Falling for the Good Guy (Can't Resist #2)(29)

Come to think of it, Skylar was right; it had been a while. With everything going on the past few years, she hadn’t really stopped to analyze it. “It was really more something he did back when we were taking undergrad classes together,” Abby reasoned. “Your dad was big with the nicknames back then.” Smiling, she reminisced, “If I recall correctly, it was always insect or animal names for his close friends, while he reserved all the food item names for your mother.”

“Really?” Skylar frowned. “I don’t remember that.”

Abby’s smile faded. She forgot that for the latter part of Beth’s life, Brian hadn’t been able to call her anything other than her given and maiden name because of her dementia. Nicknames and her married name used to confuse her, even distress her at times.

Was that why Brian had slowly stopped using nicknames altogether the past five years?

Linking her arm through Skylar’s, Abby decided to stroll them both down memory lane. “You were probably too young to remember but yup, it was always food nicknames for your mom. Your dad was always trying out new ones, too. And some of ‘em were really bad. Nutmeg and Honeybun definitely didn’t last, neither did Buttercup or Cupcake, for that matter.” She laughed when Skylar made a face.

“Those sound like puppy names.”

“That’s exactly why your mom vetoed them. But the rest, she got a kick out of. I remember she used to love it when he’d call her babycakes or sugarlips, usually because he’d also be apologizing and telling her she was right about something. Those also happened to be the nicknames he used when he’d buy her gifts for no reason at all, and what she’d sign her little love notes to him with.”

“Awww.” Skylar clutched her hands to her chest.

“Yeah, no one could pull off the cute like your folks could. They were nauseatingly adorable,” smiled Abby, shaking her head. “Sometimes, listening to them sling nicknames at each other was like being in the middle of a ping pong match. He’d call her small fry, she’d volley back with snickerdoodle, and he’d return with whiskey brisket…those two could round food items from every meal of the day before the end of the night.”

“That’s where you and your mom are so much alike. Just like you, your mom could always give your dad a run for his money when they’d go toe-to-toe in a verbal debate.”

Skylar grew silent then.

Abby reached over and smoothed Skylar’s hair back over her ear. “Sweetie, do you wish it were your mom here taking you shopping for your first dance? It’s okay if you do. I know this is the sort of thing girls picture doing with their mothers.” Somehow, Abby managed to keep the wobble out of her voice when she said that.

Startled, Skylar’s glanced up at her and bit her lip. “I of course wish she could be here, but not in place of you. I mean I hardly remember her, you know? Honestly, you’re more like my—” Her eyes widened sharply a split-second before she snapped her jaw shut.

Abby felt her heart swell to double its capacity, and then split at the seams over the reality they continued to face every day—the fact that neither of them could ever finish that very sentence.

Not without stepping all over Beth’s grave.

But the truth of it was that even before Beth had passed away, even before she’d become bedridden, Abby had been a part of Skylar’s life nearly every day since she was born. Aside from the month she’d spent with Connor, Abby could count on one hand how many times she’d gone more than a few days without seeing or at least talking to Skylar.

From every diaper she’d changed to every cut and scrape she’d kissed and made better, Abby had been there for Skylar in every way that a parent could be. She’d raised her as if she were her own daughter. She’d picked her up from preschool nearly every day, and read her bedtime stories almost every night. She’d taught her how to tie her shoes, how to braid her hair, and how to bake the cookies she loved so much.

But every time someone would mistakenly assume she was Skylar’s mom, at the park or at a store, Abby would have to make the same heartwrenching correction: “No, I’m just a family friend.” Because by definition, that’s all she was. She wasn’t an adoptive parent or even a stepmom. She was Skylar’s dad’s best friend. Nowhere in books or movies did someone like her ever, ever get qualified as the mother.

But even though Abby had never been able to say the words, she’d long felt them in her heart. Hearing Skylar almost, almost say the words as well had Abby so choked up, she found herself unable to do more than a Connor-pat on Skylar’s back.

They both knew what it meant.




BRIAN LOOKED UP from his smartphone and just stared at the sight before him. He knew he was probably smiling like a fool but he couldn’t help it. Seeing Skylar and Abby walking through the mall together made for the prototypical mother-daughter photo op any marketer would kill to capture. That ever-present connection, the undefinable distinction that made you know when you were seeing a mother and daughter together? He was looking at it right now.

And yet again, just like she’d done nearly thirteen years ago, he found Abby filling another void in his life that he hadn’t fully acknowledged was missing. Like the important puzzle piece he’d always needed without even knowing it, she just…fit. And evidently not just for him; for Skylar as well. It was clear that Abby was now filling a once empty spot in the canvas of both their lives; so much so that he simply couldn’t see how they’d survive it ever being left empty again.