Chapter 7
SEVEN
Images of Lincoln Reedappear on my phone screen with one tap of my finger. He was easy to research, with scholarly articles and interviews all featured on Duke’s website and his biography the same in every place it pops up, full of the boring info he’s already shared. Nothing new. Nothing exciting. Nothing… real.
He seems to have no social media, and I find no trace of him on any local dating groups, nor do I find a drop of information about his daughter’s mother or details about his childhood. The man’s past is a giant mystery, and as much as I know I shouldn’t care, I’m far too curious to pretend I don’t.
I flip to a new photo—this one of Lincoln at a casual dinner with fellow classmates in Durham. He’s wearing a red polo shirt and tan slacks, his beard is much shorter, and he looks far separated from the seemingly pretentious group he’s surrounded by.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Lincoln Reed, it’s that the man is anything but stereotypical. Every time I think I have him figured out, he throws me for a loop, making me second-guess everything.
Sighing, I lay my phone down on the mattress and stare up at the yellow popcorn ceiling of my studio apartment. My thoughts slip back to the last time I saw Lincoln, before I ran out of his office, before I knew one of us had crossed a line. I wasn’t sure who’d caused it, and I wasn’t precisely sure what the line was, but I knew the session had to end.
Lincoln almost had me.
He got me talking, telling him things I’d never told another soul. What I can’t figure out is what possessed me to confess such dirty details about myself.
Then again, I have no reason to feel shameful for my confessions. He’s supposed to be the professional one. I’m the one who needs help. Clearly.
My core aches, remembering the slow rise in the crotch of his slacks when he thought my eyes were completely closed. He thought he could hide it, but I knew the truth—he wanted me.
My breathing goes shallow as I reach between my thighs, into my underwear, to feed the desire I’ve tried my darndest to stifle, the needs that have been growing ever since I laid eyes on Dr. Lincoln Reed, with his thick beard, dark-rimmed reading glasses, incredible body, and insanely gorgeous eyes that always seem to be following me.
Two fingers move from my clit to my slick opening before slipping inside. I tilt my hips to deepen my reach, and a moan escapes me as my eyes flutter closed. All I see is him. My fingers are soaked, my hips working double-time as I imagine Dr. Reed’s cock driving me to infinite bliss. In that moment, there’s no guilt, no timidity, no regret—just my most erotic fantasies firing off an intense series of orgasms that blast through my body and send me floating on a puffy cloud of happiness.
I’m not sure how long it takes me to come down from that high, but I eventually manage to get out of bed and be somewhat productive. I throw a load of laundry in and tidy up, which isn’t hard considering I have one room, save for the bathroom and single closet. I get ready for work by early afternoon and spend the next couple of hours in my uncle’s office, working on next week’s schedule and preparing an inventory list for my upcoming shopping trip.
My shift at the bar starts at four in the afternoon, and as soon as I walk into Firefly, I can see it’s going to be a slow night. There’s only one customer, a man with a black hoodie zipped up with the hood covering his head. He’s sitting in the back corner of the bar, buried in a book and giving off the vibe that he does not want to be disturbed.
My co-worker for the night, Kyle, is currently typing fast and furious on his phone—most likely texting his girlfriend, who hates that he’s working in a bar. They’ve only been dating for a few months, but he’s completely smitten to the point that he almost comes off as a standoffish asshole to the women who sit down to be served by him. He won’t flirt. Hell, he won’t even make eye contact, and it drives them completely mad.
Chuckling to myself, I sidle up to him and start to clean the dirty glasses he’s left in the sink. “Trouble in paradise?”
He doesn’t even look up, just continues to text. “No. Making plans for this weekend.”
I raise my brows. I don’t usually ask about such plans, but curiosity wins out. “What’s going on this weekend?”
He slides his phone into his back pocket and knocks his hip into mine, bumping me aside so he can take over at the sink. “Janessa’s putting together a birthday party for Armando at our picnic spot on Saturday. Live music, swimming, tubing. You know the drill.” He gives me some side-eye. “You should come.”
Instinct has me shaking my head. As much as I love my co-workers, I’ve never felt the need to spend more time with any of them—not to mention, the picnic spot he’s referring to is far too close to the campground I try to stay away from at all costs. Living in such a small town, that’s nearly impossible. Deep Creek is the hub of entertainment around here, so I’ve been back there on occasion but never to camp. That’s where I draw the line.
“I have to get to the market to stock up and then work a double since you all took the day off,” I remind him playfully.
Kyle rolls his eyes. “Whatever, boss. The market opens at six on Saturday and the party will be going on into the wee hours of the night. You can close for a few hours—Armando will be bummed if you don’t at least stop by.”
Somehow I doubt that, but I try not to play into self-deprecating feelings. And he’s not wrong about the possibility of closing down for a few hours. Since we run on such a skeleton crew, we’ve had situations in the past when no one can work, even on a Saturday. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Kyle’s smug smile nearly makes me regret agreeing to even the possibility. Instead of giving into my inclination to take it all back, I swipe the cleaning rag from beside the sink and leave the bar area so I can wipe down the tables. Even if they look clean, I have to Clorox them at the beginning of every shift. Patrick calls this unnecessary and obnoxious. I just call it sanitary.
I’ve only finished three tables when two figures walk through the entrance. “Francine,” I say, surprised to see the older woman here. And then my focus shifts to the little girl beside her. “And Lucy.” My smile goes wide when I see the adorable toddler in her sparkling-pink dress.
“Evie!” Lucy exclaims with a giant wave.
I wave back then toss the rag onto the table I just wiped down and walk over to greet them both. “What brings you two by?”
Francine shrugs, her eyes wide as she examines the bar in one long sweep. “I just picked Lucy up from daycare, and we thought we’d go on a stroll around town. She saw the books in the window and wanted to check it out.”
Looking back at Lucy, I kneel to match her height. “Do you like books, Lucy?”
Her big blue eyes shine brilliantly as she nods.
“What kind of books?”
She just stares at me as if she isn’t sure how to answer.
“Can I show you some of my favorites? I think you might love them.”
Again, she nods but doesn’t say a word, her eyes fixed on mine. I stand and hold my hand out. Lucy takes it without an ounce of hesitation, melting my heart with one touch.
Francine gestures for us to go on without her. “I think I’ll take a look at your menu.”
I make eye contact with Kyle and send him a silent message—take care of my friend. He nods in return, an understanding and a promise.
Then I turn my full attention back to Lucy and grin. “All right, let’s go.”
The girl follows me to the other end of the room to a nook with bench seating and a corner bookshelf behind it. I pull out a handful of classic fairytale books and scatter them on the table for Lucy to see. She immediately grabs Sleeping Beauty then pushes it into my hands.
“Read, please.” She tilts her head sweetly, like she knows exactly how irresistible the move is.
I smile. “My pleasure.”
Lucy curls up next to me while I read the book to her, playing up the accents and voices like I’m in my own theater production and Lucy is the only audience member. She seems riveted, her eyes glued to the illustrations as I turn each page.
We’re halfway through the next story when Lucy’s little voice squeals with delight.
“Daddy!”
I look up to find Lincoln approaching our table and sinking down beside his daughter so she’s sandwiched between us.
“Hey there, sweetie.” He wraps an arm around her small body and kisses the top of her head. “Whatcha reading?”
Lucy steals the book from my hands, causing Lincoln and me to laugh. “This one, Daddy. Ariel the mermaid and Eric the prince!”
Lincoln’s amused eyes meet mine and linger. “Who would have known you had kids’ books tucked away in this small corner?”
I smile back into his deep-emerald gaze. “You wouldn’t know it by the looks of it, but Firefly is a family establishment. All ages are welcome.”
“Well,” Lincoln says, taking the book in both hands. “Thank you for helping Lucy find her happy place. She loves books.”
“My motive was entirely selfish, I assure you. Books are my happy place too.”
“Good to know.”
The way he says those three words, like he’s keeping a mental note for later, creates a fluttering effect in my chest. I push my way out of the booth to give the father and daughter some privacy and make my way to where Francine was mingling with Kyle at the bar.
“Did you know your friend here was a burlesque dancer back in Chicago?” Kyle asks as I approach.
Francine waves a hand like he’s giving her too much credit. “In the seventies, darling. It’s been a lifetime since then.”
Kyle points at her as he starts toward the other side of the bar, where one of our regulars just sat down. “I bet you’ve still got it, Francine.” He pretends to tip an invisible hat as he grins.
“Hardly,” Francine mutters, but she smiles at me. “My daughter was a much better performer than me. Unfortunately, North Carolina wasn’t the best place to develop talent like hers. She gave up on theater after high school graduation, then she always wondered—what if?”
I lean my elbows against the counter, heart heavy after hearing the story. “That’s so sad.”
“You’re telling me.” Her eyes flicker from her hot tea to the bottle of Tennessee Fire on the counter. “Can I try some of that?”
Something tells me the subject of her daughter weighs on Francine. I can’t help but wonder if her daughter’s death plays into that depth of sorrow too.
“Of course.” I smile and fill a glass with ice before topping it with two shots of the thick, sweet honey-colored liquor. “You struck me as a martini girl.”
Francine takes the glass and swirls it slowly, watching as the liquid coats the inside of the glass. “That was the old me. The married me.” She meets my eyes then narrows hers playfully. “Always so predictable.” When the glass’s rim hits her lips, she tips her head back, gulping down half the liquor in one swift swallow. Afterward, she sets the glass down and grins. “Not anymore, baby girl.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “Maybe your daughter was just intimidated by your talents. It’s a tough job living up to our parents’ expectations, you know?”
Francine shakes her head. “I wish that was the reason—that would mean there might have been a chance of saving her from the dark path she went down. No, my Becca was a night owl, partying until all hours, hanging out at the wrong clubs. Eventually, she just stopped coming home.” She takes another sip of her whiskey. “Until years later when she turned up three months pregnant.” Francine’s tone shifts. “I finally had my baby girl back. Well, until Lucy was born, anyway.”
I frown, curiosity about all the small details I’m missing eating away at me. “She left Lucy after she was born?”
Her face ashen, Francine nods. “Said she was going to the grocery store and never came home. Lucy had just turned one.” She takes another sip of her whiskey. “After I found out Becca died, I got her phone back and started to put together clues as to who the father was.”
“Geez. That’s—a lot.” I have no other words for what I’m hearing, for what Francine and Lincoln went through to become a family for Lucy. As much sense as it makes now in context, there’s nothing normal about it. “I’m sorry”—and I hate that I’m even about to ask this question, but I have to—“can I ask how Becca died?”
“An overdose. A mixture of things I couldn’t even begin to name for you. It’s a miracle Lucy is as healthy as she is. God knows what Becca was doing before she knew she was pregnant.”
I reach across the bar and cover her hand with mine. “Lucy is perfect because your daughter, for twelve whole months, was her very best self. In her own way, she loved Lucy very much. She cared enough to make sure her baby was healthy, even if she was struggling.”
Francine nods, her eyes meeting mine. “Thank you for saying that, dear.”
“I mean it.” I squeeze her hand.
A noise from the back corner of the bar steals my attention. Turning back to the nook, I see Lucy fussing in Lincoln’s lap. He stays calm through it all, talking to her gently, kissing her cheek, and then carrying her over to where Francine sits.
“This baby goose is hungry,” he says.
The adorable nickname makes me smile, even though I don’t understand the meaning behind it.
“I should get Lucy home,” Lincoln says to Francine first before looking at me. “Thanks again for showing her your books. I’m sure she’ll be begging to come back sometime soon.”
Lucy buries her face in his armpit, and I have to bite the inside of my lip to not laugh.
“Anytime,” I say. “Thanks for swinging by.”
“Next time, I’ll be a paying customer,” Lincoln adds. “I promise.”
I wave my hand to dismiss his thoughtful comment. “Don’t worry about it. Have a good night.”
After Lincoln walks out with Lucy, Francine pushes her unfinished glass toward me and leans into the counter like she wants to be sure I can hear when she says, “He’s a good man.” Something about her tone tells me she’s acknowledging this for herself as well as for me. “A handsome man, too. Also, very single.” She winks and hops off the stool. “Anyway, do what you want with that unsolicited information.”
Gratitude fills me up. Francine might be completely overstepping, but it’s nice to feel like someone is on my side. I can’t help but smile long after Lincoln, Lucy, and Francine depart, floating around the establishment while tending to customers and ignoring Kyle’s amused glances.
When it’s closing time, I shut the blinds while Kyle sweeps, then he begins to mop while I count the till. We’re a well-oiled machine. All the while, a late-night news program blares from the flatscreen behind the bar. Usually I can tune out the noise and stay focused on the mission at hand, and I do a good job of that… until something the broadcaster says makes my head turn to face the screen.
A reporter is standing in the middle of the woods at Deep Creek Campground, her face filled with bewilderment as fireflies flash their synchronous lights all around her.
“And there you have it, folks,” she says. “Firefly season is at its peak. You won’t want to miss this natural phenomenon in action.” She points a finger sternly at the camera. “Remember the rules. You can look, but don’t touch.”
A chuckle comes from the other side of the bar where Kyle is removing his apron. “That’s right,” he mutters to no one in particular, “or the Firefly Man will come and getcha.” Then he locks eyes with me and flinches, like he forgot who was in the room. He offers me an apologetic smile. “See you tomorrow?”
Sometimes it blows my mind how my childhood playmates can speak of the Firefly Man like he’s still just a campfire tale when there’s an actual serial killer on the loose who has earned that name. He’s still out there, claiming victims throughout the Appalachians.
Then again, my peers hadn’t been close to Carley like me. And they weren’t the ones who had stumbled upon her dead body.
For a second, I almost forget to answer his question. Janessa’s party. My stomach knots in a way it hasn’t for years. Get ahold of yourself, Evie. I can go to the picnic area. I can stay for a short time to celebrate Armando. It’s not like I have to go anywhere near the campground.
Sucking in a slow, deep breath, I try to hide my anxiety behind a smile. “Of course. Tomorrow.”
Kyle nods and heads out the front door. “See ya, boss!”