40. Lincoln
40
Lincoln
“Nice of you to show up today, asshole,” Diana comments as soon as I step into the kitchen. “Leaving us shorthanded on a Sunday service is shitty, Simmons. I hope you had a good reason.”
The thing about Diana is that she shows she cares through terse commentary and insults. In the years since I’ve known her, I’ve called out of work no more than three times, so what she’s saying, without asking directly, is that she hopes everything is okay.
“Had some family shit I had to deal with.”
“Gemma must have had a field day with your day off.” Diana translation: Did something happen to Gemma, and is she okay?
“Gemma and I broke up over a month ago.” I don’t add that I’m with Seraphina, not because I’m embarrassed, but because I don’t feel like listening to Di’s commentary on the subject.
“Good. She was a pain in the ass.” There’s no translation for that; she’s saying exactly what she means. “Franki was just in here. We have a few large parties this afternoon, Wall Street types, I assume, and a full house tonight.” I nod, buttoning my coat and reaching for my knives and cutting board to begin prep.
“Did she go over new specials? Or are they the same as last week’s?”
“Same, but eighty-six the leek and potato soup. It’s too hot, and it won’t go.”
“Got it.” I nod, laying out my containers before inventorying Diana’s progress on the vegetable prep.
“Here, chiffonade the spinach and kale.” Diana points toward the large tray with leafy greens, and I nod again, grab the tray, and get started.
There’s a mindlessness in my motions, an easiness that stems from conditioning and practice. I let my mind wander as I slice through the vegetables, thinking back to this morning when I woke up with Seraphina in my arms. It’s the second morning in a row that my little thorn was nestled beside me when I woke up, and I’m getting used to how damn good it feels to reach for her in the middle of the night. Not for sex—though sleeping with Seraphina transcends every other sexual experience I’ve had—but to assure myself that she’s real, that she’s there and not a figment of my imagination.
I wasn’t lying when I told Seraphina that I experimented during the years we had no contact, not just with Gemma but with other women too. I could fall down a rabbit hole of feeling like a scum bag for the amount of sex I’ve had, the ways and types and settings, but I don’t, and I won’t. The encounters were, at the time, fun but hollow, a balm that never seemed to work.
With Seraphina, I feel complete.
—
The hours fly as I work through the lunch shift, prep for dinner, and start on service. Before I realize it, it’s almost eight o’clock, and I haven’t had more than a five-minute break to use the restroom and send a check-in text to Seraphina.
“That was brutal.” Diana groans, twisting her torso to crack her back.
“Why don’t you head down to the break room? I can finish up the last hour of service.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice. Besides, you owe me for working so damn hard yesterday.”
“I heard Kyle came in for relief yesterday,” I say, referring to one of the other chefs in our section of the brigade.
Diana scoffs at the mention of his name. “The boy is useless. I don’t know what happened to him.”
“I’m pretty sure his wife just had a baby, and they’re sleep-deprived.”
“We’re all sleep-deprived. I’m going,” she says unceremoniously, wiping down her station before packing her shit up and turning without another word. I laugh at the sight of her back, feeling comfort in Diana’s standard irritable nature.
Starting to break down my section, I push everything I may still need to the side and clean up whatever I’m able to before the end of service, making my official cleanup easier. My phone has sat in my pocket for most of the night on silent, but I pull it out now, seeing that my notifications seem to be riddled with texts from Seraphina, my mom, and the group chat with the guys. I’m about to click on Seraphina’s name when Dante sends another text to our chat, compelling me to scroll through the conversation.
Dante (6:57 PM): What do you think about a best man speech where I start off with “Four Score and Seven Years Ago?”
Grey (7:01 PM): We’re not having a bridal party
Dante (7:02 PM): But if you did, I’d be the best man, right?
Grey (7:17 PM): No
Dante (7:20 PM): Fuckface. Cheffy, can I be yours?
Dante (8:06 PM) : Should I be offended Lincoln’s not answering?
I roll my eyes at his most recent message and stab out a quick reply.
Lincoln : I’m at work, asshole.
Dante : Someone’s grouchy.
Grey : Dante, don’t make me call Celeste to take care of you.
I shiver at the thought of Celeste, an involuntary reaction even after all these years. I’ve never seen someone so deceptively innocent bring a man to his knees with little more than her pinky.
Dante : Yes, you absolutely should do that. You know Red likes to think she’s in charge.
“Fucking idiot,” I mutter, swiping out of our conversation. I bypass my mother’s text message and scroll to Seraphina’s name. Instead of texting her, I click on the phone icon and bring my cell to my ear.
It rings a few times before going to voicemail, and I scowl at the phone. Rationally, I know she’s probably busy or isn’t next to her phone, but I still don’t like not being able to get in touch with her. Typing out a message, I read it over and press send.
Lincoln : I know it’ll be later when I get to you, but can I take you out tonight? We haven’t had a real date yet.
The message reads as delivered, though there’s no read stamp. Placing it down, I keep one eye on my phone and the other focused on my prep station, counting down the minutes until I’m able to get in my car and drive to Seraphina’s apartment.
—
She still hasn’t answered.
I jog the distance from the restaurant to my parked car and waste no time sliding behind the wheel and peeling out of the lot.
“Hey, Siri, call Ava,” I order my phone.
Ava answers after the second ring. “Lincoln, why are you calling my fiancée’s phone at nine at night?” Grey’s voice rings out over my speaker.
I don’t waste time on pleasantries. “Have you spoken to Seraphina? I called and texted her over an hour ago and haven’t heard from her.”
“No.” I hear the frown in his voice. “I’ll ask Ava. Vixen,” he yells away from the receiver. “Have you spoken to smalls?”
“Not since noonish, why?” I hear her voice in the background, getting loud as she must approach Grey.
“Linc’s looking for her.”
“Hmm, I’ll call her and B and see what’s happening. She mentioned Liv was off today, so maybe they’re out. Greyson, let me borrow your phone.” I wait, speeding through traffic toward West Elm while Ava calls her sisters. Five minutes pass, a lifetime and no time all at once. “That’s weird.” Her voice sounds strained. “I called all three of them, and none of them answered.”
“Go to the apartment. You’re closer than I am. And call Rafe; I’ll meet you guys there.”
“Lincoln, do you think you’re overreacting?”
“Something is wrong, Aves. I know it.”
There’s a pause on their end, probably silent communication passing through each other, before Ava finally says, “Okay. We’ll see you there.”