Abbi perches on the edge of my sofa, fidgeting with my TV remote. She’s staring blankly at the screen but not really watching it. I dry my hands on a tea towel and join her on the sofa, putting my arm along the back of the cushions.

“Don’t be scared,” I tease her. “I promise Mum won’t eat you.”

She punches my knee gently, leaning back and resting her head against my arm. “I’m not scared.”

“Liar.” I twist a lock of her hair around my finger.

“Maybe a little,” she gives in. “I just … I don’t know.”

“I didn’t exactly paint a great picture of her before. We don’t have the greatest relationship, I admit, but she’s not all bad.” There’s a knock at the door, causing me to take a deep breath. “And she’s here.”

Abbi swallows and sits up straighter, tucking her hair behind her ear. I pause for a second before getting up to answer the door. I open it to the woman I grew up with.

Her blonde hair is perfectly coiffed, not a grey hair in sight, and her eyes are as vivid as ever, framed delicately by mascara. Powder creases in the light wrinkles covering her face, and the smile on her face could almost – almost – be described as genuine.

“Blake!” Mum holds her arms out and wraps them around me a little stiffly.

“Mum.” I try to inject some excitement into my voice but it falls flat. Luckily, she doesn’t notice.

“You look well.” She steps into the apartment, and her eyes flick around the front room, lingering for a second on Abbi.

“So do you. Mum …” I turn, and Abbi is standing in front of the sofa, her hands clasped in front of her. “This is Abbi. Abbi, this is my mum, Cara.”

Mum shakes Abbi’s hand and they exchange pleasantries. Abbi looks nervous but puts on a wide smile anyway. It only just occurs to me that I might have forced her into this. Tori hated being around people, especially people she didn’t know, and I’ve never seen Abbi talk to anyone at ballet other than me or Bianca.

Well, shit. Now I feel like a class jerk.

“Er, Mum, can I get you a glass of wine? Dinner won’t be long. It’s just cooking now.”

“That would be lovely.” She sits herself on the sofa with the elegance given to her by her staunch middle-class upbringing, the one she pressed heavily onto me as a child ... Yet I still throw myself back on the sofa the way I did when I was three.

“Abbi?” I glance her way as I open the fridge and pull out Mum’s favorite Pinot Grigio.

“Hm?” She looks a little more relaxed.

“Wine?”

“Oh. Um, sure.”

I pour three glasses and carry them into the front room. I take a seat next to Abbi, resisting the urge to throw myself down. The fact I still have a rebellious streak at twenty-one amuses me somewhat.

“So, Blake,” Mum begins. “Tell me about your job.”

“At the restaurant?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Do you have another job I don’t know about?”

“No.”

“Then yes, that’s the one I’d like to know about.”

Deep breath, Blake. “There’s not much to tell, really. It’s not bad hours, it pays well, and it’s fairly close to here. It gets rather busy on a weekend, as these places do, but nothing too hard to handle. My boss is a good guy to work with, and I’ve already got better on the seafood side of things.”

“Wonderful.” Mum smiles. “I’m glad it’s going well for you, darling. Mind you, I didn’t think it could be worse than that dreadful job you had in London. I will never understand why you took it in the first place, not when Yvette Mayfair offered you a job in her restaurant.”

“Yvette was paying me less an hour than the other place. It was worth it for a year to get the last of the money I needed to live here.”

Mum sniffs. “Yes, well. Like I said, this job sounds like a much better alternative for you and your skills.”

“I agree.” I look at the clock. “I have to check on dinner. I’ll be right back.”

I put my glass on the table and all but run into the kitchen. I feel a momentary twinge of guilt for leaving Abbi alone with her, but my God, five minutes in her presence and I’m already regretting agreeing to have dinner with her.

The lasagna is done and I plate up. After calling Abbi and Mum into the kitchen, breaking what I imagine was a slightly awkward silence, I take the opportunity to ask Mum about everyone back home.

“Your father is working too many hours, as usual,” she replies with a heavy sigh. “I keep telling him to give that junior of his the simple work – you know, phone calls and filing and the like – but he refuses. Insists the boy is merely a helping hand until Jason goes to University in September and comes to do work experience with him.”

I frown. “I thought Jase was going up in the United academy? He’s one of their best players!”

“Yes, well, that’s still an option. He hasn’t quite made his choice yet, but obviously University is the better option for him. Your father is working on it.”

I bite my tongue to stop myself snapping at her. “Mum, Jase’s wanted to play for that team since he was old enough to kick a ball. He has a chance now, a real chance. Surely you can’t take that away from him?”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort.” She sniffs again and sips her wine. “He needs to understand he has options. Not everyone has to go off and chase a crazy dream.”

Abbi’s foot touches mine gently under the table, and I take a deep breath, smiling falsely.

“Of course. He should explore his options.” The ones he wants to. Not the ones forced onto him by overbearing parents.

“So, Abbi.” Mum turns to her. “What do you do besides dance?”

“Oh. Nothing right now,” Abbi replies quietly. “Dance takes up most of my time.”

“Blake has told me what a wonderful dancer you are. The way he speaks, I’m surprised you’re not already in Juilliard.”

“I wasn’t well when the last auditions came round, so I’ve had to wait it out. I’m still recovering now, but hopefully I’ll make the next ones.”

“You will.” I smile at her, and she returns it.

“Such a shame,” Mum muses, the sympathy in her voice real. “Lovely you’re recovering, though. If you don’t mind my asking, were you terribly ill?”

I freeze.

“Well.” Abbi puts her fork down on her plate and looks up. “I guess that depends on how you view ‘terribly ill’. I wouldn’t say so, not anymore, but then I guess depression is only as bad as you let it be.”

Heavy silence falls over the table, and I catch the tremble of Mum’s hand.

“You poor thing,” Mum responds, her voice as steady as ever. “What a dreadful thing to deal with for someone so young.”

Like you don’t know.

“Yeah, well, it’s like I said. It’s only as bad as you let it be. Thankfully, I have some control over it now, and dancing helps. Oh, and Blake. He’s very supportive.”

“I’m sure he is.” Mum looks up at me, her eyes getting colder by the second. I raise an eyebrow questioningly, playing dumb. She glances toward the watch on her wrist, setting her cutlery down. “Is that the time?”

“It’s only eight-thirty,” I say casually.

“Yes, well, I’m afraid my jet-lag is catching up, and I have an early meeting tomorrow, so I’m going to have to call it a night. I’m ever so sorry.”

Liar.

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Apparently, I lie as well as she does …

“You understand, don’t you, Blake?”

“Of course, Mum. Do you need me to phone for a taxi?”

“You’re quite alright.” She stands, smoothing out her skirt. “I hired a chauffeur for my stay. I considered a car, but everyone knows you simply don’t drive in New York.”

I stand and follow her into the front room where she grabs her bag. “Well, it was lovely to see you. Even if it was only a short visit,” I try.

“And you, darling. You look well. Anyway, I must get back to the hotel and get to bed.” She pauses by the front door. “I’ll phone you before I leave.”

I smile, leaning in and pecking her cheek. “Great. Have a safe journey across the bridge.”

“Have a nice evening.” She shuts the door behind her, and I breathe a sigh of relief, leaning against it.

I shake my head. Flippin’ heck. That just went from bad to worse to downright hellish.

“That went well,” Abbi says dryly, echoing my thoughts. “Like a train crash.”

“I was waiting for the unicorns and rainbows to burst through the door,” I reply.

“I don’t think she likes me much.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much. She doesn’t particularly like me either.” I shrug, and she giggles. “What’s so funny?”

“This is totally off topic,” she begins. “But when you talk to her you speak differently. You got all posh-sounding the second she walked through the door. I thought I’d stepped into Buckingham Palace or something.”

I groan. “Really? I thought I’d left that hoity-toity shit at Gatwick airport.”

She props her chin on her hand, smiling. “I kind of liked it.”

“Really?” I tilt my head to the side and sit back down. “How much did you like it?”

“Downton Abbey liked it.”

“Which means …?”

“I watch that show religiously just for the accents. So, really, really liked it.”

“How much is really, really liked it?”

“I think it speaks for itself, Blake.”

She stares at me with wide, amused eyes, and the curve of her pink lips is too tempting. I press my mouth to hers, then brush my lips across hers softly.

“Liked it that much?” I murmur, my face close to hers. She nods, and I lean in again, placing my hand at the side of her head. My fingers tangle gently in her hair, my thumb brushes across her cheek, and she moves closer. She clasps her hand around my arm, holding onto me, and I urge her into deepening the kiss. She does, and as I flick my tongue across her lips, I can taste the lingering flavor of the wine we’ve been drinking. Her grip on my arm tightens, and I pull back reluctantly.

I might not know the reasons behind her pain, but I’ll be damned if I’ll push her into something she’s not comfortable with.

“You’re so in tune with me it’s scary,” she whispers.

“I’m not sure about that,” I reply. “But if talking like a right posh bastard gets me a kiss like that, I’m gonna do it more bloody often.”

She laughs quietly, opening her eyes to mine. Her eyelashes tickle her skin when she blinks, and the vividness of her eyes has me almost drowning in them. Looking at her like this, this close to her, Mum’s visit is barely even a memory.

Something about Abbi Jenkins has a hold on me I couldn’t break if I wanted to. She’s got me so strongly that I almost forget everything else exists when we’re together, and each touch we share dulls the pain of the past as she drives me to look toward the future.

And I don’t think she knows just how much she amazes me.