Wrapped Up in You - Talia Hibbert Page 0,6

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As a child, Abbie had believed her grandmother knew almost everything, and her mother knew the rest. As an adult, she realised that couldn’t possibly be true. Because if Grandma had really known the unholy thoughts chasing themselves around in Abbie’s mind right now, she would’ve whacked her youngest grandchild with a saucepan.

Instead, when Abbie entered the cluttered, spice-scented kitchen, Grandma turned from the Aga with open arms. Well, kind of open; there was a cat attached to her person, but that was to be expected. “Abigail! Come here, girl.”

Abbie went. She’d taken off her boots at the door, but she still towered over Grandma, those silver-white curls pressing against her chest as they hugged. Once upon a time, it had been the other way around. But Grandma still smelled the same, like lily of the valley and cat biscuits and home, and Abbie’s heart still settled around her.

“You good, darling?” Grandma asked quietly.

“I’m good,” Abbie answered, her voice equally soft. When she was a kid, they’d have this same conversation, conducted in whispers, so no one would hear if the answer happened to be No. Abbie had always found weakness rather uncomfortable. Grandma was the same.

“And how are you?” Abbie asked, letting the Up here all alone at your age part go unsaid. There was still time for Grandma to whack her with that saucepan.

“I’m fine, sweetheart. This is Gravy, look—I showed her to you on the Face Screen.”

“Yes, Grandma, I remember. Hi, Gravy. Hi.” Abbie reached out to stroke the little ginger thing and got a vicious hiss for her trouble. “Hm.” Turning away, Abbie went to Haddock’s bed in the corner and knelt to say hello. She’d always been more of a dog person. At the sight of her, his tongue lolled out in a grin and he rolled over, belly-up.

She was still fussing the little terrier when she heard Will enter the room. Her back was to the door so she couldn’t see him, which suited Abbie just fine. She had no idea why he’d decided to pull a leading lady moment on her out there, with the arm-stroking and the eye-fucking and the luggage-fetching and whatever, but she was feeling a bit like a bottle of champagne tipped upside down, which was embarrassing and also infuriating. Didn’t he know it was impolite to switch on Hollywood sex appeal around ordinary people? Did friendship mean nothing to anyone anymore? Had he progressed from shagging fellow celebs across the pond to dazzling The Gals Back Home with his American-white teeth? Bastard.

But that wasn’t fair. That wasn’t fair at all. Will wasn’t the conniving sort; he’d probably just forgotten to change gears. She exhaled her annoyance, gave Haddock one last pat, and stood. “Grandma. Did you know Will came out to meet me without any shoes on?” Her tease deployed, she turned around.

Will was leaning against the kitchen counter, a tiny black-and-white kitten tucked under his throat. Fuck. Kittens made everyone a thousand times more adorable—that was basic physics—and Will was already too cute to bear in his red-and-green eyesore of a Christmas jumper. He stroked the little fluffball as if he didn’t have a fucking cat allergy, the twit, and then he looked up with smiling eyes that slammed into her like the first heatwave of summer.

Abbie went to the sink to get herself a glass of water. This kitchen was always too damned hot.

“No shoes?” Grandma laughed. “Someone was excited to see you.”

Abbie snorted. “More like he thought I was Jase.”

Grandma laughed harder.

“Fine, yes, I forgot my shoes,” Will said over the noise, but while those words would have been defensive from Abbie, they were grinning and good-natured from him. Will was a sickeningly straightforward individual who’d never known a moment’s self-consciousness. Which made sense; it must take mammoth levels of confidence to pretend to kill CGI aliens in front of an entire set.

“I forgot my shoes,” Will repeated, “but Abbie’s forgotten half her clothes, so we’re even.”

Abbie sucked in a breath of mock outrage and looked down at her outfit. It was true that her midnight-black knit dress barely hit mid-thigh, but it wasn’t her fault women’s clothes didn’t come in five-foot-eleven. It was also true that her black stockings were incredibly sheer, but that was what happened when your thighs stretched nylons to the max. “Screw you, Will Reid, I look good.”

“Never said you didn’t, Abigail,” he replied, and then—behind her Grandma’s back—he winked.

With a kitten on his chest.

That had to be some