Chapter 12
Nina
So I typed and clicked and designed under Lynnie’s watchful gaze. Even if half the time I had to go back and revise whatever made little to no sense.
I pursed my lips, focused on the iced coffee sweating onto a napkin beside my mouse. Linc was still drinking tepid coffee and lukewarm water. He’d even worn pink today, eyes twinkling, knowing I was messing with him, and he continued to give me opportunities to do just that.
Lynnie worked a few feet away, flour streaked on her apron. “You’re going to get wrinkles.” She wiped her hands and came to stand next to me, bumping her hip against my side.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Lynnie.”
She tilted her head, looking birdlike, yet amused. “Come on. Someone’s clearly in your head and has you like a zombie,” Lynnie sang, matching the rhythm of the music video playing overhead, courtesy of old MTV Classic reruns.
“What’s got you all in knots?”
I closed my laptop, then crossed my arms on the counter and rested my head on them.
Lynnie wasn’t someone new. She’d known every one of my dark secrets as a sixteen-year-old, and she’d helped me for the past almost-four months since I’d lost my job.
Her eyes were wide and shining with eagerness.
She’d help more if I let her, but I didn’t know how.
I pressed the heel of my hand against my sternum, willing the tightness there to ease. “He’s not—” I swallowed. “He’s not how he used to be.”
Lynnie’s laugh was low, skeptical. “Lincoln?”
I nodded.
“So if he’s changed …” Lynnie came closer, extending her arm, palm up, across the table. Her eyes rounded with sympathy behind her thick-rimmed glasses.
I didn’t take her hand, just shook my head. “He hasn’t, that’s the thing.”
She tilted her head. “So … he’s who he was.” Her brow furrowed.
I shook my head. “He isn’t with me.”
She exhaled. “Nina, sweetie.” She squeezed my shoulder. “You haven’t told me about before, but are you sure you’re not just seeing what you want?”
That stung. He’d pretended before. I traced the condensed water on the side of my cup. And yet, when he brushed my arm and said my name—it didn’t feel like a trick. The intensity in his blue eyes made me wonder if I was someone valuable rather than worthless. I didn’t know what to do with that.
“It’s so confusing, Lynnie.” I paused and met her gaze. “The way he looks at me … it makes me believe I’m important.”
“You are important.”
Not to him. The words were sharp and heavy in my mind, but I didn’t let them out. I just looked at Lynnie, her green eyes closer to brown as she leaned over the table, compassion oozing from her gaze.
I blew out a shaky breath, focusing on the streaks of flour on her apron. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
She moved away from me, opening the oven door with a decisive clang, then looked back over her shoulder at me. “Well, maybe you don’t need to know. Maybe you can let him figure this one out.”
“Do you think he’s just confused?” I asked, heart pounding. Maybe it’d be better if his memories returned and old Linc resurfaced, lashing out the way he used to, so I could go back to knowing what to expect from him.
“No, he isn’t confused at all, Nina. That man’s on a mission.”
My cheeks heated. It was one thing for Lincoln to say he’d woo me, but another thing for people around us to notice.
A sensation swirled deep in my gut … It felt too close to excitement, too much like Lincoln was winning.
The barista called Lynnie’s name, and Lincoln’s familiar rumble echoed through the space shortly after.
Lynnie peeked out through the window to wave him in.
Vinny stepped in, with Lincoln right behind him.
Lincoln’s expression was all hard lines and barely contained annoyance.
My stomach tightened, heat rushing up the back of my neck.
They weren’t even looking at each other, but the air between them was taut.
Vinny gave me a half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey, Nins.”
Lincoln’s gaze cut across the room to me, sharp and unreadable, before he shifted it to my cousin. When he did, his jaw ticked, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“Evening, Vin. How was your trip?” The hum of the espresso machine was suddenly deafening, covering for the silence stretching between the two of them.
Lincoln snorted. “So good he couldn’t fucking leave it.”
Vinny lifted his hands in defense. “Dude, I told you.” He waved at me. “I knew you were in good hands.”
Lincoln took a sharp inhale through his nose. “I don’t mean me.” There was a light tremor at the corner of his lips. “I mean Nina, now. I meant Nina earlier. You left your cousin with someone she didn’t want to be left with. What the fuck were you thinking?”
“Dude, I was doing you a favor.” Vin pointed at me. “And she needed a place to stay. And now you guys are almost friends.”
Lincoln muttered something. Vinny opened his mouth, then closed it and lowered his head. Lynnie glanced between the three of us, then zeroed in on Vinny. She hated loud outspoken conflict; she’d rather kill them with kindness.
She stretched her hand out to Vin. “What if I told you we met briefly?”
Vinny took her hand, giving Lynnie a crooked smile.
His shoulders didn’t relax until Lincoln stepped closer to me.
Only then, Vinny responded to Lynnie. “What if I told you I wanted to see if your cupcakes could handle all this … social pressure?” He waved vaguely at the oven behind her, awkward as hell but earnest.
Lincoln huffed, stepping even closer until our arms touched, and looked in my eyes.
Lynnie stared at Vinny, dropping his hand, then she threw her head back and barked out a laugh. “That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard.”
“Worst line, best baked goods,” Vinny said, putting his hands in his pockets.
Lynnie turned her back to me and checked on the oven.
“Anyway,” Vinny said, rolling his neck. “I wanted to check in on how things are going with Linc, Nina.” He tilted his head to Lincoln, who rolled his eyes. Then, Vinny added, “You were going to move in with me when I got back.”
“You can’t be this willfully obtuse. I already told you, Vin. Nina isn’t going anywhere. She’s right where she’s supposed to be.” Linc butted in before I could wrap my head around Vinny keeping his word.
“You can’t just decide that for her,” Vin said.
“Right,” Lincoln said, voice clipped. “Because you’ve always cared so much about your cousin.” His eyes narrowed and his neck corded tight, every line of his body going rigid. “Good news, Vin, she’s not your problem anymore. I will gladly take her off your hands.”
That was old Lincoln. Decimating people’s feelings without even trying. Except now he was determined to protect mine.
Vinny’s shoulders sagged, his gaze falling to the floor. Lynnie’s attention flicked from Lincoln to my cousin.
Lincoln’s words made my skin prickle, half insult, half flattery. I’d only let him see one-half. “Funny, Linc, I don’t remember agreeing to staying with you.”
I wasn’t proud that part of me warmed at being claimed so much I could hardly tear my eyes away from Lincoln. His glare was fixed on Vinny who’d acquiesced to Lincoln’s stone cold stare.
“Lynnie …” Lincoln broke the awkward silence, voice cutting through the thick air. “Are you okay showing Vinny out? I want to celebrate with Nina that I’m back at work.”
Lynnie blinked, then her whole face lit up—too bright for the tension from seconds ago. “Yeah, of course! I’ll show him. You guys have fun!” She practically bounced on her heels, shifting her gaze from me to Vinny.
Lincoln’s brows tugged together at first, then the lines on his face smoothed. A quick beat fluttered on his throat. Then I realized I hadn’t said no.
We walked side by side, our steps in sync. Lincoln had made it sound casual. But this was starting to feel awfully close to the wooing he’d announced. He walked close, glancing at me.
“What do you feel like tonight? Italian? Maybe that sushi place we passed last week?” he asked, voice low but unassuming.
I shrugged, shifting uncomfortably. I was too close to having the lump sum I needed to get insurance to be wasting money on random dinners. I hugged my jacket a little tighter. Sushi’s so expensive. “Italian’s fine.”
He tilted his head.
“By fine, do you mean let’s just get this dinner out of the way, or fine as in ‘I love lasagna and can’t wait’?”
He met my eyes to wait for my answer, as if every time I opened my mouth I had the power to change the course of his day.
The stitching I’d relied on to keep myself together, to keep others out, loosened at the seams because his attention was, had always been, on me. Only it was no longer a tool for watching me fall apart. It was a relentless plea to be let in.
“I’m more of a risotto kind of gal.”
His hand brushed mine once, twice, and by the fourth time, I knew he was testing my reaction. He didn’t grab it, though just kept walking next to me with a message so loud it was deafening. He was there, patient, insistent. The warmth of him seeping possibilities—impossibilities—into me.
At the restaurant, the lighting was low enough to blur edges, to soften the space between us.
I licked my lips, tasting my risotto as he leaned back in his chair.
Across from me, Lincoln featured his dimpled smile, shoulders loose, without a care in the world.
Except his fingers drummed on the table, a quick and uneven rhythm, never settling for longer than a couple of seconds.
His fork slipped, cluttering loudly on his plate, a rose hue tinting his cheeks, as he avoided meeting my gaze.
It broke through his cocky facade, and I’d never thought out of all people it’d be me who’d make Lincoln Carter flustered.
“How was work?” Work was safe. Work would get that loaded expression off his face.
He looked into my eyes. “It was …. I actually kind of hate it.”