Abby's Christmas. Lynnette Kent
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“She never knew about the mice I kept, or the lizards. I had a rabbit for a couple of years without her finding out.”
“How in the world did you do that?”
“Kept my room clean, clothes washed, bed changed. She didn’t have a reason to come in and snoop, so the rabbit stayed in the closet except when I was there and locked the door.”
Abby couldn’t help but laugh. “All these years, the teenagers of the world never realized the secret to true privacy was simple neatness.”
“Give people what they want and they pretty much leave you alone.”
“Words of wisdom.” She stared at him through the darkness for a moment, watching the streetlight beam shimmer across his hair. “Well, come on in. Dad’s usually in bed by now, so the coast should be clear.”
She could have taken him around the back of the house to the sunporch. But she didn’t want to sneak Noah in, as if she were ashamed of him. Noah Blake was as good as anyone else in town.
Still, she was thankful to see no sign of her dad as she led Noah through the front rooms. When they reached the kitchen, she could hear the dog snuffling on the other side of the door to the porch. As soon as she opened that door, the little guy was all over Noah.
“Hey, buddy.” He knelt by the door so the dog could lick his face. “You’re looking pretty good after a couple of days of inside digs. You even got a bath.” Noah looked up at Abby. “That must have been fun. He can’t have had too many in his life.”
“I took him to a friend of mine who runs a dog-grooming business. She said he did okay. Maybe he belonged to people at one point and got lost.”
“Maybe. Thanks, anyway.” Cradling the dog against his chest, Noah got to his feet. “You’ve been a big help.”
He intended to go, and take the dog with him. They would both disappear from her life. After the way Noah had acted, she should be glad. But…
“Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”
He’d reached the door between the kitchen and the hallway. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”
“Hot chocolate?”
Noah stopped and turned back. “That’s a low blow.”
“Does it work?”
“As long as your dad won’t come in and yell at me.”
Abby closed the doors to the hall and to the dining room. “He’ll never know you’re here. Have a seat at the table. This’ll just take a second.”
Noah set the dog on the floor and took a chair. He observed the kitchen while she worked. After a few minutes of companionable silence, he said, “Let me guess—your favorite color is red.”
She grinned as she poured milk and cream into the chocolate mixture. “Can’t put anything over on you.”
“Red pots and pans, red-checked curtains, red apples on the table and a red rug on the floor. I’d have to be pretty dense.”
“Red dishes, too,” she pointed out, taking two big mugs out of a cabinet. “Add green napkins and I’m all decorated for Christmas.”
When the chocolate started to simmer, she moved the saucepan off the burner and poured the beverage into the cups. She handed him a mug, then sat across the table with her own. The dog settled between them on the red rug, his chin resting on one outstretched paw.
Noah took a sip of chocolate. “You sure do work miracles—this is even better than the stuff you made the other day.”
“At home, I can use expensive chocolate and cream. At the diner, I have to remember cost control.”
“It’s worth the price. Maybe you could put Abby’s Special Hot Chocolate on the menu and charge more.”
She shook her head. “Charlie’s pretty rigid about keeping prices down. He’s the boss.”
“So open your own place. Charge anything you want.”
“And compete with the Carolina Diner? I don’t think so.”
“You’ll just stick with the status quo?”
“I haven’t been offered any other options.” Beside them, the windowpane rattled in the wind. Abby glanced down at the dog. “It’s a cold night to take him out on the motorcycle. He doesn’t have too much hair.”
“I brought the backpack. He’ll be warm enough.”
“And he still doesn’t have a name.”
“No.” Noah stared down at the mutt. “Spot?”
She huffed in frustration. “He doesn’t have spots.”
“So?”
“A dog’s name is supposed to mean something. Everybody’s name should mean something.”
“Who says?”
“I do.” Holding her mug with both hands, she closed her eyes. “Loner? Ranger?”
“The Lone Ranger?” He grinned at her disgusted stare. “Why make such a big deal? Call him Harry.”
“But he’s not. How about Scruffy?”
“I’m not hanging around with a Scruffy.”
“I don’t see you hanging around with him at all.”
Noah glared at her over the top of his mug, then took a long swig, effectively hiding his face. They dropped the argument long enough to enjoy the hot chocolate, and Abby gathered the courage to ask a question.
“So tell me…where have you been for the last decade or so, anyway?”
“Around.” He set the drink on the table, pushing the handle of his mug with the pointer finger of one hand to the other, and back again.
When she didn’t say anything, he seemed to realize he hadn’t given enough of an answer. “Atlanta, mostly, for the last few years.”
“What do you do?”
“Do?”
She slapped her palm on the table. At their feet, the dog jumped and sat up. “You’re infuriating! You have to eat, right? What do you do to earn money?”
He chuckled at her temper tantrum. “Calm down, Abigail. I’ve worked a lot of different jobs over the years. Landscaping, moving furniture, construction, restaurant work—”
“Really? What kind?”
Noah gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Short-order cook, maître d’, dishwasher, waiter. I did some sous-chef work at one place in Florida, but didn’t stay long enough to get anywhere.”
“You’ve been to Florida? And Georgia. Where else?”
When he shook his head, she insisted. “Come on, Noah, tell me where all you’ve traveled. I’ve been stuck in this little town since the day I was born, and as far as I can tell, I’ll be here till I die. But I love hearing about other people’s adventures.”
Still, Noah hesitated. Abby didn’t really want to know about the majority of the adventures he’d had—too many low-rent apartments and bar fights, too much experience with the police and the prison system, too few good meals to eat and good people to talk to. Wherever he’d been, he hadn’t spent time on the right side of the tracks.
But he tried to give her what she wanted. “I hitched my way to California when I left here. Learned to surf and do some in-line skating.” The entire two years had passed in an alcoholic haze. “Then I went to Wyoming and learned to ski at Jackson Hole. I was a lift operator for a season.” He pretended to shiver. “Talk about cold.”
“I