Page 58 of What Matters Most

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Several times over the next few days, Abby discovered herself thinking about Tate. Their encounter had been brief, but it had left an impression on her. He was the most exciting thing that had happened to her in months.

“What’s the matter with you?” Abby admonished herself. “A handsome man gives you a little attention and you don’t know how to act.”

Dano mewed loudly and weaved between her bare legs, his long tail tickling her calves. It was the middle of June and the hot summer weather had arrived.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” She leaned over to pet the cat. “And don’t tell me you’re hungry. I know better.”

“Meow.”

“You’ve already had your dinner.”

“Meow. Meow.”

“Don’t you talk to me in that tone of voice. You hear?”

“Meow.”

Abby tossed him the catnip mouse he loved to hurl in the air and chase madly after. Logan had gotten it for Dano. With his nose in the air, the cat ignored his toy and sauntered into Abby’s room, jumping up to sit on the windowsill, his back to her. He ignored Abby, obviously pining after whatever he could see outside. In some obscure way, Abby felt that she was doing the same thing to Logan and experienced a pang of guilt.

Since it was an older building, the apartment didn’t have air-conditioning, so Abby turned on her large fan. Then, settling in the large overstuffed chair, she draped one leg over the arm and munched on an apple as she read. She was so engrossed in her thriller that when she glanced at her watch, she gasped in surprise. Her Tuesday-evening painting class was in half an hour and Logan would arrive in less than fifteen minutes. He was always punctual, and although he seldom said anything, she could tell by the set of his mouth that he disliked it when she was behind schedule.

The “I’m late, I’m late” theme ran through her mind as she vaulted out of the chair, changed pants, and rammed her right foot into her tennis shoe without untying the lace. Whipping a brush through her long brown hair, she searched frantically for the other shoe.

“It’s got to be here,” she told the empty room frantically. “Dano,” she cried out in frustration. “Did you take my shoe?”

She heard a faint indignant “meow” from the bedroom.

On her knees she crawled across the carpet, desperately tossing aside anything in her path—a week-old newspaper, a scarf, a CD case, the mismatched pair of socks she’d worn last Saturday, and a variety of other unimportant things.

She bolted to her feet when her apartment buzzer went off. Logan must be early.

She automatically let him into the building, threw open her door—and saw Tate standing in the hallway.

Abby felt the hot color seep up from her neck. He would come now, when she wasn’t prepared and was looking her worst.

He approached her apartment. “Hello,” he said, staring down at her one bare foot. “Missing something?”

“Hello again.” Her voice sounded unnaturally high. She bit her lip and tried to smile. “My shoe’s gone.”

“Walked away, did it?”

“You might say that. It was here a few minutes ago. I was reading and…” She dropped to her knees and lifted the skirting around the chair. There, in all its glory, was the shoe.

“Find it?” He was still in the doorway.

“Yes.” She sat on the edge of the cushion and jerked her foot into the shoe.

“It might help if you untied the laces,” he said, watching her with those marvelous eyes.

“I know, but I’m in a hurry.” With her heel crushing the back of the shoe, Abby hobbled over to the door. “Come on in.” She closed it behind him. “I’m—”

“Abby.”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I heard your friend say it at the park. And when I got to the lobby, I asked one of your neighbors.” He frowned. “You should identify your guests before you let them in, you know.”

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