A/N: My irl friend somehow remembered my fanfic handle and is now reading my fic. -_- But luckily for y'all, she'll be keeping me on my toes about updating. I expect that this fic will be about 5 chapters long.
This one's for you, Ash.
Chapter Two
The flight begins uneventfully. They board with ease, the pilot introduces himself over the loudspeaker, the flight attendant goes over safety rules. They are in the air within minutes, and Abbie is flipping through SkyMall idly when the flight attendant stops at her chair.
"This," she says, a conspirator's gleam in her eye, "is courtesy of 16B."
It's a flute of dry red wine, accompanied by a note written in immaculate cursive on a torn piece of notebook paper. Abbie shakes her head and lifts the glass in thanks to the attendant, and then takes a sip. For airplane wine, it isn't too bad.
"Thank you for humoring me this afternoon, Miss Mills. It was an honor to be able to spend time with a lovely young woman as yourself. I hope our paths cross again, but to aid that, please have my phone number. If you have a minute of rest while in Boston, I would love to hear from you."
His number is written at the bottom. Abbie stares at it mutely for a minute, and then shakes her head again.
"What a bozo," she says to herself, "I'll be seeing him when we land."
But she doesn't. They touch down in Boston and she waits for him at the entrance of the jetway, but he doesn't walk by. He was sitting behind me, how'd he possibly get out before me? After the pilot exits and Crane still is nowhere to be found, she gives up.
Jenny is waiting for her at baggage claim. It's been a year since Abbie saw her last, and she isn't aware of just how much she's missed her mouthy little sister until she sees her quirk up an immaculate eyebrow in recognition. She's dressed in olive green skinnies and a black tank top, looking simple and but powerful, and her sinewy arms are folded across her chest.
"Hey sis," Jenny says, enveloping Abbie in a hug. She's a lot more solid now, all hard muscle through her tank, and Abbie feels exceptionally small in her embrace. "How was the flight?"
"Ugh...a little unorthodox," Abbie admits. "There was this guy..."
Jenny snorts. "You managed to break a heart within two hours? Still got it, huh?"
The look Abbie gives Jenny could curd butter. "It was at least three hours, and I broke no hearts." Then she smiles, a little bashfully. "I did get a number, though."
Jenny rolls her eyes, then snatches Abbie's rolling carry-on from her. Abbie doesn't protest; this is Jenny's way of trying to behave like a sister, and though she's a little rough around the edges, Abbie appreciates the effort.
"How've you been?" she asks. When Jenny offers a monosyllabic 'fine' in response, she tries something else. "How's work?"
"Got today off," Jenny informs her, then gives her a rueful look. "Just for you. Captain gave me all kinds of shit for it."
"Thought you said he was a pretty cool guy."
"Irving?" Jenny scoffs, "stick so far up his ass you can see the end of it in the back of his throat when he talks. Here, got you a Charliecard. It's replenishable, for the train. For when, you know, you come visit again."
The train ride to Jenny's apartment is quiet. There's a kid across from them blasting music through his headphones they can hear it from five feet away, and so some quirky indie pop becomes the soundtrack for Abbie's thoughts. She fingers her Charliecard and watches Jenny out of the corner of her eye and wonders when she got so strong. She remembers the old Jenny, outspoken and stubborn, but also perpetually scared, hiding behind Abbie when their mother's rage spiked, practically salivating for attention from Miss McGee, needing affirmation and love from everyone around her to feel real.
Now, she doesn't even need Abbie. Abbie isn't sure how this makes her feel.
'You left her,' she reminds herself. 'Of course she doesn't need you.'
"This stop," Jenny says, standing abruptly as the train begins to slow. Abbie hobbles to her feet, not nearly as sure-footed as her sister, and follows her out into the street.
Jenny doesn't reach for her keys when they reach her apartment, just twists the door open and steps inside. Abbie is about to chastise her for leaving her door unlocked when Jenny yells, "Kat, we're back," and she remembers the girlfriend.
Abbie hoists her bag inside and wipes her hands on her pants. Katrina is an especially unnerving addition to her sister's life. Abbie doesn't have a problem with Jenny dating a woman, but she'd felt even shittier when her sister had told her about Katrina and Abbie realized she hadn't even been there to help her sister work through her sexuality or even start dating. Katrina probably knows more about her sister than she does, and this makes her intimidating.
Footsteps sound from across the apartment, and Katrina appears in the doorway between the living room and the rest of the apartment. She's pretty in a very British, very Lifetime movie kind of way, slim, pale, with heavily lined green eyes and a good red-violet dye job. She gives Jenny an affectionate peck on the cheek, and then turns to Abbie.
"It's lovely to meet you, Abbie." She's just as British as she looks. They must be taking over Boston.
Abbie takes the hand offered her and shakes it.
"How was your flight?" Katrina asks, taking one of Abbie's bags before she can protest and walking toward what Abbie presumes is the guest room.
"Fine," Abbie says cryptically, admiring the choice of clean, modern furniture as they cross the dining room. 'This is why we need an Ikea in St. Louis.'
"Fine is right," Jenny pipes up from behind them. "Fine like that man whose digits you snagged, huh."
"Oh?" Katrina says, doing the same annoying thing Jenny does with her eyebrows when she's trying to pry, "Do tell."
Abbie wants to tell them that they're being high-schoolers, that it really isn't a big deal at all, that she's far too old to be getting giggly about flirting with a random guy in an airport, but both Katrina and Jenny are looking at her expectantly, and she comes to the rather startling realization that whether or not she decides to indulge them will set the tone for the rest of her stay.
And that it's highly unlikely that either Jenny or Katrina actually care about some rando and are taking advantage of a juicy way to break the ice.
"Okay," Abbie says, "let me get my shoes off."
This seems to appease both women, and so Abbie gets an extra couple of minutes to gather her bearings in the guest bedroom. She takes off her boots slowly, places them at the foot of the bed, and then turns to the mirror. She looks pretty decent considering how bone tired she feels, and her eyeliner lasted the flight without so much as a smudge.
When she emerges, Abbie finds the girls sitting in the living room. Katrina has her hair balled up into a bun on the top of her head, and Jenny is squeezing it playfully, taunting her about her "white girl in Starbucks look" in hushed tones. They giggle, and then Katrina sees Abbie looking and gestures her over.
"You took your time taking your shoes off there," Katrina notes archly, folding her legs under her bottom on the sofa.
"They were tricky shoes," Abbie says with a shrug.
There's a pot of green tea on the table- Jenny's really been in bougie hipster land for too long because it's the loose leaf, brewed in a ceramic pot kind- and three cute, small mugs with cat whiskers and noses on them. Abbie curls into the couch opposite them and helps herself to a cup.
"So, you were swept off your feet by a gentleman at the airport? What'd he look like? You still into the army type?"
Abbie rolls her eyes; Jenny had met Luke when they'd first started dating and spent half a day at the bakery sprawled over the display case taunting him. "No. He wasn't my type. A little scrawny, actually. And, um, tall. Like at least six feet?"
Jenny is grinning like a shark now.
"Could you see his face from all the way down in the valleys?"
"You're funny," Abbie says, sipping from her cat mug, "Really, it wasn't a big deal. They told us the flight was delayed. He sat down next to me, we started talking. After a bit, he wanted to explore, so we went through the terminal and messed around in some of the shops."
Katrina's eyebrows are almost in her hair. "Messed around?" She says primly, eyes batting innocently.
Abbie has to pull back on the vicious glare she knows she's throwing Katrina's way. She tells them in scant detail about the game she played with Crane, the glass of wine he sent her when they were in the air, his silly mock proposal in the middle of the gate. She intentionally does not mention that last kiss, that brush of his lips against her knuckles; that somehow feels too intimate to disclose. She can feel the heat in her face when she's done, her story rife with "it really wasn't a big deal"s and "this is silly, but"s. Her sister and her girlfriend are both giving Abbie bemused looks.
"What did you say his name was?" Katrina says, smiling.
"I didn't. It was a weird name. Crane. Um... Ichabod Crane."
Katrina's smile slips. It only lasts a fraction of a second, and she quickly recovers by taking a hearty sip of her tea, but Abbie is good at reading people and Katrina is an open book. She looks at her a little longer, wondering if she imagined it.
"You should call him," Jenny is saying, and Abbie's gaze drifts over to her sister. "It won't hurt."
"It's pointless," Abbie says with a shrug. "I'm going back to St. Louis in a week. He's got a job here. Nothing can come of it."
"Invite him to the housewarming, then."
The suggestion seems to come out of nowhere. Katrina takes another long draught of tea again, staring at both of them from over the rim with wide, innocent eyes. She lowers the cup and smiles, looking from Jenny to Abbie almost beseechingly.
"There's no pressure, there'll be lots of people, and you'll be able to talk to him. It won't even be strange to ask."
Jenny thinks about this for a second, and then nods. "That's actually brilliant," she said. "Honestly, though, when was the last time you went on a date?"
Abbie doesn't answer. She hasn't been with anyone since Luke, and they broke up two and a half years ago. The last real date she went on was eight months ago. It's nothing to be ashamed of- she's had serious stuff to deal with, like, well, managing a small business and dealing with the death of one of the few people she truly trusted- but she steels herself for the inevitable "having a partner will enrich your life" speech her happily paired girlfriends like to give her every chance they get.
It doesn't come, thankfully. Her sister skips right to the action. "It's done, then," Jenny says, her grin growing feral. "You call him and invite him over. Easy."
She thinks of refusing, but Jenny looks suspiciously earnest, so Abbie laughs, shakes her head, and gives in.
"Sure. I guess it can't hurt."
Abbie does not call Crane, but not out of intransigence. She barely gets a minute to breathe the next day, and it simply slips her mind. Both Jenny and Katrina have to go into work the next day, and so Abbie, not really fancying the idea of lounging alone in the apartment all day doing jack shit, offers to go buy food and supplies for the party. Jenny agrees, gives her a list, the spare key, and rough directions for the train, and sends her on her way.
She gets decorations first, loading up a tote bag with colorful napkins, tablecloths, and candles. Then, it's across the city on the 'T' to get to assorted stores, where she puts in catering orders for various desserts and tries to keep her face level when she sees the prices. She's very thankful that she wore her sneakers today instead of her boots, and even more thankful for her Google maps app.
After six hours, Abbie is beat, and walks into an ice cream shop to treat herself. There's a decent line, and she uses the time to contemplate the flavors. She decides on her usual in the end anyway- chocolate chip cookie dough, two scoops- and is accepting her waffle cone excitedly when an alarmingly familiar voice stops her in her tracks.
"Miss Mills?"
Abbie swings around so quickly that she almost loses her ice cream. She corrects herself, adjusts her bags onto the crooks of her arms, and looks up.
"Crane?" She gasps. And it is him, green shirt open at the chest, sleeves rolled up, hair down, eyes twinkling with mirth. "Hey. Whoa. Sorry, I, um...wow."
He looks good, like a particularly clean pirate. And she's standing here in her rattiest converse, looking overwhelmed and trying to carry twenty pounds of supplies while eating an ice cream cone.
"Yes, it is quite a pleasant surprise," he says with a chuckle. "It looks like you've been quite busy," he says, gesturing to her bags.
"My sister is throwing a housewarming party," Abbie explains, and then, before she can change her mind, "which, by the way, I was going to tell you about, seeing as I have your number and everything."
Crane's brow lifts. "Ah, yes," he says, a little stiffly.
Abbie's face softens. "Thank you for the wine," she says, "and the conversation. You should come to the party, if you've got time. Saturday, at 7? Or will you be too busy doing professor-things?"
Crane seems to consider her invitation for a moment, but Abbie isn't really fooled; he's going to make it. He looks down at her from the corner of his eye and says, a tad melodramatically, "I suppose I can clear up my schedule..."
Abbie rolls her eyes and begins to walk away. "I'm finding a table," she explains.
"Ah," he says, turning to the menu at last.
"Join me when you're done?" She calls over her shoulder.
He nods once, the corners of his lips curling up, and finds Abbie's round table a few minutes later, a cup of pale green ice cream in hand.
"Pistachio," Crane offers, when Abbie gives it a questioning look. "So, how has your Boston stay been thus far?"
"Busy," she says. "My sister's put me to work, as you can see."
"I do see," he peers around her into the bags, "Are those...streamers?"
Abbie pulls a roll of pale blue streamer paper out of the tote bag. "Yeah...I think my sister doesn't really know how to throw adult parties yet. She wanted balloons and everything. What the heck though, it'll be fun. We'll only be young once, or whatever the saying is."
Crane laughs. They eat their ice cream in relative silence, and Abbie giggles when Crane gets a little overzealous and ends up smudging green ice cream onto his nose. When the ice cream is gone, they talk some more- Crane is developing his lesson plans for the next semester and wearing himself out with boredom, and has recently adopted a dog. Abbie informs him that she is very much a cat person, and they launch into an impassioned argument (which Abbie swears she wins) about the benefits of living with a canine or feline companion.
Talking to Crane is so easy. He's intelligent, a little arrogant, but so respectful of her- he seeks approval like a puppy but doesn't make assumptions about her, her thoughts, or her life. He listens to her. She barely started her bachelors and he's got a PhD, but he never once seems to doubt or question her intellectual ability; rather, he seems fascinated by what he can learn from her. He's obviously much better versed in his American history than she is, but she's got him down as far as religious studies goes, and she finally, finally has someone to listen her yabber on about the sociocultural context of Biblical passages and actually offer intelligent feedback.
Quite accidentally, they keep talking until after the sun sets and it gets dark.
"Crap," Abbie says, noting the time, "I should've been gone, like, two hours ago."
"How'd you get here?" Crane asks, pulling out a pocket watch of all things to check the time.
"On the train," Abbie says.
"I'll drive you home, then," Crane offers.
Abbie's response is automatic. "You really don't have to-"
His fingers ghost over the back of her hand on the table, so gently that Abbie might not have noticed if she wasn't so attuned to his touch.
"Nonsense," he says softly, "if it weren't for me, you would have been gone and on your way hours ago. I'm parked quite close." He pauses. "Though, I do understand... we have only known each other very briefly, if you are worried for your safety-"
"I trust you, Crane," Abbie interrupts, because it is, bizarrely, true.
'Its you you should be worried about.' In an enclosed space, Abbie cannot be sure that she will leave his dignity intact.
Parking in Boston is expensive, which is why Jenny hasn't bothered to get a car, but Crane apparently has a parking pass from his institution and is parked close by. They walk in purposeful silence to his unimposing Toyota. He takes two of the bags from her hands and helps her arrange them in the backseat, and then opens the passenger door for her. She gives him a disapproving look, but slides in regardless.
"Where are we going?" Crane asks, clipping his seat belt smoothly. Abbie gives him the address, and they glide out of the parking lot with ease. She notes that Crane doesn't use a map, or even a gps, but when she asks him about it he's able to describe the area around Jenny's apartment complex far better than she could have.
"Eidetic memory," he calls it. Abbie just shakes her head.
The radio is turned on to a classical music station. They drive in comfortable silence for a while, and when they do speak, it's idle chitchat, easy and unhurried. Abbie isn't sure she can handle complex thought right now anyway; her mind is too full of what-ifs, what-are-you-doings, and don't-stare-at-him-that's-weirds and has little room for any deep conversation. It's maddening. She blames it on hormones- she's been neglecting her more base needs lately- but that isn't it, exactly. Crane is special somehow. There is no logical explanation for her feelings for him- he's not the most handsome man she's dated, or even the most charismatic- but she feels them regardless.
And the fact that they've still managed to find each other in a city of millions is almost too unlikely to be a result of pure chance...
They pull up outside of Jenny's apartment within ten minutes.
"Miss Mills," Crane says, shifting the car into park.
"Mr. Crane," Abbie retorts, a challenge in her tone.
Crane responds to it. He roots her with his eyes, then waits until she's been captured by his gaze before reaching for her hand. He clasps it in his own, his thumb sweeping across her fingers in a light caress. It's somehow both very romantic and very silly, as if he's borrowing game from a Jane Austen novel.
And then his lips brush her skin and set it aflame.
'Oh, screw it.'
Abbie manages to unbuckle her seat in record time, and thrusts herself across the space between their seats. She doesn't clear it all the way, but Crane catches her around the waist and hefts her into his lap smoothly. Their lips meet halfway, hard and a little clumsy from disuse, but Abbie been this glad to kiss someone in a long time, and she doesn't let up. Her fingers curl into his hair, pressing his face closer to hers, and he responds by holding her closer, his arms tightening around her until their chests are flush. She had expected him to be a little bit of a hesitant kisser, but Crane is nothing of the sort- he pours everything into his kisses, takes risks, tugs on her bottom lip with his teeth and coaxes her mouth open with his tongue. He kisses like a desperate man, like he's thirsty and she's sparkling Fiji water, and it's overwhelming and beautiful and too much. She comes up for air with a gasp, arches back in an attempt to regain her sanity, but Crane follows her down, his lips latching on to her jawline and sucking slightly. Her back presses into the steering wheel, and she drags Crane back over her, reaching for his mouth again-
A loud, abrasive honk makes her jump and him rear back. It takes her a moment to realize what's happened; she's leaned back too far and pressed down on the horn. She stares at Crane with wide, petrified eyes that he mirrors. The honk seems to have jolted them back to reality and then suspended them there; she can't seem to move, let alone speak.
Then, without preamble, the trance breaks and Abbie bursts into violent peals of laughter. She's not exactly sure why, but it may be because this is the most romcom-ish thing ever to happen to her, because she's twenty-eight years old and still making out in cars a la My Big Fat Greek Wedding, and because she's somehow, despite how badly she wants this, managed to cockblock herself.
"Miss Mills-" Crane stammers, at a loss. She can see the guilt in his face already, and she nips it right in the bud.
"You just sucked my face off, Crane, I think you can call me Abbie," Abbie manages between chuckles, pressing her lips lightly to his to show that she's not planning to pretend this never happened. Subtly, she shifts so that she's straddling his thighs closer to his knees- the moment is over, and she's feeling a little too exposed to be that close to his crotch.
"Abbie," he acquiesces, and she wishes then that he hadn't because her name from his mouth dismantles her for a moment, "this-um... I just wanted to say-"
"Don't say anything stately like, 'I didn't intend to take advantage of you' or some other nonsense," Abbie interrupts.
Crane clamps his lips shut and smiles bashfully, avoiding her eyes.
"Because I went for you," she continues, "And I don't regret it one bit, because you're a great guy, Crane, and I think I like you, and I'm really just hoping this isn't a one time thing." It comes out in a rush. Abbie isn't good at being forthcoming-that's much more of Jenny's forte- but she's trying this time because she has nothing to lose. She's done punishing herself, done with not taking risks because reticence is easier.
Several seconds pass, and Crane doesn't even meet her eyes.
Her perch across his legs becomes unbearably uncomfortable, and her face feels hot.
"Okay," Abbie finally says stiffly. "Sorry. Let me just get my stuff-"
"Abbie-"
She starts to swing her legs over, but his hands land on her thighs and hold her there.
His blue eyes are nearly black in the darkness.
"Abbie," he repeats, and his tone turns urgent, pleading. "You're...You are leaving in a week."
Abbie stiffens.
"Yeah," she mutters, "yeah, I am." Six days, actually.
His eyes flutter shut, and he exhales carefully, as if what he is about to say next will take real effort.
"Try to understand my hesitation, then," he says. "I find you exquisite-" Abbie raises both brows high; nobody's used quite that term for her before; actually, she's pretty sure it hasn't been used to describe anyone outside of cheesy soap operas, "-and if my attraction to you was just that, I would gladly take this next week in a stride."
He pauses. She waits. It's a tactic Corbin taught her- silence makes people uncomfortable, and they'll instinctively fill it with more information if it last too long. And smart as he is, Crane is not above this. He starts again, his voice more broken, more uncertain, than before.
"But, you...I find you so very compelling. And...as you are leaving Boston, I would rather not develop, erm, any stronger feelings for you. And I fear that if we...we do this again, I may not be able to help it."
Abbie blinks owlishly at him. It Is strange seeing the usually eloquent Crane trip over his words, and even stranger hearing an earnest answer from a guy she's met twice. He's right, of course. She'll be gone from his life in a flash. And this by necessity- as much as she trusts Luke to keep things under control for a little while, she also knows that Crumptious will fall apart if she extends her stay by much. She knows where her priorities lie. Corbin's legacy- her legacy now- matters exponentially more to her than the cute guy she met in Boston.
Logic has absolutely no bearing on what she wants, however. And what she wants is Crane's hands on her skin, his smiles in the moonlight.
Abbie folds her arms.
"So, you like me?"
Crane looks flummoxed by the unyielding look on her face.
"Yes, but-"
"I don't see the problem, then," Abbie interrupts. She knows she's being a bit unfair, but she can't leave this without a fight. Her gut tells her this is right, and even though she's typically the kind of person who thinks things through, she also recognizes that there's some good in acting on impulse.
Crane looks a little helpless, but his thumbs are rubbing slow, soothing circles into her thighs, and so she knows all is not lost.
"We can date while I'm here," Abbie says, "and when I go, we can decide what works best for us. If it's that we don't see each other again, and don't talk, that's fine," she notes Crane's wince, "if it's that we become friends and see each other when I come up to Boston, that's fine. And if it's...something else," she breathes, "then that's fine, too. I'm just not going to give up right away like that, not unless you actually want me to. And if you do, then okay. No contact. You know where I stand. Up to you."
Saying that Abbie is nervous would be a huge understatement. She's terrified. Not that he'll tell her that they shouldn't see each other; she's prepared for that response, almost hoping for it. But if he laughs? If he brushes her off and tells her she's being too serious? It would mean that she's misread him, that this wild, irrational feeling of belonging is one-sided. That- that would be harder to swallow.
Crane exhales in a slow sigh. His eyes haven't left hers since she began her tirade, but she's only now focusing on them. Her bottom lip threatens to tremble, so she steels her jaw and waits.
"We should try," he finally says. "I would like to try."
A relieved smile tugs at the corners of Abbie's mouth. "Okay," she says, as she bends to kiss him again.