her breakfast started to rise in her throat. She grabbed the chair in front of her.
“You okay?” she heard Hunter ask.
“F-fine.” For the millionth time in six weeks, she pushed her nerves aside. Worrying would only mean Warren still had control. “I’m fine,” she repeated. “I’ll go get your coffee.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “I’m good.”
“But you said...” She stopped as the meaning of what he’d done dawned on her. He’d interrupted on purpose.
“You’re welcome.” Hunter turned and headed for his usual table.
Abby didn’t know what to say. She should be grateful. After all, he’d just bailed her out of what could have become a very difficult situation. In all her years with Warren, no one had ever stepped up to help her before. On the other hand, she hadn’t asked for his help. He’d just assumed she needed it, as though she were a helpless little victim.
Aren’t you?
No. Not anymore. Despite what the situation looked like.
Oh, but she could just imagine what someone like the photographer thought, too. Her hand still shaking with nerves, she ran it through her hair before looking over at the back table. There sat Hunter, sipping the coffee he didn’t need refilling. With his faded field jacket and his aviator sunglasses perched atop his thick brown hair, he looked exactly the way you’d picture a photographer. If you were casting a movie, that is. One where the daredevil photojournalist dodged bullets to get the shot. To be honest, his whole outfit—worn jeans, worn henley—would seem silly on anyone who didn’t look like a movie star.
It didn’t look silly on the Hunter. He had the cheekbones and complexion to rival any actor in New York City. Might as well throw Los Angeles in there as well, Abby decided. The build, too. Whereas Warren was soft and doughy, Hunter was hard, his body defined by angles and contours. Small wonder Warren had backed off. Her ex might be a bully, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew when he was outclassed.
Too bad she couldn’t get Warren to back off so easily.
“Abby, order up!” Guy stuck his craggy head out of the order window and slapped the bell. “Get your butt in gear. You want to stand around, you can go find a street corner.”
As if this job was much better. She moved behind the counter to pick up the two plates of scrambled eggs and bacon Guy had shoved onto the shelf. “What about the home fries?”
Guy slapped a bowl of fried potatoes in front of her. “Next time, write it on the slip. And while you’re at it, tell your boyfriend if he wants to visit, he can order like everyone else. I’m not paying you to stand around talking.”
“He’s not my— Never mind.” She grabbed the potatoes, wincing a little at the pressure the extra plate put on her sore wrist. No sense arguing a losing point.
“Ignore him.” Ellen, one of her fellow waitresses, said as she walked by. “He’s like a bear with a sore head this morning.”
What about the other mornings? “No change there then.” Abby went to serve her customers before Guy blew another gasket. Miserable as her boss might be, he was the only employer who’d been willing to hire an inexperienced waitress. Life with Warren hadn’t left her with too many marketable skills, unless you counted walking on eggshells and knowing how to read bad moods. This job was the only thing keeping her from complete destitution. Without it, she might actually end up standing on a street corner.
Halfway through her rounds topping up customers’ cups with fresh coffee, Abby felt the hair on the back of her neck began to rise. Someone was watching her. With more than the usual “trying to get the waitress’s attention” stare. Automatically, her head whipped to the front door. Empty.
She didn’t like being studied. In her experience, scrutiny led to one of three things: correction, punishment or a lecture. With a frown, she looked around the room until her eyes reached the back table where Hunter was sat. Sure enough, his attention was focused directly at her.
For the first time since she’d begun waiting on him, she took notice of his eyes. A weird hybrid of blue and gray, they looked almost like steel under the diner’s fluorescent lighting. She’d never seen eyes that color. Nor had she been looked at with such... Approval wasn’t the right word. It definitely wasn’t the disapproval she was used to, either. She didn’t know what to call it. Whatever the name, it caused a somersault sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Finally noticing he had her attention, Hunter nodded and held up his bill.
Abby’s cheeks grew hot. Of course. Why else would he be looking for her other than to settle his bill? Warren’s visit had her brain turned backward. After all, it wasn’t as if she was the kind of woman who turned heads on a good day, let alone today. Her face was flushed and sweaty. And her hair? She’d given up trying with her hair hours ago.
She made a point of approaching his table on the fly, figuring she could grab his credit card and sweep on past, so as to avoid any awkward conversation. Considering his intervention earlier, she doubted there could be any other kind.
Unfortunately, as soon as she reached for the plastic, his grip on the card tightened.
“Is there a problem?” she asked when he wouldn’t let go.
“You tell me.” His eyes dropped to her wrist. To the bluish-red spots marked where Warren’s fingers had been.
Dammit. She’d hoped there wouldn’t be any evidence. Letting go of the credit card, Abby pulled the cuff of her sleeve down to her knuckles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do all your knishes look like eggs over easy?”
“What?” His question made no sense.
“The bill says I ordered blueberry knishes and rye toast.”
“Sorry. I gave you the bill from two tables over by mistake.”
“Again.”
“Again,” Abby repeated. That’s right; she’d made the same mistake with him yesterday. She wondered if she’d messed up any other tables. Guy would kill her if she did. Again.
“Happens when you’re distracted.”
“Or busy,” Abby countered, refusing to take the bait. She was trying to put Warren out of her head, and while she wasn’t having much luck, talking about him wouldn’t help.
Taking her order pad from her pocket, she flipped the pages. “Here’s yours,” she said, tearing out a new page. “Eggs over easy, bacon and whole-wheat toast. Same as every day. You want me to ring you up?” The sooner he settled his bill, the sooner