Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Lincoln
M e: Can we meet at Page Turners?
Three dots appear.
Heather: On my way.
I pocket my phone. It is just a short walk to the coffee shop. I watch through the large pane glass window as Heather approaches. She scans the room. The sight of her always manages to stir something deep within me.
“Is everything alright?” she asks.
“Let's grab our drinks and sit down. I'll explain everything,” I reply, offering what I hope was a reassuring smile.
We moved together side by side, waiting for the barista to craft our drinks.
“Lincoln, you're making me nervous,” Heather admits as we find a cozy table tucked away in the corner.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. It’s just…” I trail off, watching as she takes a delicate sip of her latte, the froth leaving a faint trace on her upper lip.
“Lincoln,” she prompts gently, setting her cup down and folding her hands on the table.
Taking a deep breath, I prepare to lay bare the decision that has been weighing on me, hoping beyond hope that it will bring us closer rather than drive us apart.
I reach across the small table and take her hand, drawing her away from the steaming mug cradled between her palms. Her fingers are warm and soft in mine. “You know how busy the hospital has been, and that they've offered me a promotion.”
Heather's expression shifts, the playfulness giving way to quiet attentiveness. She leans forward slightly, her hands folded neatly on the table.
“Why do I get the feeling there's a 'but' coming?”
“Because there is,” I admit, my throat tightening at the honesty of her intuition. “It's a significant step up—more responsibility, longer hours.”
“And let me guess, less time for us?” The words hang between us, not accusatory but laced with understanding.
“Exactly.” My gaze locks onto hers, deep pools that always seem to see right through me. “Heather, I've been doing a lot of thinking, and…” I trail off, grappling with the vulnerability required to continue. But this is Heather, the one person who has re-taught me the value of openness.
“Go on,” she urges.
“Taking this job would mean sacrificing what we're building together.” I squeeze her hand, finding strength in the physical connection. “I can't do that. I won't do that. Not for any job, no matter how prestigious.”
Her eyes widen, and she sits back, processing my words. The silence stretches between us, filled only by the low murmur of other patrons and the occasional clink of porcelain.
“Are you saying what I think you're saying, Lincoln Montgomery?”
“I’m turning down the promotion. Because you, us, this thing we have... It's worth more than any title or paycheck.” The confession pours out of me, a torrent of truth that leaves me breathless.
The corners of Heather's mouth twitch upwards. She didn't need grand gestures or flowery declarations; the simple, raw honesty is enough.
“Don’t do it for me. But I appreciate you choosing us. I want you to know, Lincoln, I'm with you. Through long shifts, missed dinners, whatever it takes. We're in this together.”
Here she is, a woman who knows the sting of life's letdowns, yet sits before me, willing to walk into the uncertainty of tomorrow hand in hand. She offers not just her understanding but her partnership—a promise that whatever challenges come our way, we won't face them alone.
“Whatever it takes,” I echo back, the edges of my lips curving into a tentative smile.
“I have a surprise for you tonight. Meet me at the football field around seven.”
Her eyes search mine. “And why would we meet there?”
“You’ll see.”