Crazy Love. Candace Gold

head and sighed. He knew when he’d lost the game and it was time to gather his remaining chips and leave. “I think it’s time for me to be going now.” He turned to make a hasty exit.

      “Wait!” the woman called to him.

      What for? So she could finish cutting him down to size? He stopped and turned around to face the woman.

      “You still haven’t told me what you wanted.”

      Was she for real? Things couldn’t get any worse–could they?

      “We don’t seem to be communicating very well. Why don’t we begin all over again?” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Abby Minton.”

      He shook her hand. “Charles Greer–man with a mission, though lately it seems quite an impossible one.”

      She laughed. It was a warm laugh that had come from deep inside her, not a phony, affected one. Charles found himself liking it.

      Abby pointed to herself. “It’s my get-up. I’m sorry. I don’t always walk around sopping wet and dragging a mop. There was a mishap from the laundromat next door. I’ve been in the back mopping up soap suds. I could use a cup of coffee. Would you like to join me? I’d like to hear all about your impossible mission.”

      Charles followed Abby to the back room. Setting a cup of coffee in front of him, she took a container of milk out from a small refrigerator and placed it next to the sugar that was already on the table.

      “I’m sorry. I must look like such a mess.”

      “You’re a lovely mess, though.” Charles regretted having said that when he saw her face color. “Oops! I just keep putting my feet in my mouth, don’t I?”

      She nodded and smiled. “So, what can I do for Mr. Charles Greer?”

      Charles bent down and removed his novel from his messenger bag. He slid it across the table toward her. “That’s my novel. I would like to hold a book signing here.”

      Abby picked up the book and opened it. She thumbed through it for a few moments and checked the back blurb while Charles held his breath. Finally, she spoke. “I don’t know…how many people we can attract…” Her gaze was on the book. Disappointment rose within him as he heard those words–similar to the ones every other book seller had told him previously. He was getting the brush-off–again.

      He started to rise. “Well, thanks anyway, and thanks for the coffee.”

      “Wait a sec. Where are you going?”

      “There’s nothing left to say–”

      “Stop! Hold it right there. I don’t think we’re still on the same page.”

      “Didn’t you just tell me ‘no’ in a nice way?”

      She shook her head. “I truly want to help you, Charles. What I was trying to say was that this place may not give you the kind of exposure you need.”

      “It’s a start though, isn’t it? All I want is a start. You know, before you can run, you first need to learn how to walk.”

      Abby sipped her coffee for a moment. Charles felt his heart banging against his chest. The suspense was killing him.

      “Yes,” Abby said finally. “I think you’re right. It definitely would be better than nothing at all. Besides, it would be a win-win situation for the both of us. Let’s do it!”

      Charles broke into a smile. He’d finally found a bookseller who shared the same vision as he. And was a vision, herself.

      For the next half hour, they discussed the signing. By the time Abby walked Charles to the door and said goodbye, he was a very happy man.

      * * * *

      “So what did he want?” Francie asked Abby when she walked back to the register after Charles left.

      “Believe it or not, he wants to have a book signing here.”

      “He’s a writer? I thought he was a salesman wanting to sell you a medical plan or a new security system.”

      “No. Just a nice guy, looking for a break.”

      “You told him we don’t have the room for a signing, right?”

      Abby shook her head. “On the contrary, I told him yes.”

      “Did all those soap suds dilute your brain? Have you looked around lately?”

      “We’ll make the room. It will bring business in, as well.”

      “Not if no one comes,” Francie said. “Nobody will recognize his name.”

      “We’ll advertise.”

      “Hmm. Not a bad idea. He’ll look good on posters. In fact, I wouldn’t mind having him on my wall–or bed.”

      “Francie!”

      “How could you not notice? He’s one good-looking dude.”

      “I noticed.”

      Aside from being tall, sexy and utterly good looking with a killer ass that filled a pair of jeans like a model on a billboard advertisement, she’d picked up on his subtle sense of humor, as well. She liked a man who could laugh at himself without having an ego meltdown.

       Chapter 2

      Abby walked out of English class and went to the lockers lined up in the hall. She stood in front of hers and froze. She couldn’t remember the combination. A myriad of numbers swirled inside her head as panic rose within her. With shaky fingers, she spun the dial and frantically tried a series of numbers: 38 to the right, 16 to the left, 23 to the right. She pulled the lock, but it didn’t budge. She tried another series: 16 right, 14 left and 32 to the right. Again it didn’t open. Her desperation increased. She couldn’t be late for gym class again. She tried a new set of numbers as the late bell began to ring. It kept on ringing as if to torment her more. Why wouldn’t it stop ringing?

      The ringing of the telephone eventually woke Abby just as it went into voicemail. Opening one eye, she looked at the alarm clock sitting on her night table, its large red numbers reading five AM. She groaned. The fact that she still had crazy nightmares about high school could be mulled over later. Right now she had a few hours until she had to open the bookstore. She closed her eyes once more.

      The phone rang again. Who in the world? Then Abby saw the caller ID. Mother. Now what could have possibly happened? Stupid question. This deserved a mental slap. With Mrs. Minton, it could be anything–with the emphasis on anything.

      She grabbed for the phone just as it went into voicemail again and lifted the receiver. It slipped through her fingers onto to floor. She leaned off the bed and stretched to reach it, nearly falling off. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

      “Oh, thank God, you’re still home,” Rosalee Minton wailed into the phone.

      “Most people are ordinarily home at five in the morning. In fact, they’re usually sound asleep,” Abby hinted. When she got no response, she added, “Are you certain whatever this is can’t wait until later?” and punctuated the question with a huge yawn.

      Instead of ending the conversation, her mother continued in a voice more shrill and high-pitched. Regretting that she’d picked up the receiver in the first place, Abby said, “Mom, please try to calm down. I can’t understand a word you’re saying when you screech into the phone.”

      “O…kay,” she said in a tone of annoyance and expelled her breath. “Now pay attention to me this time.”

      Abby yawned again. Her mother began to speak as if Abby were a deaf two-year-old. “I…just…can’t...take…her…any…longer!”

      “Hold on, Mom. First of all, who are you talking about?”

      “Who else but your aunt?”