Abbie doesn't want to go. Organized social gatherings have never really been her thing.
And organized social gatherings involving corsets and petticoats are not even up for discussion.
Nevertheless, here she stands, scowling in front of a mirror while her sister Jenny yanks at the laces on her back, cinching her in so tightly that she reasons she'll pass out after the first hour.
Maybe it won't be so bad after all.
"Stop frowning," Jenny chides her. "You look amazing."
"Remind me why I'm going to this thing?"
"Because I broke my ankle and you love me," Jenny says, hobbling back to the living room and heavily sitting on the couch. She hoists her foot up to rest on a pillow atop the coffee table. Her foot is encased in a large gray medical boot and she is under instructions to keep it elevated.
Abbie turns around, her skirts swishing in a way that is not attractive at all and does not remind her of happy childhood memories playing dress-up with her sister. Not in the least. "And why were you going? The Sleepy Hollow Historical Society Spring Cotillion isn't really your scene."
"I'm supposed to meet a guy," she says. "You'll have to be my proxy."
"You're telling me this now?"
"Chill; it's not, like, a date," Jenny reassures her. "He's the new museum curator. I'm supposed to get on his good side because Hawley pissed him off. Or something. He was pretty vague about the details."
"I'm sure," Abbie says, heading to the bathroom to take the rollers out of her hair and figure out what to do with it. "Hawley would irritate the Pope."
"He's not that… never mind, he is," Jenny concedes, raising her voice enough so Abbie can hear her from the bathroom. "Word has it that this dude is a walking encyclopedia… Hawley really wants to set him up as a buyer."
"So Nicholas Hawley really is trying to establish himself as a legitimate businessman, hey?" Abbie calls back.
"Yep. Says he's getting too old to still be skulking around in seedy locations and running from the authorities," Jenny replies. "Shit," she mutters. "Hey, I left my pain meds in there. Would you bring them out when you're done?"
"Yeah," Abbie replies. "I'm almost done."
A few minutes later, she emerges, and Jenny's jaw drops. "Wow," she says as Abbie passes her the pills. "You look amazing."
"You think so? I feel like one of those doll cakes. You know, the kind with half a Barbie doll sticking out of the top?" Abbie replies.
Jenny laughs. "Oh my God, now I know exactly what I'm doing for your next birthday," she says, still laughing.
Abbie narrows her eyes. "I'mma just pretend it's the pain meds addling your judgment right now," she says. The doorbell rings. "Saved by the bell," she sighs, walking to answer it. "Hey, Frank, hey Cynthia," she greets them. "You guys look great."
"Thanks, so do you!" Cynthia gushes. "You sure that dress was supposed to be for Jenny? It fits you like a glove!"
"Yeah, a glove that's a little too long," Abbie chuckles, showing her how the skirt drags on the floor just a bit. "Thanks for picking me up, Frank. I don't think I could have driven in this thing."
"No problem, Mills. Hey Jenny, you take it easy, okay?" Frank says, looking over at the younger Mills sister.
"Not much choice in the matter," Jenny sighs. "So tonight it's going to be me, Yuri, and Victor hanging out together."
Frank gives her a blank look. "Okay then."
"Anime," Abbie mutters.
"Thank you," Frank mumbles back.
"What's this guy's name again? It was something unusual…" Abbie asks.
"Crane," Jenny answers. "Ichabod Crane. All I know about him is he's a tall white guy with a beard."
Abbie rolls her eyes. "That should narrow it down," she sarcastically replies.
"He's supposed to be really skinny, too," Jenny supplies, and Abbie nods. That will definitely set him apart from several of the men in the Historical Society and Re-enactor's Guild.
"I won't be late," Abbie says just before following Frank and Cynthia out.
xXx
The party is in full swing when they arrive, but heads still turn at their entrance. As chief of police, Frank is well-known in the community and his charismatic personality and commanding presence naturally attracts attention wherever he goes. And with a beautiful woman on each arm, they make quite an entrance.
"Frank!" He is hailed almost immediately, and Abbie releases his arm to let him and Cynthia head over to greet whoever it is that has called.
She heads for the refreshment table, eyes scanning the crowd for a tall, skinny, bearded white man.
Plenty of men. Plenty of white. Plenty of beards. Some tall. Few skinny. Someone catches her eye. Well, he's skinny, but not tall and it doesn't even look like he could grow a beard if he wanted to.
She accepts an offered cup of punch and takes a sip. It's non-alcoholic and very sweet. She takes another sip and looks around. There are tables around the perimeter, a small stage at one end bearing a small musical ensemble, and a large open area in the center where some people are dancing. The refreshment table beside her has not only the aforementioned punch but an assortment of canapés. Some look like historical accuracy was at least attempted. Others do not.
Her cup halfway to her lips, her eyes catch sight of someone; a lithe, graceful figure on the dance floor, currently spinning a pretty redhead in some sort of Waltz.
Tall. White. Thin. Bearded.
He looks like he has literally been dropped out of the late 1700s, clad in the most authentic costume Abbie has ever seen, his long hair pulled back into a neat queue, tied with a ribbon. She steps closer to the dance floor and sees he is wearing knee-length breeches and long boots, and even spies the chain of a pocket watch glinting next to his waistcoat.
"Hey, Abbie," a familiar voice greets.
Abbie turns and sees Andy Brooks standing beside her. "Hi, Andy. I didn't know you'd be here," she says.
"I'm surprised to see you, too," he replies. "I wouldn't have thought that the re-enactors' annual spring fling would be your scene."
"Jenny was actually going to come, but she broke her ankle this morning," she explains. "Didn't want to waste the ticket." For some reason she decides to not tell him her official business there.
"Understood," he says.
"Hey, do you know who that guy is? I don't think I've seen him before," she asks, keeping her tone light and conversational as she nods towards the tall man on the dance floor.
"Oh that's the new museum curator. Some weird British guy with a fetish for American history, from what I hear," Andy says. "And you know Caroline."
Abbie's eyes widen and she looks more closely. "Caroline from the library? I didn't even recognize her all dressed up like that!"
"Yeah, she's really into this re-enactment stuff. And I guess they're cousins or something, too," he says.
"You've got all the dirt, don't you?" she asks, chuckling. Unlike Abbie, who is a detective, Andy is a beat cop, out and about in the city almost every day, so he sees and hears almost everything that goes on in their relatively small city.
"Do you want to dance?" he suddenly asks.
"Um, not right now, sorry," Abbie answers. "I only just got here and am still getting used to all this. You should ask Caroline when the next song starts," she suggests, knowing that while Andy is a little sweet on her, he's also developed quite a crush on Caroline.
"What? But…"
"Never know unless you try," Abbie goads. She pats his shoulder. "Talk to you later," she adds, then goes to dispose of her cup, keeping half an eye on the dance floor.
The song ends. She turns to watch and smiles when Andy strides down and shyly asks Caroline for the next dance. She beams up at him, and when she takes his hand, Crane bends his waist in a graceful bow before sweeping from the floor.
He looks like a crane, Abbie observes. Tall and lanky, but graceful. She tries to get a good look at him, but it proves more difficult than she expected. He keeps moving, circulating around, behaving very much like he is a nobleman and this is his cotillion. He has an air of arrogance about him, but he also appears to be very charming and well-liked. His hands are generally clasped behind his back, but when he speaks, he freely gestures with them, all broad hands and long fingers.
When he finally turns his face enough so Abbie can really see him, she stares for a full minute before she realizes she has been gaping at him.
He's… beautiful. She's never had that thought about a man before, but it is the right word for him. Broad forehead, straight nose, and eyes so blue she can make out their exact shade from 20 yards away.
Those blue eyes connect with hers, and Abbie's face suddenly heats. She looks away, then glances back to discover that not only is he still watching her, but he is moving towards her. Quite deliberately.
She straightens her back and turns to face him fully, biting back her urge to smirk when his long stride falters for just a moment. Yeah, that's right. I'm in charge here.
"Excuse me, but I am wondering how it is possible we haven't met," he greets with a small smile. "Ichabod Crane," he introduces himself with a slight bow and an offered hand.
Now it is Abbie's turn to falter. Damn. His voice sounds how chocolate tastes. She tells the butterflies having a rave in her stomach to cool it and extends her hand. "Abbie Mills," she says, looking up at him. Damn again. He must be a foot taller than me.
He gently grasps her hand and bows over it, placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. "Mills?" he asks, reluctantly releasing her hand. "I was to meet with a Jennifer Mills this evening; are you acquainted with her?"
"She's my sister," Abbie explains. "She couldn't make it, so she asked me to come in her place. She broke her ankle."
His eyebrow quirks upwards. "It seems her misfortune is my boon," he smoothly replies. "Do send my wishes for a speedy recovery to your sister."
"I will, thanks," she replies, trying to maintain her composure. She looks up at him and sees his gaze flicker to her lips for just a second, and realizes then that she had just licked them. How am I unconsciously flirting? "Um, so you know why you were supposed to meet Jenny then?" she hesitantly broaches.
"Of course. She seemed to think she needed to smooth things over between myself and Mr. Hawley," he answers with a chuckle. "I assure you, Miss Mills, I have every intention of doing business with Mr. Hawley. My personal feelings are irrelevant when it comes to business."
Abbie blinks, surprised. "Oh. Well. That was easy," she says. Suddenly not knowing what to say, she immediately falls into old habits and begins to bail. "It was very nice meeting you, and I hope to see you around town."
"Would you honor me with one dance before you make your hasty departure?" he says, his words coming right on the tail end of hers, like he is afraid that her coach is about to become a pumpkin.
"Oh, I don't know how—"
"It's frightfully simple, I assure you," he presses, holding his hand out.
That large, elegant limb beckons to her. She remembers the brief feeling of his fingers around hers before his soft lips pressed her hand. She places hers in it. It looks ridiculously small.
He seems to notice that detail as well. "You are so delightfully petite," he comments, escorting her to the edge of the dance floor. "This piece will be done in a moment," he tells her. She dumbly nods, noticing he hasn't released her hand.
"How do you like Sleepy Hollow?" she asks, inwardly cringing at her pathetic attempt at making small talk. Specifically, small talk with him. It seems somehow beneath him.
He indulgently smiles down at her, eyes half-lidded as he peers over the high collar of his jacket. "I am liking it more and more with each passing moment," he says. The song winds down and he leads her onto the dance floor.
Abbie suddenly feels like the room has gone dark around them and they are in a spotlight. She is keenly aware of many sets of eyes on them, but dutifully ignores them, deciding to concentrate on not tripping over her skirts or stepping on his feet.
Crane pulls her close, one hand spanning half of her waist, the other holding hers. "Just follow me," he intones, gazing down at her like she is the only woman in the room.
"Okay," she answers, her voice a whisper.
He was right. It is frightfully simple. He is an excellent leader, and soon the curious looks from the other partygoers fade from her consciousness. He commands all of her attention and seems to be just as absorbed in her.
"We never resolved the issue of how it is that we have not yet met," he says once he is certain she has the steps down. "Hold on," he adds, releasing her waist to twirl her away and back.
"Oh!" Abbie exclaims, surprised. "Don't get fancy on me now," she says, laughing. "But I guess one of us has always been in the wrong place at the wrong time," she theorizes.
"What is your occupation?" he asks, still trying to piece this puzzle together.
"Sheriff's detective," she answers.
"How very impressive," he replies. "You work with Captain Irving then?"
"Yes. I'm a Lieutenant, so he's my boss," she explains. "I haven't been to the museum in quite a while either," she confesses.
"Pity," he says with a slight frown. "We'll be opening an exciting new exhibit on Colonial Era textiles next week," he adds, his eyes alight with mischief.
"Textiles, hey? Well, that is exciting." She plays along, grinning up at him.
The song finishes and the musicians announce they are taking a break.
"Please do not leave yet; I would very much like to continue talking with you," Crane implores, holding tight to her hand. "I find your company most enjoyable."
Abbie takes his arm. "You know what? Me too," she responds, a little surprised. She hasn't been this interested in a man in a very long time.
He escorts her out a back door and into a garden that is just starting to come to life. It smells of green and dirt and she can hear the wind in the new leaves of the trees. There is a winding path leading through it.
"Tell me, Lieutenant, what brought you to Sleepy Hollow?" Crane asks.
"I like how you say that. And I've lived here all my life," Abbie answers.
He chuckles, placing his free hand over hers on his arm. "How wonderful," he replies, but doesn't press her for more details. There is a bench nearby, and he guides her there to sit.
"And what brought you to Sleepy Hollow?" she counters.
He smiles. "My dear cousin Caroline informed me of the position opening at the museum here," he answers, turning his body towards hers. His legs are so long his knees get lost in her voluminous skirts. "I had…" he pauses now, frowning, "I had just ended a relationship and was feeling rather down about my life. I thought a change of scenery would do wonders."
"Oh," Abbie replies, blinking. "I'm sorry to hear that." She is torn between not wanting to know and needing to hear all the sordid details, but doesn't ask. We only justmet. She simply places her hand over his.
"Thank you," he says. "But, truly, I am, as they say, 'good.' Several months have passed and I am well over her." He turns his hand under hers and wraps his fingers around it.
"So your thought was a good one then?" she asks. "Your thought about a change of scenery?"
He nods. His blue eyes search her face for a moment before he says, "And the last half an hour has been worth the move all on its own."
She smiles, then bites her lower lip, unintentionally drawing his eyes there again. He strokes the back of her hand with his thumb and her stomach flips.
"Please forgive me for being so forward," he says, his voice low and soft, "but you are the most exquisitely beautiful woman I have ever seen." He lifts her hand and kisses it again. "And your beauty is only enhanced by your intelligence and charm."
"Thank you," she replies once she finds her breath. She looks down and sees her hand in his, at how small it looks in his. She looks back up, sees the question in his eyes, and wonders if he's forward enough to ask it.
After a second, she decides screw it. She reaches up with her free hand and touches his cheek, her fingers lightly burrowing into his short beard. He turns his face into her palm, craving more contact. She caresses his cheek with her thumb, then quickly but gently guides his face down towards hers as she leans upward to press her lips to his in a fervent kiss.
He stiffens in surprise for an almost imperceptible moment, then releases her hand to wrap his arms around her, pulling her closer.
Abbie winds her arms up around his neck, wanting to run her fingers through his hair but resisting, as they will have to go back inside at some point. He shifts slightly, and she thinks he's going to pull away. Instead, he doubles his effort, his slick tongue sliding between her willingly parted lips. She eagerly meets it with her own, just as hungry as he.
"Abbie."
He manages to grunt her name as he turns her into a molten puddle with his kisses. She hasn't been kissed like this in what feels like ages, and isn't sure if it's that that's making her feel half drunk or if it's him.
When she can't stop the moan from escaping her throat, she decides it's definitely him.
"You are intoxicating," he murmurs, leaning down to trail kisses down the column of her neck.
"I'm feeling a little drunk myself," she breathily answers, loving the feel of his beard on her skin and wanting to know what it will feel like on the rest of her body.
He moves back up to her lips, gives her a slow, deep kiss, then pulls away. He gazes into her large, brown eyes and says, "I am very glad your sister was unable to come, though I am not glad she has an injury."
"Yeah," Abbie agrees. Music from the party faintly drifts out to them, and she suddenly remembers that they aren't the only two people in the world. "Are people missing you in there?" she asks.
Crane sighs. "Possibly. Are you still planning to leave?" he asks, standing.
She takes his arm again. "Well, yes, but… not right now."
xXx
Frank didn't seem as surprised as Abbie thought he would be when she told him she didn't need a ride home.
Of course, she did dance with Crane a lot, and was by his side for most of the evening, which put her on the receiving end of dirty looks from several other young women there.
When they leave together, it is earlier than Crane was planning but later than Abbie was. His attention has her reeling; he is every inch a perfect gentleman but every look he gives her, every touch, no matter how fleeting, has her pulse racing and blood heating. And her panties soaking.
He is a wolf in sheep's clothing in the best possible way. She loves it.
He opens the car door for her and helps her inside, even helping to gather her skirts. He kisses her palm before closing the door.
He looks at her, fingers anxiously drumming on the steering wheel.
"Your place," she says, answering his unasked question. When he doesn't move, she says, "I mean, if that's—"
He shifts the car into gear and peels out of the parking lot. "This is… uncharacteristic behavior for me," he says after a minute. But he keeps driving.
"Me too," she answers. "And we don't have to… if you don't feel right about it…"
"No, no, that's the issue," he quickly reassures her, taking her hand. "I do feel right about it. More right than I've felt about anything, and it has my mind all higgledy-piggledy." At a stoplight, he kisses her hand, then leans over and kisses her lips. "But I feel as though I have been waiting for you," he says. "Specifically, you."
Abbie can only nod in understanding, staring back into his earnest blue eyes. She sees the light change in her periphery. "The light is green," she whispers.
"Oh," he exclaims, and returns his attention to the road.
A short time later, they reach a modest house near the edge of town. He pulls into the garage and turns the car off.
Abbie waits, knowing he'll likely want to open her door for her again. He does, then leads her inside.
"Nice place," she dumbly says, standing in the entranceway.
"I am simply renting it for the time being," he apologetically says, removing his coat and boots.
"It's very you," she replies, stepping closer to him. The furniture is elegant but comfortable, there is a very large bookshelf on one wall, and it is spotlessly clean. The one surprising detail is a gaming system that looks like it gets a lot of use. She walks toward the coffee table and picks up a wireless controller. "This is a bit of a surprise though," she says, waving it at him.
He sheepishly grins. "Guilty pleasure," he admits. "There is something to be said for mindless entertainment. It—"
She holds up her hand. "I get it," she says. "You use your brain all day, so it's nice to come home and not sometimes."
He smiles and angles his head at her in impressed acknowledgment. "Indeed," he agrees, slowly walking towards her. "And, speaking of mindless activities…" he rumbles, sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her against him.
"If you expect me to believe that you," she pauses while he kisses her, "behave mindlessly while doing," another kiss, "this, think again, Dr. Crane."
"It seems you have me all figured out already, Lieutenant," he replies, pulling away only to lead her to his bedroom. "You must be an excellent detective."
She turns around and presents her back to him. His deft fingers quickly and easily deal with the laces, and Abbie indulges in several deep breaths as the corseted dress grows looser and looser. "I was planning on going into the FBI training program," she says, sighing as he begins removing her dress, chasing each new inch of skin with his lips. "But… but I didn't."
"Why ever not?" he softly asks, turning her around when she is standing in the middle of a puddle of fabric. He is kneeling, and leans forward to kiss her stomach. "You are perfection," he murmurs against her skin.
"Oh, God," she quietly moans, her eyes drifting closed. "It's a long story… can I tell you later?" she asks.
He stands. "Of course, Treasure." Then he effortlessly lifts her up out of her dress and bends down again to remove her shoes.
When he stands again, she says, "You have too many clothes on," and reaches for the buttons on his waistcoat. He carefully extracts the pocket watch while she opens the buttons.
"It belonged to my great-great-grandfather," he says, cradling it in his palm to show her before gently setting it on the top of a dresser.
"It's beautiful," she says, then slides her hands inside to push the vest from his shoulders. He shrugs out of the garment as she tackles the buttons at his waist. "This seems very… authentic," she mumbles, briefly struggling with the fastenings.
He warmly chuckles, kissing the top of her her head. "May I help you?" he asks.
"No, I got it…" she declares, sliding her small hands inside. He jumps, then groans, when she pulls him against her.
"Minx," he growls, then presses his hips forward so she can feel the effect she is having on him.
She squeezes his ass, then pushes his breeches down to the floor. He steps back and she giggles.
"What?"
"Your socks," she says, pressing her lips together, "and I wasn't expecting your drawers to be authentic, too."
He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Anything worth doing is worth doing thoroughly and well, Miss Mills," he suggestively says, giving her a look that makes her blood flame.
"Damn," she sighs, watching as he quickly divests himself of his shirt and long socks, revealing a very slender but very toned body. "Damn," she repeats, softer. I wasn't expecting muscle definition on this string bean.
"Something amiss?" he asks, striding to the bed and flipping the covers back before reaching in a bedside drawer and withdrawing a box of condoms. When he looks back up at her, his smug expression tells her he fully understood her exclamations.
"Shut up," she says. Then she decides to fight fire with fire, reaching back and unhooking her strapless demi-bra. She slides it from her arms and drops it on the floor with the rest of her clothes.
He swallows hard, his fingers twitching at his sides as he stares. "Come here," he finally rumbles, and her feet are moving before she even tells them to. He slides his hands around her body, then drops his head to kiss her.
"Am I the first woman you've been with since your ex?" Abbie asks, unable to contain the question that has been lurking in the back of her mind since she decided to come home with him.
"No," he answers, lowering them to the bed. "I have already had the shameful experience of a 'rebound girl'," he continues, moving to hover over her. "And even if I hadn't, I… I do not think I could ever think of you as a 'rebound', Abbie." He catches her parted lips in a deep kiss, then says, "You see, I am already rather… helplessly… smitten with you."
Abbie moans when he descends over her once more, kissing her with renewed passion. When he moves down her neck, she says, "Oh, God, that voice of yours…"
"Hmm?" Crane absently queries, seemingly intent on kissing every inch of her skin.
"The things you say… no one has ever spoken to me like that… and then your stupid… molten chocolate voice saying them… just… unh…" she haltingly explains, her body writhing under his attention.
"My 'molten chocolate voice'?" he asks, lifting his head from her breast, lips curved in an amused smirk. "I don't believe it has ever been called that before."
"Well, we're both experiencing firsts tonight then, aren't we?" she says, sliding her hands down his long torso until she finds the waist of his Colonial-Era underpants. "And you need to take these ridiculous things off," she adds, pushing at them.
He snorts, then rolls to the side and obeys, dropping them to the floor. "Better?"
Her eyes automatically flit to his groin. "Damn."
"You say that a lot," he says, unsuccessfully trying to hide his amusement. Then he scoots over and begins slowly peeling her stockings down. He kisses his way up her legs, then hooks his long fingers into her panties and pulls them down as well. After he drops them, he gazes down at her, looking like a goddess on his bed. "Damn," he murmurs.
Abbie laughs. "Come here," she says, and he is over her before he even realizes he has moved. His hand glides over her body, familiarizing himself with her curves and contours. "Mmm," she hums, enjoying his touch, "those things are instruments of sin."
"What things?" he asks, then slides his tongue around her already-stiff nipple.
"Your hands," she breathily answers, reaching for the band holding his hair back. She works it free and delves her hands into his cool, soft waves. "I've been wanting them on me all night."
"They've been wanting to be on you all night," he replies, moving his lips to her other breast while he slides one hand down over her stomach to touch between her thighs.
"Ohhhh, yesssss," she hisses when his fingers slip between her soaking folds, pressing her hips upward, craving more.
"So wet," he rumbles, his face pressing into her neck. "Is this all for me?"
"Arrogant," she gasps, tugging his hair with one hand while the other goes questing to give him a taste of his own medicine. He grunts when she wraps her fingers around him and she smugly smiles. She strokes him a few times and her smile falls when the size of him truly registers in her brain. "Damn," she whispers again, hoping he doesn't hear her this time.
When he chuckles, she knows he has.
"Abbie," he says a moment later, "can you reach the…?"
"Yeah," she answers, groping towards the nightstand. With trembling hands (because he hasn't stopped his activities), she manages to get a condom out of the box and open.
He leans back and takes it from her, then rolls it over himself. He leans down and kisses her once more, and she takes him in her hand again, guiding him into place.
"Ichabod," she gasps when he enters her, filling her fuller than she ever has been. "Ohmygod…"
"Are you all right?" he asks, not moving yet.
"God, yes," she answers, hitching her knees higher on his hips.
"Good," he grunts, then slides back and thrusts forward again. He starts slowly, then gradually increases his pace.
Oh God, he can move. Abbie can only hang on and enjoy the ride, letting her hands grab what they will, kissing his face, shoulder, or chest, whatever comes within reach.
"Abbie," he pants her name, messily kissing her before simply gazing down into her eyes. "You are… so…"
"You too," she returns, lightly raking her fingers over his chest. "Oh… oh, right there," she says as her eyes drift closed.
"Here?" he asks, repeating what she liked.
"Yes!" she exclaims, so he does it again and again until she is crying out his name and digging her short nails into his shoulders.
"Bloody hell," he curses, the sight of her orgasm his undoing. He snaps his hips into her two more times then his whole body tenses as he comes, growling into her neck as he does so.
Then he slumps over her, careful not to drop his full weight on her. He kisses the edge of her jaw and gently eases himself out of her and lands beside her on the bed.
"Holy shit," she says, exhaling heavily.
"Indeed," he agrees. He finds her hand and lifts it to his lips. "Will you stay?" he asks.
"Yes," she immediately answers.
xXx
Jenny's head pops up at the sound of the door opening. "Well, look at you, doing the Colonial Walk of Sh— Abbie, where is the dress? That thing was rented!"
Abbie saunters through, barefoot and wearing a t-shirt and shorts that are clearly not hers (because she is swimming in them and she definitely did not go to Oxford). "Relax," she says, walking back to her bedroom. When she emerges a few seconds later, she says, "Ichabod is going to return it for us."
"Ichabod? You've been with Ichabod-fucking-Crane all night?" Jenny asks, looking like she wants to leap off of the couch.
Abbie is unable to stop the grin from spreading across her face before she goes back outside. Jenny, far too curious, hoists herself off of the couch and clumps over to the window. "Holy shit," she whispers, watching her big sister pass the hanger and garment back through the window of a very nice car to a man who is apparently Ichabod Crane. Her sister chats with him for a few more seconds, then leans in through the window and kisses him quite thoroughly. When she steps away, Jenny gets a pretty decent look at him. "Ooo, he fine," she says, and then notices the look he is giving Abbie. "And ooo, he gone," she adds. Crane puts a pair of aviator sunglasses on, then backs his car out of the driveway.
Abbie returns and has the audacity to laugh at her sister for being nosy. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist."
"Damn, girl, I said get on his good side, not get all up on him!" Jenny exclaims. After a beat, she adds, "Nice work, though."
"Oh, I got on his good side all right," Abbie replies, flopping on the couch next to her sister. "Not that it was necessary. He was already planning on doing business with Hawley anyway, even though he doesn't like him."
"He is?" Jenny picks up her phone and begins texting Hawley.
"Oh… you're supposed to tell 'Mr. Hawley' that he is to… wait, I have to get this right," Abbie says, thinking. "He is to call upon Dr. Crane when and only when he has something worth his time."
Jenny's eyebrows raise in surprise and amusement. "Got it. Anything else?"
"Yes," Abbie answers, laughing. She pauses to clear her throat before declaring, "Dr. Crane is in no way interested in being Mr. Hawley's buddy – you should have heard how much disdain was in his voice on that word, it was glorious – and Hawley is to be informed that their only interactions will be business-related."
Jenny is laughing so hard she has to put her phone down for a minute. "Oh my God, that was the problem?" she asks. "Hawley was trying to buddy up to him instead of treating him like a professional associate… oh jeez…" she falls to laughing again. "This is too good. I have to meet this guy."
"Well, you'll get your wish, because he's coming back with coffee after returning the dress," Abbie says, standing.
"Where are you going?"
"I need to take a shower," she says.
"You didn't take one over at Mr. Wonderful's place?" Jenny asks.
"That's Dr. Wonderful, thank you very much, and yes, I did, but…"
"You got more dirty than clean, didn't you?" Jenny guesses.
"Mmmaybe," Abbie answers, strolling away with an extra swing in her hips. "I'm actually surprised I'm able to walk today," she calls just before shutting the bathroom door.
"That is it," Jenny declares, rising again and hobbling to the bathroom. She gets to the door just as she hears the metallic scrape of the shower curtain, and opens it. "Damn, Abbie, was the dick that good?" she asks, sitting on the toilet.
Abbie pokes her head out and looks at her sister. "You have no idea," she says, her face serious and eyes wide. She retreats back into the shower. "He's completely amazing," she continues. "He honest-to-goodness swept me off my feet."
"Shit, why did I have to break my ankle?" Jenny laments. "I could have been the one getting romanced by tall, dark, and British all night."
"Have you forgotten about Joe?" Abbie asks.
"Joe is on my shit list right now," Jenny answers, frowning. "For being out of town when I broke my ankle."
"Jenny, you do realize that's tremendously unreasonable, right? He had to go to that training, and it's not like you scheduled your broken ankle," Abbie says.
"I know. I'm just bitter because he's not here taking care of me. What good is having a boyfriend who is an EMT if he's not around when you get hurt?" Jenny complains.
"Sorry, Jen," Abbie says. "And I promise I'll tell you all about Ichabod later. But since he's coming back in soon, I don't want to launch into it now. All I'll say is the man has serious game and I was getting a hell of a lot of stink-eye from most of the single women at that dance."
"Wow," Jenny replies. "I probably should go back out there in case he comes back."
"Thanks. I won't be long," Abbie tells her. "And Jenny?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for making me go."
Jenny chuckles and heads back out to the living room.
Crane arrives before Abbie has emerged, so Jenny answers the door.
"Ah, Miss Jenny, I presume," he greets her. "I am sorry to hear of your injury," he adds, and hands her a bouquet of yellow daisies, clearly purchased at a convenience store.
Still, Jenny smiles. Damn it, he is charming. "Thanks," she says, stepping aside to let him through. He has a tray with coffees in his other hand, and she leads him to the kitchen island bar to set them down.
"I shall return presently," he says with a nod, then heads out to his car. When he returns a moment later with a box of donuts and another bouquet for Abbie – red roses – Abbie also appears.
"I like this guy," Jenny says, appreciatively eyeing the donuts.
