Chapter 3
THREE
It’slate on Saturday afternoon when I make my way to the festival at Livingston Farms. Every weekend, the owners put together a full family event with live music, local food and craft booths, activities for kids, and an epic U-Pick experience that benefits them all year round. While I’d happily attended the event with Uncle Patrick when I was a kid, it’s one I’ve tried to avoid in my adult life. The festival involves too many people and too many opportunities to be socially awkward.
On the other hand, it’s great for Patrick’s bar since he’s the exclusive beer and wine vendor every year. He’s out of town this year, though, so I’m the one running Firefly’s tent along with two of our employees—my childhood friend, Janessa, and her husband, Armando. Luckily, I always feel comfortable behind the bar, no matter the size of the crowd.
“I’m going to take a break and do some shopping for the bar,” I tell Armando as I slip off my apron. He’s ringing up a customer while Janessa helps another, so he simply gives me a nod to acknowledge he heard me.
After a pit stop in the bathroom, I make my way through the Livingston Farms market like I normally do every Saturday morning when there isn’t an event. If I’m not shopping for my personal kitchen, I’m grabbing fresh ingredients for the bar—fruits and herbs for the garnishes, cheese and nuts for the complimentary snacks, and fresh vegetables for all the bloody marys I know I’ll be making tomorrow afternoon with the brunch crowd.
While Beth, the cashier, is ringing me up, a figure catches my eye outside the window, someone who doesn’t belong here. That much was certain from the moment Lincoln walked into J.D.’s office. It’s not every day that the town of Bryson City acquires a new resident, most certainly none in my age range, not to mention a doctor—a psychologist, even. But there he is now, in my neighborhood market, standing six-foot-something with his ruggedly handsome beard, dressed in dark shorts and a sleeveless athletic shirt that reveals a well-sculpted body.
The man is gorgeous. Strikingly so. And I can’t even see his pine-green eyes from this distance. But just because Dr. Reed has stock in the looks department means nothing for my mental health. In fact, the anxiety I felt over the possibility of seeing a new therapist—of divulging my complete history filled with trauma, heartbreak, and abandonment all over again—brought me to a level of anxiety that I haven’t felt since I was a teenager. I can’t go back there.
Shaking off those intrusive thoughts, I hand my reusable grocery bag to the manager for her to store it for me while I wrap up things at the bar’s booth. Then I get back to work, handing out samples, pouring drinks, and taking money. Time flies as the three of us work like a well-oiled machine, just like we do back at Firefly.
As I work, the town’s gossip inundates me as they loiter around our tent. Usually, I try to ignore it all, but when I hear J.D.’s name, my ears perk up. The man was popular in our small town, with a full client list and a great reputation. So when he disappeared, naturally, the rumors began. Still, no one has any concrete idea of what happened to him.
“I heard he and Gena are getting a divorce,” one woman mutters to another as they sip their beers.
The other woman gasps in response. “Really? Jenny thought maybe he was dying of cancer.”
I can’t listen to this anymore. “Armando, you’ve got the register,” I say. “I’m going to pour.”
He takes over for me while I move to the side of the tent to pour the drink orders and hand them to customers.
At some point, I hear a deep voice rumble, “Don’t worry. I come in peace.”
Chills shoot through every inch of my body. I pivot, my eyes slow to connect with his. The number of times I’ve thought about standing face-to-face with Lincoln Reed since seeing him at the bar last week has been far too many to admit, even to myself. Until him, I’ve never wondered what a beard would feel like nestled between my legs, tickling my thighs while I’m lapped by a devilishly warm tongue, leaving my skin tender with whisker burns long after a mind-blowing release.
Holy shit, I need a cold shower.
In all fairness, with a man like Lincoln, how could an orgasm be anything but mind-blowing?
Despite my nerves, I manage a smile, figuring I’ve been hard enough on the man. “What’ll it be”—the temptation to continue calling him “Doctor” is too strong, but I correct myself before I can make that mistake again—“Lincoln?”
His eyes narrow playfully, like he can read my exact thoughts, then he nods to the tap behind me. “What do you recommend?”
“I don’t drink beer.”
He gives me a second glance before focusing back on the selection of drinks. “In that case, the seasonal lager sounds right up my alley.”
As I turn to pour his drink, I’m painfully aware of his view of me, in the pair of black shorts that recently started riding an inch higher than when I purchased them three summers ago and the short black tank top that cuts into the smallest portion of my waist, accentuating every curve of my body. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about the clothes I wear, let alone anyone’s opinion of them, but I’ve never had a Lincoln Reed watching me before.
My paranoid self can practically feel his eyes burning a hole as he scans my figure. But that’s probably just ridiculous wishful thinking. I take a deep breath to settle my nerves and turn back to face him, handing him his drink. “Seven dollars,” I say, avoiding eye contact this time for the sake of my sanity.
He whips a bill from his wallet, hands it to me, and takes the drink. When I start to grab change from the till, he waves his hand. “Keep it.”
I stare down at the twenty, baffled, then blink up at him. “It’s too much.”
He shrugs. “Maybe I’ll want another one later.”
Laughing, I shake my head and shove the till closed. “Then you’ll be out of luck, because my shift is almost over and they,” I say, pointing to my two co-workers, “don’t know you.”
Lincoln grins. “I didn’t say I’d want another today.”
An older, petite, white-haired woman approaches, her hand attached to that of a small child stumble-walking behind her. “Oh, thank heavens,” the woman says.
To my surprise, she steals the beer out of Lincoln’s hand before he’s even taken a sip and starts to gulp it down. But that’s not even the most surprising part. Lincoln doesn’t even flinch when the drink leaves his hand. Instead, he instantly reaches for the little blonde girl, who’s wearing a red-and-white-checked jean dress with white tennis shoes, and lifts her into his arms.
“Hey, Lucy,” he greets the girl fondly. “Do you want to meet a friend of Daddy’s?”
Something flutters in my chest, and I’m not sure if it’s because he just referred to me as his friend or because he called himself Daddy. At the same time, there’s a sense of panic that Lincoln has a daughter, which means he probably has a wife, and that wife is most likely nearby.
My eyes dart to the thick fingers securing Lucy’s waist. No ring. Then I shake my head at my own thoughts. He could have just forgotten to put it on this morning.
Lucy smashes her cheek into Lincoln’s chest shyly like she wants to burrow into him. “Okay,” she says in a quiet voice.
My smile is instant when I focus on the sweet girl. She’s beautiful, with big blue eyes that seem to be taking in everything going on around her and perfect ringlet curls that bounce with every slight movement she makes.
“This is Evie,” Lincoln tells her, refocusing her attention. “She used to live in our house.”
With that, Lucy picks her head up from Lincoln’s chest, eyes growing wide. “Did you sleep in my bedroom too?”
I let out a light laugh. “I don’t know. Does your bedroom closet have blue, pink, and purple flowers all over it?”
Lucy squeals and claps her hands together. “Yes! Daddy put glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling too.”
“Did he? That was so nice of him.”
“What can I say?” Lincoln grins. “I’m a nice guy after all.”
I bite down on my smile. “I never said you weren’t.”
“Fooled me.”
He’s teasing, but I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt for giving him a hard time at J.D.’s office. All he had done was offer a free consultation to give me a chance to work with him if he was the right fit. And I turned him down without even hearing him out.
Before I can say another word, he turns to the woman who’s chugged nearly half of the beer he bought. “This is Lucy’s grandmother, Francine.”
The way he phrases it feels odd. Why wouldn’t he just say his mother-in-law?
I smile at the woman. “It’s nice to meet you, Francine.”
She nods without cracking a smile, but her eyes are friendly in a way that tells me she’s still assessing me. “Nice to meet you as well.” She squints at Lincoln as if to remind him that he didn’t finish introducing us.
He startles a little as he realizes it then says, “This is Evelyn Vaughn, Patrick’s niece. Evie manages the Firefly bar on Main Street and is handling things for Patrick at his rental properties while he’s away.”
Francine perks up slightly. “Hi, Evelyn. Would you happen to know how to get the furnace to turn on in the guesthouse? Linc’s been trying to figure it out for days with no luck.”
Lincoln visibly cringes, causing me to smile.
I turn to Lincoln, amused. “There’s a trick to it. Can I stop by Monday morning to show you?” Then I smile. “It’s an old furnace. Don’t feel bad.”
When Lincoln doesn’t answer, Francine steps in. “Of course you can stop by when you can,” she says, shooting a glare at Lincoln. “Thank you, Evie.”
Lucy grips Lincoln’s shirt, distracting us all from the conversation. “I wanna look at the sunflowers, Daddy.”
“You do? Well then, let’s get to it.” He touches his nose to hers before setting her back on her feet and turning to me. “Thank you for th?—”
Before he can finish, a little voice chimes in. “Come with us to look at the flowers, Evie.”
“Me?” I ask before having time to think.
Lucy nods emphatically while her father and grandmother stare back at me, waiting.
If anyone else had asked, I would have declined the invite easily. But it’s Lucy, and the way she’s staring up at me eliminates all possible answers but one. “I’d love to.”
Another squeal from her lights up my insides as I try hard to ignore Lincoln’s intense stare.
“Come on.” Lucy takes off, dragging Francine along with her.
I say goodbye to Armando and Janessa then walk around the bar. Lincoln and I fall into step, following close behind Francine and Lucy.
“I couldn’t say no,” I admit, feeling sheepish.
“Trust me—I know the feeling.” He glances over at me. “She’s got me wrapped around her little finger. Francine calls me a sucker daily.”
“That just means you’re a good father.”
He pauses, a hesitation I don’t quite understand. “I hope that’s true.”
One moment passes then another. I don’t know what to say or how to phrase all the questions I want to ask. Where is your wife? Why aren’t you wearing a wedding ring? Why are you renting my uncle’s house instead of purchasing your own?
“Lucy’s mom died almost two years ago,” Lincoln says.
His abrupt words stop my heart. In fact, it might take me a few seconds to remember how to breathe. But even as I begin to collect myself, words don’t form quickly. I’m not sure I can form any words at all.
His eyes dart between mine. “I just had to get that out of the way. I knew the question was coming, and it’s not an entirely comfortable one for Francine or me.”
“I… I’m sorry.” That’s all I can think to say, though I still haven’t completely comprehended what he just told me.
“Don’t be.” He’s quick to respond, then his brow dents in the center. “I mean, thank you for saying that, but Lucy and I are happy. Francine too.” He smiles at the sight of Francine lifting Lucy up so the girl’s nose touches giant sunflower petals. “Lucy was still a baby when she lost her mother, so she doesn’t remember her well.”
Again, I have so many questions, but I’m not sure if any of them are appropriate to ask, so I steer clear from questions completely. “That must have been extremely difficult for you all.”
Discomfort is written all over his face. “To say the least.” He hesitates another few seconds. “Lucy’s mom and I weren’t…” He lets the words trail off.
“Married?”
“No, we weren’t married.” He lets out a deep sigh. “We weren’t even dating.” His eyes catch on mine nervously, then he clears his throat. “We were a one-night thing. I didn’t know about Lucy until after her mom died.”
“Oh.” The word rushes out with my breath. “How old was Lucy when you met her?”
“Thirteen months. But I didn’t get to add my name to her birth certificate until many months later. Francine was her primary caretaker after Becca died, but she made sure Lucy and I got to spend as much time together as we could.” He smiles a little. “She’s been incredible. To both of us.”
My head spins so fast that I can’t put together my response quick enough before Lucy comes barreling into Lincoln.
“Daddy, chase me!” she shouts.
The next thing I know, Lucy is squealing as she takes off into the field, and Lincoln doesn’t even hesitate to chase after her.
I laugh and slow down to match Francine’s steps. “Lucy is an endless ball of fun, isn’t she?”
Francine gives me a wide-eyed nod that tells me I have no clue how right I am. “She’s also the sweetest, smartest, and funniest little girl you’ve ever met in your life. That fire in her will take her to great places one day.”
My heart warms, and I’m not entirely sure why. Sure, the way Francine speaks about her granddaughter is sweet, but there’s got to be something deeper there, maybe something that comes with Lucy not having a mother.
Again, I have so many questions, but I’m not sure what’s appropriate, so I keep the conversation light. “How does she like Bryson City so far?”
Francine gestures to Lincoln and Lucy, who’ve stopped their chase to look at another sunflower. “As long as her daddy is here, she’s happy. He’s her home and vice versa.”
Lucy reaches for the bright-yellow flower in total admiration before Lincoln plucks it from its stem and hands it to her. When Lucy’s face lights up at the gesture, my heart goes liquid right there in my chest.
“I loved it here when I was Lucy’s age,” I say, not that Francine needs any comfort. “My parents used to ship me off to stay with Uncle Patrick every summer and every spring break. This place had so much to explore, so much to do.”
Francine seems to take in what I’m saying, nodding slowly. “I think it will grow on all of us, Lincoln especially. There’s certainly no drought in all that inspiration required for him to get words on the page.”
It takes a second for her meaning to click. “He’s a writer?”
Francine shrugs. “He wouldn’t call himself one, but the man spends every extra hour of his day pounding away at his computer lately.”
A few seconds later, Lucy comes rushing back, the arm holding the sunflower extended to Francine. “For you, Gammy.”
Francine gasps and leans down to kiss Lucy on the cheek. “Thank you, sweet girl. Now I need to find one for you.”
Just as Lucy pulls Francine back to the flowers, Lincoln is by my side again. “She’ll keep you on your toes, that’s for sure,” he says, watching them.
There’s something about Lucy and her carefree nature that brings me back to my own childhood, running around this same sunflower field with Uncle Patrick, daring him to keep up with me. My own parents would have never dreamed of allowing me to have so much fun.
Just the thought of my parents pulls a dark cloud over the otherwise sunny day. No matter the time, no matter the distance, that resentment lives deep in my soul. I can’t escape it. I can’t release it. It’s just there, a relentless scar that never quite fades and remains sensitive to the slightest touch.
Before I can stop myself, I ask him, “Did you mean what you said the other night?” I pause, thinking for a second. “You know… about starting something new with me? In therapy,” I add quickly, because who knows how he could have taken my question otherwise.
Lincoln’s eyes pivot to mine with surprise. “Of course I meant it. And you would have to sign your medical records over for me to gain access to your file, Evie. That’s completely optional.”
The way he uses my nickname, so casually, warms my chest. My eyes search his. “It is?”
“It is.” He’s so matter-of-fact, but he must see my confusion, because he continues. “Whatever I’d find in that file is from the past, anyway. I don’t want to start there. I want to start with who Evelyn Vaughn is today.”
His gaze explores mine so surely, so intensely, that it’s like I’m in a deep well I have no chance of escaping. For a second, I forget he’s talking about therapy.
“I want to know about your hopes and dreams, your goals,” he says. “I want to know about your job, your hobbies, and your family. I don’t want to know what brought you to therapy twelve years ago. I want to know what has kept you coming back week after week. There’s a comfort there for you that I’m not even sure you’ve explored.”
He pauses. “And maybe, just maybe, you’ll come to the realization that you already have the tools to detach from your weekly sessions. And if that’s the case, if you’re truly ready and happy, then at least you know you’re not quitting because of me.” He shrugs like all the things he mentioned are simple goals. “That’s all.”
My nerves get the better of me, and a laugh floats past my throat. “That’s all,” he says, like his job isn’t dependent on all the things about myself that don’t make me happy.
He frowns. “I’m not here to criticize the relationship you had with your therapist before me, and I can promise that I’m not here to profit from your unhappiness. The way I work is just different, that’s all.”
“What makes it different?”
His piercing gaze meets mine again, the green-and-gold backdrop of the sunflower field making his eyes even more stunning. “My goal isn’t to get you to stay, Evie.”
I let out a nervous chuckle. “Then what is your goal?”
He shrugs. “To set you free.”
More giggles rise in my throat, an instinctual reaction that seems to stem from confusion more than anything else. I certainly don’t find what he said funny, just unexpected. “I’m sorry,” I say, calming myself a bit. “Didn’t I free myself by quitting therapy already?”
Lincoln’s lips twist, bringing all my attention to his beautiful mouth. “Yes, but didn’t you only quit because you were afraid to start over with a new therapist?” He raises his brows as if in challenge. “The next time you quit, it should be for you. Because you feel a sense of closure.”
I squeeze my eyes together then open them again to regain control over my emotions. The way this man flusters me. “Quitting had been on my mind for some time,” I say. “I just…”
He waits patiently while I’m still thinking of how to finish.
Finally, raising my chin, I stare boldly back at him. “I just hadn’t decided yet.”
His smile is wide, filled with far too much charm and a perfect set of white teeth. “You just made my point.”
I open my mouth again to continue the argument—he needs to realize that he’s not right about that—but Lucy steals our attention.
“More flowers, Daddy!” Lucy stands between us, staring up at her dad with a half-dozen giant sunflowers in her hands.
“Wow,” Lincoln says, bending down to examine her bouquet. “You picked some great ones.”
Lucy leans toward Lincoln’s ear and whispers something. When she pulls back, he puts his lips to her ear and murmurs something in return. It’s the cutest exchange, and even as flustered as I was moments ago, I have nothing but warm and fuzzy feels watching them together now.
After their whispered conversation, Lucy swivels around, a sweet smile on her face as she tilts her head and looks up at me. She extends a hand, holding out one of the sunflowers.
I gasp, a genuine reaction to her most innocent gesture. “For me?”
Lucy nods. “Isn’t it pretty?”
Nodding, I accept the flower, taking it into both hands and smiling back at her. “The prettiest flower I’ve ever received. Thank you very much, Lucy. You just made my whole day.”
Lucy beams, her radiant smile lighting up her entire body, before she throws herself into her dad’s arms. At that moment, it’s painfully clear that Dr. Lincoln Reed is the least of my concerns. It’s his daughter who has the potential to steal my heart.