R Is for Rebel by Megan Mulry

of her neck, as if he was checking her pulse.
    â€œI think…” Her voice was low and unfamiliar. “I think you are seducing me and trying to make me think it’s my idea.”
    He let his hand fall away from her neck and she missed it immediately, with a strange spike of longing for so small a touch. “I don’t know if that’s exactly right,” he said. “I’m certainly not trying to seduce you for some temporary fling… just to get you to say yes, if that’s what you mean. But you’re right: I most definitely want it to be your idea. Sleep well, Abigail. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    She huffed a little sigh. “Okay. Sleep well, Eliot…” She almost said, lots of love like she automatically did when Bronte took Wolf to bed when Abby was at Dunlear. Or when she was with Devon and Sarah and they all said good night at the bottom of the big staircase… good night… lots of love.
    Eliot pulled the door shut behind him and Abigail leaned her forehead against the thick oak panel and listened to the sound of his receding footsteps.
    It was just a throwaway bit, that lots of love … that wanting to say it. It didn’t mean I love you like that . She tapped her forehead against the wood a couple of times, hoping something illuminating would penetrate her thick skull, then turned to the bathroom and set about unpacking her toothbrush and getting ready for bed.
    ***
    Saturday morning, Abby took Penny Cranbrook at her word and shambled downstairs in her pajamas and the thick robe that was hanging on the back of the bathroom door.
    â€œGood morning, Abigail. I thought I heard you rustling around up there. Would you like some coffee?”
    â€œGood morning. Yes, please.” Abby sat on one of the stools next to the island in the middle of the kitchen.
    Penny wore a flowery flannel bathrobe that went to the floor and a pair of thick socks that looked like they probably belonged to her husband. Abby must have been staring at the older woman’s feet, spacing out as she often did when she first woke up.
    â€œOh! I have such cold feet… not very fashionable footwear in the morning. Eliot’s dad loves to joke that I always have cold feet… except when it came to marrying him!” She handed Abby a mug of black coffee then set a small creamer and sugar bowl on the counter near where she sat.
    â€œI have it black, thanks.”
    â€œI used to be so good about that, but I’m all cream and sugar all the time these days.” Penny laughed at herself. “I spent way too many years watching every calorie so I could wear all the latest things. Now I’d rather taste cream and sugar than wear a size six.”
    Abby smiled and took another sip of coffee.
    â€œLet’s go sit in the sunroom. I made some zucchini muffins, and we can read the papers out there. Eliot and Will went into town to pick up some shotgun shells. They thought you might want to go pheasant hunting before we head over to Grandma Cranbrook’s later this afternoon. What do you think?”
    â€œI’d love that.” Abby looked up at the gray winter sky through the slanted glass ceiling. “Is this a British conservatory? It feels wonderfully familiar.”
    â€œIt is. After Eliot’s dad sold his company, it was our first real extravagance.”
    Abigail realized she didn’t have a clue about what Eliot’s father did for a living. She figured it would be rude to inquire.
    â€œHas Eliot told you about his father’s business?”
    Well, that answered that. Abigail smiled. “No. I mean, Sarah said that Eliot’s father and her father had been business associates for many years, but I never really knew the specifics.”
    â€œOh, that’s right.” Penny smiled over her mug of coffee. “Isn’t it considered sort of rude in England to ask what do you do ? What a perfect example of our cultural