Abigail's first reaction would have been to pull back, but Carson's mouth on hers felt right. She'd never been kissed like that before. Every emotion she'd ever had swirled inside of her. She wanted to pull him closer, but there was a great need to push him away. Instead, she stayed with him, his mouth moving against hers, his hand reaching up into her hair.

It was love. It was absolute love rushing right at her. She had to tell him the truth. He had to know she saw this coming, both him and Mrs. Winters. He would run. He would run fast and far. They all did.

She pulled back and caught her breath.

Carson eased back in his seat. "I'm sorry. I promised myself I would wait a long time before I did that. I couldn't wait any longer.”

"Don't apologize. I wanted you to do that. I just think it's going to make things difficult."

“Why should it be difficult? We're getting to know each other. I didn't ask you to marry me.”

She pulled her keys from her purse and held them in her hand. No, she was sure she understood how he would propose to her. It hadn't been a full premonition, but there were pieces. She damned this sixth sense. She hated that it stole all the special moments of her life. Although, the premonitions hadn't come from him, except that one dark one. They’d all come from Mrs. Winters.

"I should get headed home. Clare is taking the morning off tomorrow. I need to be in early." She opened the car door. "You don't need to help me out of the car. I'll be fine.”

But as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, he opened his door and walked around to her. In a matter of seconds, she found herself wrapped in his arms and pressed against him again. She looked up into dark brown eyes, and at that moment she felt total calm.

"Don't walk away from me upset, please. If I've moved too fast, I'm sorry. There is simply something about you, and it pulls me to you.”

"I've never had anybody attracted to me before," she said looking down.

Carson lifted her chin with his finger. "I don't believe that. Everything about you is perfect.”

She winced, and her heart ached with his words. “That’s proof you don’t know anything about me.”

“That's why I'm begging for a chance to get to know you. If you're not interested, you need to tell me. But I'm the kind of guy that asks questions. I’m gonna want to know why.”

She was interested. Regardless of knowing their fate, he had piqued her interest. "I am interested," she said as she ran a hand down his arm and thought how nice it was to be wrapped up in them. "Give me time.”

"I have all the time in the world," he promised as he dipped his head to kiss her again.

This time she let herself sink with the kiss. Raising her arms, she wrapped them around his neck and pulled him in tightly. The kiss warmed her, from her head to her toes. Perhaps this would be the best birthday gift she'd ever given herself, a chance to love someone and let them love her. If he truly did love her, in time, he'd understand her gift—her burden.

Carson's fingers tangled in her hair as his tongue moved between her lips. Abigail was quite sure if she died right then, she would die a happy woman.

As Carson pulled back, he brushed her cheek with his thumb. "I'll come by tomorrow after work. Let's go for a walk down by Clear Creek. I'll try to take it slow, and simple. But it'll kill me until I see you again, even if it is tomorrow."

"I'll see you then," she said she pulled away slowly and walked around the building towards her car.

---

Meetings, blueprints, and agendas were part of Carson's usual day. Because he was addicted to his work, each one of those items always brought some joy to him. But today, his mind was a million miles away. All he could think about was Abigail.

He thought of her voice, her clothes, and how her hair felt between his fingers. He closed his eyes and thought of the kisses, so soft, and so warm.

Moving his chair closer to his desk, he opened up his computer. He typed the name of her tea store into the search bar just to see a picture of it. Scanning through the menu, the history, and the reviews made him feel as though he were with her.

Clicking the About Us tab, he brought up a picture of Clare and Abigail standing outside the tea room in front of the big window with the logo on it. They each had a bio, so he read them.

He knew Abigail had moved here from near Kansas City. So what was it that was near Kansas City? He typed in her name to the search tab, along with the words tea shop, and Kansas City. Then, a whole list of things popped up.

Because he wanted to know who she was when she lived near Kansas City, he started at the bottom and scrolled his way up.

A cheerleader in a small rural high school.

Captain of the debate team.

Honor roll student.

Daughter of a pharmacist, who had worked at the local pharmacy for nearly thirty years.

Suspect in the murder of Katie Meadows, ten-year-old, fifth-grader who had been found drowned in the river.

That last headline had him stopping, his hand forming to the mouse on his desk. Obviously, the name Abigail Weston was common enough to get honor roll students, cheerleaders, and murderers all bunched together in a search engine.

However, it was curious enough that he clicked the link.

Katie Meadows had gone missing on a March evening. The article went on to say that her friends had said they were all going to meet at the elementary school at eleven o'clock at night. It was all a matter of testing boundaries at a young age. When Katie did not arrive, they assumed she got scared. It wasn't until nearly ten o'clock the next morning that her parents notified police that she was missing. A search began right away. Katie Meadows was not found until Abigail Weston, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Clyde Weston of Parkville, Missouri, came forth suggesting that they look downriver for Katie Meadows. The body of the missing fifth-grader was found in the White Branch River.

Abigail Weston was held for questioning; however, after further investigation, the girl's death was ruled an accidental death. No more information was given on how Ms. Weston obtained the information as to where to find the body.

Carson rubbed his fingers over his chin as he read the article over and over. He was immersed enough in his investigation, that when his mother opened his office door, it startled him.

“You must be working really hard." His mother walked further into his office. "I knocked. I promise I did.”

"Sorry, I was reading something.”

"I was just going to tell you that I was going to leave a little early today. Your father and I are going over to Abigail's store for lunch. A late lunch. I want him to meet her," she said enthusiastically.

Carson only nodded. The story still had him emotionally twisted up. He'd ask her about it tonight. Perhaps, nearby Kansas City had more than one Abigail Weston. Yes, that had to be it.

Carson closed the computer and looked up at his mother. “I took Abigail over to Mrs. Winter’s house yesterday. It was a nice visit,” he said as his mother fidgeted with items on his desk. “Her son called, she’s in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.”

His mother’s hands stopped fidgeting. “Carson, that’s horrible.”

“It is. I’m also dating Abigail,” he interjected.

His mother had grown silent, and her mouth dropped open. "Carson, that's a lot to drop on me all at once.”

"I know, I didn't mean to do that.”

"I'm happy for you. I'm truly happy for you." She pressed her hands to her chest. "My heart aches for Mrs. Winters. But I want to be happy for you. Know that I'm happy for you.”

"I know. You and dad go and have a nice afternoon. I'm stopping by there after work. I have some more work to do on the Ford Street church. But tell her I say hello.”

The smile returned to his mother's face. "Will you let Mrs. Winters know I'm thinking of her, and tell her that I’ll come to visit soon.”

Carson stood and walked around his desk. He pulled his mother into a warm hug. "I'll let her know. She does love your company.”

His mother patted his cheek and then left his office.

Carson sat back down at his desk and opened his computer. In the search bar he typed the death of Katie Meadows.