"That was a long flight," Abbie sighs, leaning against Crane in the back of the car. Oxford had already arranged for their transportation to the Crane house from Heathrow. The elder Mr. Crane admitted he wasn't keen to fight motorway traffic on a Monday morning, so Ichabod didn't bother canceling the transport.
"At least we managed to get some sleep," Crane replies, kissing the top of her head.
"Ugh, I still feel exhausted and I look like hell. Your folks are going to see me and think, 'Who is this raggedy girl? What happened to Abbie?'" she sighs.
"They will think no such thing. You look as beautiful as always," he assures her, gently lifting her chin to kiss her.
"Thank you for your blind devotion," she answers, smiling. She settles back against his shoulder. "I did enjoy the shuttle rides in the airport. Having a cane comes in handy sometimes, I will admit."
"I've never gotten through customs so quickly," Crane agrees. When they checked in at JFK, the attendant noticed Abbie's cane and asked if she would like assistance. Abbie hesitated for a moment, her immediate impulse to be proud and decline. Then, she realized said impulse was stupid and she'd get to ride on one of those big golf cart things that beep while everyone else has to walk. Plus, they'd get through security and customs faster, too, so she agreed.
"I almost said 'No'," Abbie admits.
"I am aware," he says, chuckling. "I was prepared to, um, help you see reason on that subject."
She laughs a little, but is touched by his continued care for her. On the flight, he made sure she got up to walk around periodically and was more concerned with her comfort than his own. "I have no hope of being truly comfortable anyway, so I may as well fret over you," he had explained, his lanky six feet, one inch frame crammed uncomfortably into his seat.
"What time is your interview? Two?" Abbie asks. She's trying to look at the scenery outside, but her eyes keep closing.
"Yes. I am hoping to squeeze in a nap yet this morning," Crane says, looking at his watch. "Should have enough time to sleep a bit before lunch."
"Sounds like a plan," she agrees. "It may be," she looks at her watch, "7:45 in the morning here, but our bodies think it's 1:45 a.m."
"It is an adjustment," he says, yawning. "And, once we are fully acclimated, it'll be time to return to Sleepy Hollow."
"Hooray," she unenthusiastically comments.
xXx
Phillipa Crane greets them with enthusiastic hugs as soon as they step through the door.
"Ichabod!" she exclaims, throwing her arms around her only child, hugging him tightly. She is tall and slender, with short, salt-and-pepper hair. "And, Abbie, how wonderful to see you in person," she says, enveloping her in a hug as well. "My, but you are a tiny thing!" she exclaims, holding her at arms' length.
Abbie smiles, chuckling. "Good seeing you, too, ma'am," she replies.
"Phillipa, at least let them in the door," Mr. Crane says, standing a short distance behind his wife. He is as tall as Ichabod, also thin, and his hair is fully gray.
They take a few more steps inside, then Ichabod's hands softly land on Abbie's shoulders, and she allows him to remove her coat.
"Is that new, Ichabod?" Mrs. Crane asks, looking at the burgundy coat slung over his arm.
"Yes," he answers. He hangs up Abbie's coat in a closet, then holds his up for inspection.
"I am so glad you finally got rid of that old rag," his mother says, reaching out to touch the wool. "It wasn't fit for use as a drop cloth."
"Well, you can thank Abbie for that. This is my Christmas gift from her," he says. "Apparently, she shares your opinion of my old coat."
"Oh, thank you, Abbie," she says, turning towards the younger woman. "I've been trying to get him to give that thing up for years."
Abbie laughs. "You're very welcome."
"Is there any chance you can get him to cut his hair?" Mrs. Crane conspiratorially asks.
Ichabod sighs dramatically, hanging up his coat.
"Actually, I like his hair," Abbie answers, giggling. She sees Ichabod removing his boots, so she follows suit, placing hers beside his.
"You are fighting a losing battle, Phillipa." Mr. Crane steps towards Ichabod and warmly shakes his son's hand. "Good to see you, Son," he comments. "Good flight?"
"As good as can be expected," Ichabod answers. "Actually, better, because of the agreeable company," he adds, smiling down at Abbie.
"Of course," Mr. Crane nods. He clasps Abbie's hand, then, to her surprise, leans down and kisses her cheek. "Abbie, lovely to see you again."
"Hello, Mr. Crane," she answers.
"Are you hungry? Did you eat breakfast? I could make some—" Mrs. Crane starts.
"No, Mum, that's quite all right," Ichabod says, holding his hand up. "We have eaten. We would actually like to have a bit of a rest before lunch, if you do not mind."
"Oh, of course, you must be exhausted, and you do want to be fresh for your interview this afternoon," she replies, nodding. "I've just started making some soup for lunch, and Bert is due for his time on the exercise bike," she adds, looking pointedly at her husband.
"Yes, dear, I wasn't trying to avoid it, I promise," Mr. Crane insists. "High cholesterol and borderline high blood pressure. You wouldn't think it of a string bean like me, but one cannot fight genetics, I'm afraid," he explains to Abbie.
"Indeed not," she agrees.
"Shall I call for you at lunchtime?" Mrs. Crane asks.
"That would be fine, Mum, thank you," Ichabod says, lifting both suitcases. "I'd like to leave for Oxford no later than 12:45," he adds.
"Understood," his mother nods approvingly. "Off you go, get some rest."
Abbie follows Ichabod through the foyer, up a wide staircase, and down a long hallway. "Bathroom," he points to a door. "I do have an en suite, however," he adds, opening another.
"Nice," she says, stepping into his room.
"I didn't always," he clarifies. "Mum and Dad didn't think a child needed his own attached bathroom. I moved into this room when I was 16."
"Ah," she answers, looking around. There are several trophies on one shelf, and she wanders over to look at them. Chess. Fencing; I'd like to see him doing that. Another Chess. History Bowl? Shouldn't be surprised. "Nice room. Big, but still cozy," she comments. This room is bigger than the trailer I lived in with Mr. and Mrs. Wagner when I was 14.
He smiles, watching her inspecting his old room. "This entire house is overly large," he says.
"How many bedrooms?" she asks, pulling the Christmas gifts she brought for his parents out of her suitcase. Would not do to arrive empty handed, especially this close to Christmas.
"Seven," he says. "Four and a half bathrooms." He stares into his suitcase a moment. Then, he removes the suit he intends to wear to the interview, and hangs it up. "Survived nicely," he mutters, looking for wrinkles and creases.
Abbie pulls a pair of flannel pants and her toiletry bag out of her suitcase. She decides to leave everything else as is for the moment, and goes to the bathroom.
Ichabod puzzles after her, wondering why she's going into the bathroom to change.
"Have to pee," she explains. "Killing two birds."
"Of course," he nods.
He ducks into the bathroom when she emerges, jeans and bra in her hand. She sets them on her suitcase, then ponders his bed a moment. Pulling the blankets back, she realizes she feels a bit like a trespasser, but is not sure why. He won't care. In fact, if I didn't, he'd probably wonder why. You're being silly.
"Would it bother you if I set an alarm? I should like to shower before my mother comes knocking," Crane says, his phone in his hand. He's stripped down to his undershirt and boxer briefs.
"No, that's fine," Abbie answers. "Good idea, too."
He nods and sets the device on the nightstand, then climbs into bed. She slips under the covers and curls up in front of him. He spoons behind her, holding her close.
"I've never had a young lady in this bed," he softly comments.
"Good," she says, laughing. "This is a comfy bed," she adds, sighing contentedly. "Or, I'm just really tired. I can't tell."
"Perhaps both," he suggests. "I'm glad you're here, Abbie. I love you. So much." He nuzzles, then kisses the side of her neck.
"I'm glad I came, Ichabod. I love you, too."
xXx
Crane wakes three minutes before his alarm goes off. He turns it off so it won't wake Abbie, and climbs out of bed, tucking the blankets around her.
When he comes out of the shower, she's awake, sitting up in bed with her laptop. "Chatting with Jenny on Facebook," she says. She's trying not to use her cell phone while in the U.K., knowing that her bill will be astronomical if she does. Mental note to get one of those international plans if we move.
"Isn't it rather early there?" he asks.
"Jenny doesn't sleep much," she answers. "She says, 'Hi' and wishes you luck on your interview."
"Please thank her for me. And, 'Hello' to her as well," he says, dressing.
"Okay."
Just as he is buckling his belt, a soft knock sounds at the door. He walks over and opens it.
"Oh! You're already awake," Mrs. Crane says, surprised to see her son not only up, but dressed.
"Yes, and good thing, too. Your knock would not have woken anyone," he says, chuckling.
"I was building up to the battering ram," she answers.
Abbie laughs, closes her laptop, and climbs out of bed.
"Lunch is ready whenever you are," Mrs. Crane informs. "Abbie, those sleep trousers are adorable."
Abbie looks down. Her pajama pants are ice blue flannel with snowflakes. "Thanks," she says, looking up. "They're very cozy."
"We'll be down shortly, Mum," Ichabod says.
"All right, Noodle," she says, turning and leaving.
"'Noodle'?" Abbie asks, smiling. "Ooo, I was waiting for that." Her grin broadens.
"Yes, yes, now all of my secrets are out," he says. "Did... did your parents have a pet name for you?" he asks, knowing he is treading on delicate ground.
"Not really," Abbie says, changing back into her street clothes. "Mama would call Jenny and me 'Sweetheart', or sometimes 'Baby'. But, we didn't have nicknames or anything. If anything, she called us by our full names more often than not. If I was in trouble, then I was 'Grace Abigail'."
"Of course," he agrees, walking into the bathroom to tie his hair back. "I was 'Ichabod Nathaniel'," he calls over his shoulder.
"That's certainly a mouthful," Abbie says, joining him in the bathroom to unbraid her hair and see how slept-on it looks. "Ugh," she says, pulling a comb through it.
"You look beautiful, Abbie," Crane says.
"Thank you," she says, setting her comb down. She turns and straightens his tie. "You look really good," she adds, gently tugging his tie until he leans down and kisses her.
"Thank you," he replies. "Ready for some lunch, my love?"
"Yes. I'm hungry."
They head downstairs where Mrs. Crane has a pot of cream of chicken with rice soup and a loaf of French bread waiting. They take bowls and she serves the thick soup.
"Mmm, this smells really good," Abbie says.
"I was originally going to make chicken, but I thought with this weather, something a little heartier would be better suited," she says. "I do hope you like it."
They sit and eat. The soup is excellent. They chat companionably while they eat, Mr. and Mrs. Crane asking Abbie polite questions about herself which she happily answers, often replying with questions of her own.
"Will you be back for dinner?" Mrs. Crane asks as Abbie and Ichabod stand and clear their places.
"I don't see why we wouldn't be," Ichabod answers.
"Oh, are you going with Ichabod, Abbie?" Mrs. Crane turns towards Abbie.
"Yes. I'd like to see Oxford," she says. "I can keep myself occupied while Ichabod is in his interview."
"Of course," the older woman smiles, but seems disappointed.
"Mum?" Ichabod asks, angling his head at her.
"I had a notion we could go shopping while you were gone, that's all," she admits.
"Oh, um..." Abbie starts, glancing at Ichabod.
"Mum, we're here all week. I promise you will have time to take Abbie to Harrod's or wherever you would like to go," he says, placing his arm around his mother's shoulders. "I'll even stay home with Dad if you want 'girls only' time."
Mrs. Crane brightens. "Fair enough. I don't want to exclude you, of course, which is why I thought we'd go while you were at Oxford."
"Of course," he echoes. "You know how much I love spending the day shopping," he sarcastically adds.
"I did promise to return with souvenirs," Abbie points out.
"We can work out the details this evening. I have a few sights I'd like to show Abbie," Ichabod says.
"Yes. Tonight. Which brings me back to my original question," Mrs. Crane says. "Dinner?"
"Would you like me to phone when we are on our way back?" Ichabod asks.
"Yes, please," his mother answers. "Abbie, dear, have you ever heard of bubble and squeak?"
Abbie smiles. "I know it's one of Ichabod's favorites," she answers, "and I've looked at recipes online for it. There seem to be endless variations."
"Indeed there are," Mrs. Crane agrees.
"One of the perks of living in the U.S.," Ichabod says. "When I come back here, Mum makes all of my favorites."
"Makes sense to me," Abbie replies. She notices the clock on the stove says 12:41. "Should we get going?"
Ichabod checks his watch. "Yes, we should." He bends down to receive a hug from his mother.
"They are going to love you," Mrs. Crane says.
"Thanks, Mum."
"Drive safe," Mr. Crane comments, clapping his son on the shoulder. "Go get that job."
"Thank you, Dad," Ichabod answers.
xXx
Crane finds the building he needs with no trouble, his eidetic memory proving invaluable once again. He parks the car nearby. "You can drive into town if you get bored," he says, handing Abbie the keys.
"Oh, man, I'd probably wind up driving on the wrong side of the road," she laughs, but takes the keys.
"I highly doubt it," he replies, climbing out of the car.
"It's weird having you drive, by the way," she says.
"I never said I couldn't drive," he points out. "I merely stated I did not have a license to do so in the States."
"That's right, you did," she allows, walking beside him. "This place is amazing," she says, looking around. "I'm glad school isn't in session right now. I'm gawking like a tourist," she laughs.
They stop walking outside the doors. He smiles down at her. "Don't get lost," he says.
"I'll try not to. I have your mom's phone, so if I do, I can call your dad or something. Or, just pick a random name from her contacts list. That could be fun," she grins. Mindful of Abbie's wish to not use her phone unless absolutely necessary, but concerned for her safety, Mrs. Crane offered Abbie her cell phone for the afternoon.
"Dr. Crane?" a man's voice calls.
They both turn. "Yes," Crane answers, straightening up. "Dr. Hayward, wonderful to meet you," he greets, recognizing his voice.
The men shake hands, and Hayward glances at Abbie.
"Oh, Dr. Nigel Hayward, this is Abigail Mills, professor of Criminal Science at Sleepy Hollow University," Crane introduces her.
"Ah, yes, the traveling companion," the other man says, shaking Abbie's hand. Dr. Hayward is a short, slightly disheveled, round man with a gentle demeanor and twinkling eyes.
"Well, she is a bit more than that," Crane says, smiling.
"Very nice to meet you, sir," Abbie says, shaking Hayward's offered hand.
"Enchanted, my dear," Hayward replies. "Enjoy your stay here."
"Thank you, I will certainly try," she answers, smiling.
"Well, then, Dr. Crane. Shall we?" Hayward asks, indicating the doors. "Oliver and Pendleton are already here. Summers is always late, but he'll be along."
Crane smiles. "After you," he answers.
Abbie gives him a smile and small wave, wishing she could give him a kiss for luck.
"We'll only keep him about an hour, Miss Mills," Hayward says, nodding at her.
"Thank you," she answers.
Hayward turns to unlock the door, and Crane glances back at Abbie. She blows him a kiss, and he mouths the words "Love you" in reply before disappearing inside.
Abbie stares at the doors for about ten seconds, then turns and looks around the snow-covered campus. She is just about to start walking to investigate a statue she has spotted, when a young man comes rushing up, making a beeline for the doors.
He very nearly skids to a halt when he sees Abbie, hastily smoothing his open overcoat, then fussing with his scarf, attempting to appear as though he is not running very late. "Miss," he says, nodding and smiling at her.
"Hello," she says. This must be Summers.
"Are you lost?" he asks, casually looking her over, his eyes settling on her cane with curiosity a moment before snapping back to her face.
"No. I'm here with Dr. Crane. They've just gone inside," she nods to the doors.
"Ah. Right. Well. I suppose I should join them," he replies. He puzzles at her for a brief moment, then continues to the doors.
What a strange man. As Abbie walks towards the statue, it begins to lightly snow.
She wanders the campus, keeping an eye on both the time and her surroundings, not wishing to lose her way and not be able to return to the building in which she left Crane. It's mostly empty of people, but once or twice she sees another person. Mrs. Crane's phone rings once, a call from someone called Leigh. She lets it go to voicemail, then texts Mr. Crane, asking him to tell his wife she got a call.
At 2:55, she makes her way back and waits.
"Can I help you, Miss?" a polite voice asks a few minutes later.
Abbie turns. "Oh, um, sorry, am I loitering? I'm supposed to meet someone here," she says to the campus security guard, a man who appears only slightly older than herself. "He's interviewing for a position in the History department."
"Very good," the guard says, nodding. He turns to leave, then turns back. "You're American?" he asks, bored enough to be curious. He walks over.
"Yes. My friend is British though. We're both professors at Sleepy Hollow University in New York," she says.
"You look a might young to be a professor, if you don't mind my saying, Miss," he says.
"Abbie," she tells him. "And, I don't mind. I know I look young. Short person problems," she chuckles, shifting her weight slightly, leaning on her cane a little more.
"Are you all right, Miss? Er, Abbie," he corrects. "I can let you inside so you can have a seat, if you like. There's a definite nip in the air today," he says, brandishing a ring of keys.
"That would be nice," she agrees. He strides ahead and opens the door for her.
"Thank you," she says.
He nods, then follows her inside. "Get the blood flowing again," he says, stomping the snow from his booted feet. Abbie sits on a leather chair, removing her gloves and rubbing her hands together. She unwinds her scarf from around her neck. "You say you're a professor?" the guard asks, leaning against the wall nearby.
"Yes. Criminal Science," she answers, smiling at his surprised expression. "Used to be a police officer," she adds.
"Did you now?" he asks, his eyebrows lifting. He walks closer and sits in the chair opposite Abbie.
By the time Crane joins them (twenty minutes later), Abbie and the guard are in deep conversation, trading stories. "Sorry, Love, it went longer than I expected..." his voice trails off as he approaches the pair.
"Ichabod," Abbie looks up and smiles. "It's all right. My new friend Daniel was kind enough to let me wait inside," she says, indicating the guard. "Ichabod Crane, Daniel Palmer. Daniel, Ichabod."
"Pleased to meet you," Crane says, shaking the guard's hand. "And, thank you for looking after Abbie in my absence. I was worried she was freezing to death outside."
"It was my pleasure, Dr. Crane," Daniel replies. "What kind of guard would I be if I let people stand around in the cold?"
"He thought I was loitering," Abbie jokes. "And, for the record, it's not that cold. I'm from New York; it'll take more than a few snowflakes to freeze me out."
"Oh, so does that mean I can't interest you in a steaming cup of cocoa before we head home?" Crane asks, arching his eyebrow at her.
"If she's not interested, I'll go," Daniel offers, chuckling.
"I am definitely down for some cocoa," Abbie says, laughing, pulling her gloves on again. "Daniel, thank you for the company and shelter." She offers her hand.
"Miss Abbie, it was a pleasure. I hope to see you again," Daniel says, warmly shaking her hand.
"Well, we shall see," she smiles, glancing up at Crane. He catches her eyes and smiles back, wondering if the hopeful light he sees in her eyes is his imagination.
"Best of luck to you, Dr. Crane," Daniel turns to Crane and shakes his hand again.
"Thank you, officer," Crane answers, putting his arm around Abbie. "Happy New Year to you, Sir," he concludes.
"Happy New Year," Daniel replies. He accompanies them to the door, turns the lever to unlock it from the inside, and opens it for them. The guard remains inside a little longer, watching the couple walk away. About 20 yards away, they stop. Crane gently lifts Abbie's chin, bends down, and sweetly kisses her as snowflakes gently fall around them.
xXx
"This is really good," Abbie says, swallowing her first bite of dinner. "Real comfort food."
"Yes, it's very hearty. Good on a cold, snowy evening like this," Ichabod agrees.
"Like chili," Abbie theorizes, "or... a nice, thick potato soup. Oh! Or, the soup we had for lunch." She smiles across the table at Mrs. Crane, who returns the gesture.
"Mmm, yes," Ichabod nods.
"Sorry," Abbie says, remembering herself. "I interrupted your story, Ichabod."
"Quite all right, Love," he replies. He continues telling his parents about the interview. "Once Summers arrived, I thought they would start asking me the standard questions about my teaching philosophy, areas of specialty and the like, but they didn't."
"That's odd," Mrs. Crane comments.
"I thought so, too. I'm a bit worried that I wasn't as articulate as I could have been due to my surprise over the overall tone of the meeting. It was very casual, and I was not prepared for that," he says, frowning.
"It wasn't an interview, it was a date," Mr. Crane remarks. The older man does not speak much, but when he does, what he says is usually worth hearing. Three sets of eyes turn to him, waiting for further explanation. "They already know they wish to hire you," he explains. "They were seeing how you fit into the department. How your personality worked with all of theirs."
"You think so?" Ichabod asks.
"I used to run a publishing company, Son," his father answers. "I may know a thing or two about hiring people. Once in a while, you stumble upon a person you just know will work out. You look at their C.V. and think, 'Yes, this is the right person,' but you still must interview them. Basically, it becomes a formality, but the person being interviewed doesn't know that."
"You think that's what this was?" Ichabod asks.
"It certainly seems that way," Mr. Crane says. "I hired one or two people in such a manner, and both worked out very well. Basically, my thinking was if the person didn't, er, soil himself during the interview, I'd hire him."
Abbie nearly chokes on her drink, her coughs gradually turning into laughter.
"Forgive me, dear," he apologizes.
"I'm good," she replies. "It was just really funny."
Ichabod reaches over and squeezes Abbie's hand. "I can assure you I most definitely did not 'soil' myself," he says.
"I'd be horrified if you had," Mrs. Crane says. "So, they didn't ask you anything about your teaching style or research?"
"They did ask you about American History," Abbie points out. She, of course, heard all of the details in the car during the drive back.
"Yes, they did," Ichabod agrees. "Which was the one topic about which they asked the most. They were interested in how much I knew about Ancient History and classical mythologies as well."
"All topics totally in his wheelhouse," Abbie says. His parents nod in agreement. It's silent for a few moments, no one willing to bring up the topics on everyone's mind: will Ichabod move back, and will Abbie move with him?
"Did they say when next they'd be contacting you?" Mrs. Crane asks, breaking the silence.
"Dr. Hayward said he would try to get information to me before I leave," Ichabod answers.
"Oh, good. I do hope he calls soon," his mother answers. "I might be more anxious than you are."
"I have no doubt of that, dear," Mr. Crane remarks, reaching over and patting his wife's hand.
Abbie wonders if she should say something to address the elephant in the room, but doesn't exactly know what. She and Ichabod had agreed not to make any Big Decisions until they hear from Dr. Hayward. Not your place to bring it up in front of his parents anyway, even if we had come to a decision. She looks over at him and isn't surprised to see him watching her. He holds his hand out, and she places hers in it. Then, he lifts her small hand to his lips, kissing it softly.
Mrs. Crane smiles at the couple, pleased her son has found someone who makes him so happy. In truth, her anxiety about this job opportunity comes from both the job itself and worry that Abbie will decide to stay in the States if Ichabod accepts the position. I really like her. She is good for him and he loves her so much. "Are you very tired yet, Noodle?" she asks, standing to clear the dishes.
"A bit," Ichabod answers, standing as well. Abbie also stands and helps.
"Oh, please, sit down," Mrs. Crane says, attempting to wave their help away. "It's no trouble."
"Yes, but it'll be completed that much quicker for our help," Ichabod answers, stubbornly following his mother to the kitchen. Abbie is right behind him.
"You should rest," his mother protests.
"We need to get acclimated," he argues. "So, we're not going to toddle off to bed right after dinner."
"Yes," Abbie agrees. "Besides, I brought Christmas gifts for you and Mr. Crane."
Mrs. Crane turns and looks at her. "Oh, now, you didn't need to do that," she says.
"I know. I wanted to," Abbie answers, smiling. "I didn't want to arrive empty-handed."
They finish cleaning up dinner, and head to the sitting room. Ichabod runs up to his room to retrieve the gifts Abbie has brought.
"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Crane says, accepting her package. It's a medium-small flat box.
"You're welcome," Abbie answers. "And, thank you again for the gift card. It was very nice of you to think of me."
Mr. and Mrs. Crane sent a Christmas card two weeks prior with gift cards inside for Ichabod and Abbie.
"Our pleasure, Abbie," Mr. Crane replies. "Thank you," he adds, receiving his present.
"Open them. Please," Abbie prompts, sitting beside Ichabod on the couch.
"You first, Phillipa," Mr. Crane defers to his wife.
She quickly unwraps her gift and opens the box. "Oh, it's lovely. And, it's pink! Did Ichabod tell you?"
Abbie smiles, watching as Mrs. Crane wraps the scarf around her neck. "He did. He told me you liked my gray scarf, so I wanted to get you one. I asked him your favorite color, and thankfully, they had one in pink."
"It's so soft," she says, rubbing it between her fingers. "Feel," she offers it to her husband.
He dutifully feels the scarf. "Mmm," he nods.
"Humph," Mrs. Crane snorts. "Grumpy Trousers," she says, but she is trying not to smile.
Her husband winks at her, then turns his attention to his gift. He squeezes it experimentally, a sly look on his face.
"He knows it's a movie," Abbie whispers to Ichabod, frowning.
"Yes, but he doesn't know which one," he answers. "I did suggest you place it inside another box."
"Space was an issue," Abbie replies .
"Ah, how marvelous! I don't have this one yet," Mr. Crane declares, showing his Blu-Ray disc of Skyfall to his wife.
"Very nice," she nods, still wearing her scarf. "Ichabod, I thought you were asking because you were looking for a birthday gift idea," she adds.
"I never specified why I was asking," Ichabod replies. "I had to text Mum to find out if he had that one," he explains to Abbie.
"Thank you very much for the movie, Abbie," Mr. Crane says, peeling the plastic from the box.
"Yes, thank you, Abbie," Mrs. Crane echoes. She stands and crosses to Abbie, hugging her.
"You're welcome. Happy Christmas," she says.
"Sounds strange with an American accent," Mr. Crane says, chuckling. He's right behind his wife, waiting to hug Abbie as well.
"Thought I'd try it out," Abbie answers, laughing with him. "Felt strange to say." She wobbles slightly, and Ichabod reaches up to steady her.
"All right, Love?" he asks, concerned. He guides her back down to her seat.
"I probably walked too much today," she admits.
"Do you need anything?" he asks.
"Yes, can I get you some ice, or a heating pad, or...?" Mrs. Crane offers.
Abbie smiles. That's where he gets it. "No, thank you," she politely declines. "I took my medication just before dinner," she says. "Ichabod, what are you... oh." He's lifted her legs and is in the process of turning her sideways on the couch, draping them across his lap. "Thank you."
"They're supposed to be elevated, I seem to recall," he comments.
"Abbie, Ichabod only told us you were injured in the line of duty," Mr. Crane says. "Will you tell us more about it? Only if it won't trouble you to do so, of course," he clarifies.
"Of course," Abbie answers, and begins the story.
xXx
"Well, I think you've completely enchanted my father," Crane says later, up in his room. They are changing for bed.
"Don't worry, Noodle," Abbie reassures him, lifting up on tiptoe to kiss him. "If he asks me to run away with him, I'll tell him 'No'."
He laughs, wrapping his arms around her before she can escape. "He's not impulsive like that," he says, touching the tip of his nose to hers. "Mum, on the other hand..."
"I won't run away with her either," she says, laughing.
"Good to know," he replies, kissing her lips. He groans softly and deepens the kiss, reaching down and lifting her up.
Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist, her fingers pulling his ponytail free. Her tongue spars with his for a bit, and when she feels the wall against her back and his lips on her neck, she returns to her senses.
"Ichabod, wait..."
"Hmm?" he asks, lips still busy at her collarbone.
"Ichabod," she repeats, tugging his hair.
He lifts his head.
"We... we shouldn't. I mean, your parents are—"
"Abbie," he softly interrupts her, "do you remember exactly where my parents' bedroom is?"
She doesn't need to replay the entire tour to find her answer. "Downstairs," she says.
"On the opposite side of the house," he adds, his lips and tongue on her pulse point. "Could not be farther away and still be in the same building."
"Oh," she replies. "Is that why you chose this room?" she asks, her voice breathy as he continues lavishing wet kisses on her neck.
"They moved downstairs after Dad retired," he absently says. He lifts his head. "I do not wish to talk about my parents right now," he says.
"Me neither," she agrees, closing her lips over his.