Chapter 40 #2
Linc suggests we go to the local market to get some groceries. I’m about to tease him because I figured he’d have them delivered or already have the pantry stocked, but I have second thoughts.
For one, he drove us here in a slick European sports car, but still. In Chicago, he usually has a driver, food delivery, and everything else seems to appear with a snap of his fingers.
But maybe being up here at the “cabin” gave him and his mom a chance to be “normal,” to have a break from the trappings of their wealth and do everyday things like grocery shop.
We take a short jaunt to “The Fox Lake Market,” where I stock up on essentials like ice cream and popsicles, and he picks out sensible items like cold cuts and fruit.
As we round a corner past a pink and yellow lemonade display, I discover my new favorite thing is Linc pushing a shopping cart.
It’s unexpectedly attractive. Criminally handsome.
I send Oly another no-context photo. It’s of him, taken from behind while in the dairy aisle.
She immediately replies with a no-context caption.
Oly: The setting of a rom-com meet-cute.
Oly: Also, where are you?
I risk walking into a pyramid of canned corn, so I hold off on replying. But then my phone pings again.
Oly: Oh, wait. That’s Linc. Let me try again.
Oly: This is the start of a legend-dairy love story!
Oly: Solid contender for the Hot Guy Grocery Store Calendar.
Oly: You’d butter believe, he’s eye-catching.
Oly: My personal favorite: They need to lower the temperature in those dairy cases, otherwise all the butter is going to melt.
I giggle. Linc looks at me over his shoulder. Although I know Oly is joking about love stories, what if?
He asks, “What’s so funny?”
“Oly thinks she’s a meme-edian.”
“Define that word.”
“Like meme plus comedian,” I tell him about our no-context photo game and, no surprise, he wants to see what I sent her.
When I resist, he gets suspicious, playfully so, but I can’t let him see her texts.
“Come on,” he says, stepping closer. “How bad could it be?”
I clutch my phone tighter against my chest. “It’s not bad, it’s just—”
“Just what?” He’s enjoying this, eyes dancing with mischief. “Did you catch me picking my nose or something?”
“No!” I laugh despite myself.
“Then what’s the big deal?”
He grabs for my phone and I twist away, nearly stumbling into the sunblock products display.
“It’s silly,” I mumble, heat creeping up my neck. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“Try me.” His voice goes softer, more curious than teasing now. “I want in on your weird photo game.”
I bite my lip, glancing at the screen. There he is, completely unaware, one hand on the cart handle, the other reaching for something on the shelf. His shoulders are broad, strong, and masculine.
“You just looked …” I start, then catch myself.
“I looked what?”
Like someone I could follow through grocery stores for the rest of my life.
“You looked very focused on the yogurt cups,” I finish weakly.
He stares at me for a long moment. “You took a picture of me buying dairy?”
His tone—not mocking, just genuinely surprised—makes it worse somehow. Like he can’t imagine why anyone would find him worth photographing in such an ordinary moment.
“Forget it,” I say quickly, starting to put my phone away.
But his hand covers mine, gentle but insistent. “Hey. Let me see.”
I open the photo so he can’t see Oly’s texts.
“Is that what I look like from the back?” He tucks his chin.
“That’s your takeaway?”
Eyes flirty, he says, “I could not care less about what I look like.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I’m far more interested in what the person taking that photo sees.”
His eyes sweep mine and my breath catches, and then he pecks me on the forehead.
I melt right there on the worn linoleum floor. Clean up needed in the dairy aisle!
After a brief tour of the town, we return to the cabin, and I make us a snack plate—my specialty.
Linc seems somewhat impressed … or he was hungry. I can’t be sure.
I browse the bookshelves and reach a section with what looks like journals.
He says, “My mother kept a journal for her whole life.” He pulls a leather-bound book from a drawer. “This is the most recent. You can read them if you want. She wrote about everything—her thoughts, her dreams, her frustrations.”
“That feels intrusive.”
“She would have liked you. She would have wanted you to know her.” He lets out a small breath. “I want you to know her.”
My pulse snags. If I’m not careful, this man is going to break my heart.
Later, while Linc naps on the porch, I curl up in his mother’s reading chair and open the journal. Marie’s handwriting is elegant and her words paint a picture of a woman deeply in love with a man who was always somewhere else.
Frank missed Linc’s birthday again. I know the Borgstrom deal is important, but sometimes I wonder if he’s so busy building his empire, he even remembers he has a family. Linc asked why Daddy wasn’t here to watch him blow out the candles. I didn’t know what to say.
Linc came home from school with a black eye today. He won’t tell me what happened, but I suspect it has something to do with Frank’s name being in the papers again. I wish we could just be a normal family.
Frank called from London. He’ll miss our anniversary dinner, but he’s sending flowers. As if roses can take the place of the man I married. Sometimes I feel like I’m raising our son alone.
By the time I close the journal, liquid fills my eyes. This beautiful, loving woman spent years waiting for crumbs of affection from a man too consumed with success to notice what he was losing.
It breaks my heart and a sudden fear strikes me. What if his son is the same? A tear escapes before I can catch it.