She knew she ought to refuse—that she should refuse—but she defended her right to change her mind. Taking a breath, she said, ‘What do you want to talk about?’ Her lips twisted. ‘We could have talked the other morning, but you couldn’t wait to get out of here.’ ‘Would you have wanted your neighbours to see me leaving before you opened the café, and come to the obvious conclusion?’ he demanded tersely. Abby gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘You’re not telling me you left here in the middle of the night to protect my reputation?’ He had the decency to colour. ‘Not exactly.’ ‘Not at all,’ she corrected him scornfully. ‘I’m amazed you had the nerve to come back.’ ‘Which should tell you something about my character,’ he retorted. ‘Come on, Abby. Give me a break.’ ‘I’m not ready,’ she said, buying time to think about the craziness of accepting his invitation. ‘And you’ve got wet marks on your trousers.’ ‘I’ll dry,’ said Luke easily.
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