2. Lincoln
2
Lincoln
Lincoln : How’s school, cierń?
I watch my text go through as I lie on my bed, resisting the urge to shake my head as I anticipate Seraphina Rose Gregori’s response. If someone had told me two months ago that I’d be stalking my phone, waiting for the pretty high school senior to respond, I’d have said they’re fucking high.
If I had made a bet on it, I would have lost.
My phone pings with an incoming message, and my eyes eat up the words the little thorn sent me, smiling to myself at the attached picture.
Seraphina : I’m in independent study. Are you in class? Attachment 1
Using my thumb and forefinger to adjust the size of the picture, I zoom in on Seraphina’s face, taking in the large brown eyes, long hair resting over one shoulder, and the secret smile that seems to light up her features. Just like I was six weeks ago, I’m stunned by how fucking beautiful she is. It’s not in a loud way, a way that bangs you over the head and forces you to stare. It’s subtle, a second glance, a lingering stare. On anyone else, her nose may look just a little too big, her mouth just a little too wide. But on Seraphina Rose Gregori? Her imperfect features are perfect, balanced in a way plastic surgeons could only hope to achieve.
When I first saw her, I remember both scoffing and salivating over her appearance. She looks like her older sister, Ava—the resemblance is undeniable with their chestnut hair and olive complexion. Yet, where Ava is curves and clumsiness, her sister looks like a pixie. I followed the line of her petite body, taking in the short, slender legs, narrow torso, and collarbones that looked too pronounced in that dress. She dressed modestly compared to the rest of the women, almost like a future politician’s wife. But something about the short, loose dress paired with those dainty little heels made me want to dirty her up.
The moment she opened her mouth, with that sweet voice and full lips forming words I could barely comprehend, I knew I was fucked. But not literally, since Ava would have had my balls and figured out a way to sous vide them. I hung on to her every word that night, and when I drove her home in my prized possession, Betty, my cherry-red 1969 Chevy Camaro ZL-1 that I saved for from years of bullshit modeling gigs, I had to hold myself back from taking a mental image.
She looked good in my car, and part of me knew she’d look good in my life if I somehow got her in it.
“Fucking sap,” I mumble, looking back at my phone as I type out a text.
Lincoln : No, I have work today. Franki’s making me go in this morning to organize the platters and flatware, and then I’m on until close.
Seraphina’s reply is instant, confirming that she’s as invested in this conversation as I am and monitoring her phone.
Seraphina : Number one dishwasher ;)
I roll my eyes at her teasing, especially since I know she’s doing it to fuck with me. I had just gotten the job at Garganello’s , my roommate Dante’s sister’s restaurant, when Sera and I met. I knew I’d be in the back of the back, washing dishes and stacking plates to pay my dues in an industry that often values experience over education. I didn’t care that I’d likely come home each night smelling like a potent mixture of garlic and soap. No, I just wanted to be in the restaurant, earning my way until I could secure a spot on the brigade.
Picking my head up, I note the time and realize I need to get moving if I’m going to make the drive into the city and make my shift. West Elm isn’t far from New York, but the traffic can be a nightmare if I don’t plan the drive accordingly. I’d rather show up forty minutes early and wait like an asshole in the employee break room than show up ten minutes late because I didn’t plan my schedule.
Lincoln : Give me a minute to get my shit together. Can you talk?
Seraphina is one of those stereotypical good girls. She’s the type to have a curfew and follow it, eat all her vegetables before dessert, and otherwise adhere to whatever rules she, or someone else, places on her. It didn’t surprise me when I heard about her asshole ex doing everything he could to keep her under his thumb, especially since she’s a take-home girl. A girl you scoop up and try your fucking hardest to keep, the one you take home to your mom and say, “Look, I found her.”
But the one thing about the little thorn is she gets a thrill from breaking rules, the same way I get off on a bet. Three weeks ago, we FaceTimed during her independent study, an action she told me was specifically prohibited while wearing the brightest fucking grin on her face. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she loved the little act of rebellion, one so innocuous it barely measured against some of the shit I’ve done.
Getting up from the bed, I walk to my closet and grab my duffle bag, already filled with the things I’ll need for tonight. Garganello’s has an employee locker room, hosting locked cubbies and two individual full bathrooms to allow the staff to change in and out of their work clothes without walking down busy Manhattan streets looking like they’re about to dice an onion. I’m grateful for the setup since every time Dante and Grey, my other roommate, see me in my apron coat and black utility pants, they call me Cheffy and make me want to knock their teeth in.
With my bag over my shoulder, I grab my phone, keys, and wallet and jog downstairs and out to my car. Throwing my duffle in the back, I slide into my car, the one I worked my ass off for by modeling. Plugging my phone into the dock, I start my engine and back up, wasting no time pulling out onto the road and starting my forty-minute journey into the city.
My phone goes off as I drive, and because of the old-school tech in the car, I don’t have a computerized dashboard to tell me who it is. I can guess it’s Seraphina since we’ve been talking for the last ten minutes, but I also won’t risk my life to check. Pulling up to a stop sign, I come to a complete halt and reach for my phone, smiling to myself when I see Seraphina confirm she’s available. I press on her contact information and set it to speaker.
“I meant I was free in ten minutes.” Seraphina’s whispered voice comes from my phone’s speaker, and I have to turn the volume up to hear her. “I’m in the library.”
“Such a rulebreaker, cierń. Hopefully, you don’t get caught.”
“Oh, shut up, Lincoln,” she admonishes, though her voice holds a laugh. “Give me a minute to get to someplace private.” I hear rustling on the other end of the phone and the sound of a door opening and closing before she lets out a deep breath. “Okay, that’s better.”
Her voice is at full volume now, but it’s still breathy like she ran a marathon or snuck out of her little library sanctuary. “Did you just sneak out of school, Seraphina? I’m impressed.”
“Maybe. I think you’re a bad influence.”
I snort at her words. “I’m the best influence you have. How’s school?”
She’s quiet for a beat, and I focus on my drive, willing myself not to strain my ears to hear her breath on the other end of the line. After another moment, she responds, “Interesting. I found myself in a janitor’s closet today.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“Probably not,” she concedes. Instead of the laughter I expect to be bubbling out of her, her tone sounds dark, the two words conveying an inexplicable emotion that sets my teeth on edge.
“Everything okay, cierń?”
“Yes, I’m good. , I promise,” she laughs, though the words sound forced.
“Why do I feel like you’re lying to me?”
“Probably because you’re paranoid.” I can picture her shrugging her delicate shoulders, silently mocking me for being concerned.
I snort at her retort, choosing to ignore her comeback. Instead, I ask the question that’s been on my mind for weeks. “Seraphina, when are you going to let me take you out?”
“Wh-what?” she breathes into the receiver.
I clear my throat, my tone sober as I respond. “Let me take you out, Seraphina. On a date.” I’ve debated for fucking weeks if asking her out is creepy, but she’s eighteen and I can’t deny that talking to Seraphina Rose Gregori is the highlight of my day.
“You’d want that? To take me out?”
“Fuck yeah, I’d want that,” I answer eagerly, betraying whatever calm facade I tried to erect. “Sera, we talk every day, multiple times a day. Why wouldn’t I want that?”
She hesitates for a moment before her sweet voice travels over the speaker. “But I’m still in high school. That doesn’t bother you.”
If someone asked me that question before meeting Seraphina, I would have said yes, it bothers me a shit ton. But now? Not so much. “You’re eighteen. Listen, cierń, if you’re not interested in going out, I get it. But if there’s even a part of you that thinks you’d be into it, then say yes. Please.”
“Yes,” she whispers into the receiver, so low that I’m not sure I even heard the response.
“Yes?” I repeat.
“Yes, Lincoln Simmons, I’ll go out with you—I mean date you. Damn, no, go on a date with you,” she groans, and I laugh at her flustered response.
“You’re cute when you ramble, cierń. We’ll figure out the details, okay?”
“Okay, but I should probably get back into the library before someone notices I’m gone. I’ll talk to you later?” She asks the last part of her statement like a question as if she’d have to confirm that we’d speak tonight when we’ve spoken almost every damn night since we met.
“Of course, Seraphina. I’ll text you when I leave work.”
“Bye, Linc—” Sera starts, stopping abruptly at the sound of the dumbest nickname I have ever heard.
“Fin! There you are.”
A groan sounds out on the other end, followed by a heavy sigh. “Not again.”
“Cierń, are you okay?”
“Just a gnat. Lincoln, let me go, and I’ll speak to you later, okay?”
“Alright.” I draw out the word, unsure what the fuck is going on and why someone is calling Seraphina “Fin,” as though she was a fucking fish with gills.
Before Sera hangs up, I hear a name that sets me on edge before the call disconnects.
“Mitch, what do you want now?”
—
Moving on autopilot, I eat up the miles until I’m through the Lincoln Tunnel and on the other side of the Hudson and replay my conversation with Seraphina. Or rather, the interruption at the end of our conversation. I didn’t miss how she groaned at the intrusion or inferred that this wasn’t the first time Mitch had bothered her.
Suddenly, the tone she adopted earlier in our conversation made sense when I asked about her day.
“Fuck,” I grind out, not liking that the dick of a man is bothering her repeatedly, and there’s nothing I can do about it. While Seraphina and I haven’t seen each other more than once, the daily conversations mean something to me. She means something to me.
Asking her out today was one step toward figuring it out because she’s burrowed under my skin, and I can’t find it in me to be bothered.
Ava will probably kill me when she finds out I’m trying to pursue something with her younger sister, but I’m not sure I care.
Shaking my head, I refocus on my drive and weave through the city blocks. Of all the places I’ve ever been, I’ve never loved New York. The congestion, the competing smells, the desperation leaking from tourists’ pores to see sites made famous by movies and television, it’s repelling. But I know there’s no other food or culture like that in New York. In what other city can you get the best fucking halal—for five dollars—right outside a restaurant selling a gold-foil cheeseburger for forty-five bucks? I’m privileged to be here and lucky to have the opportunity to work in one of the most sought-after restaurants in the city. But I’d be blind if I didn’t recognize the deficiencies of the city that lure so many in.
Navigating my car down 39th Street, I cut across Sixth Avenue and pull into the underground garage where I rent a daily spot. I pay a small fortune to keep my car in a prime spot, one far enough away from other vehicles and traffic.
Nodding at the attendant after I pull into the spot, I take the elevator to the street level and pull out my phone, dialing my dad’s number as I walk to the back alley of Garganello’s. I could walk through the service door, but I prefer to be unbothered when I come into work, not waste time on pleasantries with the hostesses or inquisitive looks from customers passing by the coat check.
The phone rings once before my dad’s voice booms out on the other end of the line.
“Son.”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Don’t you have work today? Is everything okay?”
I snort at his worried tone. “Yeah, I’m walking in now. I don’t have much time, but I wanted to see if you could help me get a reservation at your clients’ sports complex?” The new sports and activity center just opened and has been nearly impossible to get into.
“The one with the golf simulator and indoor roller coaster?”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”
My dad is silent, forcing me to stop walking and look at my phone to make sure the call didn’t drop. “Dad?”
“How many people are you planning on bringing?”
“Just one.”
“Who’s the lucky lady, Linc?”
I laugh, knowing that my dad is trying to be as diplomatic as possible while still sniffing out the information. “Her name is Seraphina.”
“How’d you meet?”
“Dad,” I groan. “Can we do this later? I just wanted to see if you would be able to help. Any weekend is fine, if they’re able to squeeze us in.”
“We’ll talk about this later, Lincoln. And don’t think I won’t tell your mother that you’re taking a young lady on a date.” His southern drawl fills my ear and I grimace at the interrogation I’m going to get from my mom after she finds out about this.
“Fine. I’ll talk to you later.” I wait for my dad to hang up before I pocket my phone and open the back door of the restaurant.
Sliding into the locker room, I open my cubby and change into the black chef’s pants, black T-shirt, and white apron that comprise my uniform. Slamming the door closed, I shut off thoughts of Seraphina, her asshole ex, and what the fuck is going on between them.
—
“Jesus, I’m beat.” Gemma, one of the hostesses, groans as she throws her body in the chair beside mine. The kitchen just closed, and tables in the front of the room are being moved out to make space for the dance floor. During the day and evening, Garganello’s is a high-end Italian restaurant, but at ten o’clock, the restaurant transforms into an upscale nightclub. The kitchen staff fucking love it since it means our last seating for dinner is eight-thirty, though the bartenders serve until the early morning hours.
I look over at the perky, raven-haired beauty and offer my best semblance of a smile. My mind has been on Sera the entire goddamn night, even though I tried to compartmentalize our interaction earlier. Based on Gemma’s reaction, my face must look pained.
“Is that supposed to be a smile?”
“Fuck off, Gem.”
She laughs, a lighthearted sound that bounces around the room. There’s no mystery surrounding her—she’s beautiful, bubbly, and has the energy of a toddler with a sugar high.
“I’d rather fuck you,” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows. This line of conversation isn’t new; Gemma isn’t shy when it comes to sex. She’s had hookups and relationships with half the staff here, though they always end amicably and on good terms. She doesn’t seem to take much seriously, though if you don’t leave food for her at family meal, she turns fucking feral.
I heard from Owen, her last boyfriend, that Gemma landed a modeling contract, so I don’t doubt that she’ll be leaving this place soon to pursue other shit. But still, as beautiful and spirited as she is, I’m not interested.
“Nah, Gem. You’re too good for me.” What I don’t say is that I’m too consumed with thoughts of a different woman to devote my attention elsewhere.
“One of these days, Linc, I’ll have you. And when I do, I might not let you go.” She stands up from her chair and leans over my body. Using her long limbs to cage me in, she plants a kiss on the corner of my mouth before pulling back to watch my face.
“Gem,” I warn, leaning farther away from her. While the invitations to her bed aren’t new, the physical touch is.
“Linc,” she mimics my tone. “You taste good.” She winks before pushing herself up and sauntering away, swaying her hips to an imaginary beat in her head.
Shaking my head at her retreating form, I pull my phone out of my pocket. I’m disappointed when all I see are a few texts from Dante and Grey in our group chat.
Dante : Yo, fuckfaces. Party tonight on Norfolk Ave.
Grey : Don’t call me a fuckface.
Dante : Cry about it, you little dick.
Rolling my eyes at their exchange, I type out a text.
Lincoln : Fine. I’ll meet you there from the restaurant. Who’s going?
I don’t have to wait long for a response. Dante must be sitting by his phone, waiting for our acknowledgment of a night out. Truthfully, we haven’t gone out much recently; both Grey and Dante have their dicks wrapped in a vice by Ava and Celeste, their girlfriends, while I’ve been killing myself at the restaurant and filling my spare time with texts to Seraphina.
Dante : Us and the girls.
By the girls, I assume he means Ava, Celeste, and Serena.
Lincoln : Fine.
Pocketing my phone, I stand from the folding chair in the employee break room and make my way to the row of private bathrooms, resolving that I’ll call Seraphina on my way back to Jersey.