“Duty calls.” Any more conversation would have to wait. “I’ll be back with your eggs soon as they’re ready.”
* * *
Under control, huh? Hunter watched as she bustled off to wait on two businessmen seated two tables over, her knotted ponytail bouncing in cadence with her steps. The gauze on her wrist flashed white as she raised her order pad. Who was she trying to convince with that statement? Him or herself?
Not his business. The lady said she had the situation under control. He was off the hook.
Which suited him fine. Besides, he thought as he raised his coffee mug, maybe the lady did have the situation under control, and that air of vulnerability was all in his head. Wouldn’t be the first time.
He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a manila folder. Probably not the best way to keep the dark thoughts at bay, but he looked at the photo anyway. It was the picture he’d taken of Abby. After much deliberation, he’d decided to print the photo in black-and-white, finding the absence of color highlighted the shadows on her cheeks.
Hunter stared at her eyes. There it was. The sadness. They always said eyes were the windows of the soul and that photography captured a little slice of that spirit. In Abby’s case, her spirit was wrapped in a kaleidoscope of emotions. Question was, what emotions were they? Photography, like all art, was open to interpretation. What looked soulful could really be distant, simmering resentment waiting to blow up in your face.
Another argument for focusing on simply taking the picture.
Finished with the businessmen, Abby had moved back to the order window, where she was now dancing back and forth with another waitress who was laden with plates. Hunter let his eyes skim Abby’s figure. The misshapen cardigans she wore every day didn’t do her silhouette any favors. She had great legs, though. They managed to look shapely despite the sensible shoes. He tried to imagine what they’d look like with her in a shorter skirt and high heels. Not bad, he bet.
He was still contemplating when Abby set a plate in front of him. “What’s this?” she asked.
She’d spotted the photo. Since the subject was self-explanatory, he took a bite of his eggs before answering. “You.”
“I know it’s me. When did you take it?”
“Yesterday. Right here on the sidewalk.”
Her brows drew together. “How? Were you following me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Although given her ex, he could see how she might jump to that conclusion. “I live across the street. I took the photo on my way back to my building.”
“Without saying anything?”
“Alerting you to my presence would have spoiled the shot.”
“So instead, you creeped.”
Hunter set down his fork. “I was discreet. It’s what a good photographer does.”
“Is it now?” Shooting him a dubious look, she wiped her hands on her apron and picked up the photo.
“Wow,” she said after a minute.
Exactly his reaction when he’d finished the digital enhancement. Hunter didn’t usually care about compliments; he had enough confidence in his skills that other opinions didn’t affect him. But hearing Abby’s whispered surprise, and seeing the look of genuine wonder that accompanied it, set off an eruption of heated satisfaction.
“I look...” As she paused to find the word, she worried her upper lip between her teeth. It was such an expressive gesture, Hunter had to fight the urge to grab his camera and snap away.
At last she set the photo down. “Tired,” she said. “I look tired.”
“Yeah, you do.” No sense lying when there were such pronounced circles under her eyes. “But I think you’re missing the point.” The weariness was part of what made her—that is, her picture—so captivating. “The photo is telling the story.”
“What? Woman works hard for the money? Donna Summer already covered it.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m here all week.” Her mood sobered as she brushed her fingertips along the glossy paper. “Sadly, this might be the best picture I’ve ever had taken.”
“Not surprising. It’s probably the first time you were shot by a quality photographer.”
She laughed. A short, sweet laugh that turned her features bright. To Hunter’s surprise, seeing her face light up sent the heat in his gut six inches lower. “Wish I’d known. Might have saved me from years of awful holiday photos. Warren said I looked like a deer about to be plowed into.”
“Were you?” Hunter asked. “About to be run over?”
Brown eyes raised to look at him. “I thought you said the problem was the photographer.”
“Photographers also capture reality.”
“Doesn’t that just support my argument about looking terrible?”
“Only if you’re terrible-looking to begin with.”
“Generally speaking, of course.” Pink colored her cheeks and she looked at the floor. It made him wonder how often she heard compliments. Considering her d-bag of an ex-boyfriend, it likely wasn’t often.
Hunter handed her the photograph. “Here.”
“You’re giving it to me?”
“Why not? It’s a picture of you.”
“Yeah, but...” Whatever she was going to say drifted off as her hand brushed against his. Hunter watched as her eyes widened at the contact. Fear of another man’s touch? Her pupils were wide and dark, turning her irises into thin, brown frames.
For some reason, he found himself wanting to extend the contact, and so he dragged his index finger slowly across the back of her hand as he withdrew. Beneath his touch, he felt her skin quiver.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome.”
“So this is how you take care of your customers.”
Warren. Abby yanked her hand away, sending the picture fluttering to the ground. Before either she or Hunter could move, her ex-boyfriend leaned over and picked it up. Abby tried to snatch it from his grip, but he held tight. “Nice picture. You look...good.”
Abby couldn’t answer. Her insides were too tense. Across the way, she could see Guy watching them. Please don’t let there be trouble. “I thought I told you yesterday that I didn’t want to see you.”
“That was yesterday. I figured now that you had time to sleep on things, you’d changed your mind. Course, that was before I realized why you didn’t want me around.”
Warren’s eyes were hard and glittered like diamonds. Abby knew the look well. His calm demeanor was an act, a respite before the storm.
Hadn’t she told Hunter she had the situation under control? She squared her shoulders. “Warren, you need to leave.”
“Not until we talk. You changed your phone number.”
“That should have been a clue that I don’t want to talk with you.”
“Come on, babe, stop being stubborn. I know I messed up, but that’s no reason to run away. Let’s get out of here and talk. You’ll see how sorry I am, and you’ll change your mind.”
No way. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she told him.
“There you go, being stubborn again.”
He moved to grab her hand. Abby