“Yes, you would,” she said, and then she grinned back, which was so rare and so goddamn hot that his heart squeezed and his stomach tensed. Abbie had a wicked kind of grin, the kind that made you think of fucking. Or maybe it only made him think of fucking. Whatever. He could accept that as a personal problem. “You are horrendously flattered,” she said, “to influence the decisions of a master of embroidery such as myself.”

He sipped his protein shake and tried to look bored, which he was actually quite bad at. His acting had never won any awards; only his face had done that. “Master of embroidery? If you say so.”

“Tell me the truth or I’ll prick you.” She waved her needle menacingly.

“You would never—”

She reached out, and he yelped. It took him a moment to realise she’d poked him, not stabbed him. “Ow.” It hadn’t actually hurt, but he caught her by the wrist anyway and pulled her as close as he could without throwing Haddock off of her lap—which turned out to be pretty damn close. Close enough that he could see her pupils within the deep brown of her irises, could hear the tiny little breath she took. Could feel the ghost of it against his cheek maybe, or perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

He could definitely feel her wrist beneath his palm, and he savoured that. Abbie was private, and Abbie was strong, and Abbie was smarter than he’d ever be, but he could still feel the fragile bite of her pulse … And. It. Sped. Up.

He swallowed. Hard. His organs turned around inside his body. “Abbie,” he said, and forgot all about his plan, remembering a night two years ago in this very room. “Abbie, you look beautiful today.”

Fuck. Shit. Why in God’s name had he said that? For years, Will had thought that sort of thing, and for years, he’d kept his bloody mouth shut. And now, during the first moment they’d spent together alone since her divorce, he threw compliments at her like a drunken pest at a bar?

Nice, Reid. Very nice.

Abbie’s eyes widened behind her glasses for one surprised second—before they narrowed with her trademark suspicion. “Beautiful, hm?” she asked, her voice like iron.

He let go of her wrist. Tried to collect his scattered thoughts. Went back to the careful, clever plan he’d devised during his months out of Abbie’s electrically compelling presence and found it had crumbled like a cookie under the force of her actual personality.

Well, shit. He might be sweating a little bit.