She sat up, picking her phone up for what felt like the hundredth time that day, wondering if she should return Lincoln’s call. She could just ask him, she knew. She could ask if what she’d thought she’d felt was real, or if it had just been a product of the manufactured night.
But what good was knowing that right now? If Lincoln said that ithadbeen real, that opened up a whole new dialogue of what that meant for them… of what they might want it to mean. And if he said no, that he also knew he’d been manipulated and it had been nothing more than wanting to not disappoint the people invested in rekindling their romance, she knew she’d feel… something.
Not heartbreak, exactly. That felt like too big of a word for it… but disappointment, maybe. Something a little stronger than that. Trying to parse it out felt like too much, and facing it, if it was really true, woulddefinitelybe too much when she had one of the biggest days of her life coming up tomorrow.
She needed to focus on the photoshoot. She needed a good night’s sleep, to feel prepared and bright and ready to wowSweet Confections. She wasn’t going to get another opportunity like this, and she’d worked so hard on the centerpiece sculpture, on all of the chocolates for the spread, on thinking about what she’d say for the interview. She’d gone this long without letting romance get in the way of things she needed to focus on, and now wasn’t the time to change that.
She finally settled on a pair of perfectly-fitting dark jeans, riding-style boots, a rust-orange sweater and a burgundy blazer that she could take off or put on depending on how the shoot felt. She’d curl her hair in the morning and do her makeup, and the outfit would fit the rustic vibe of the town without looking too overly ‘holiday’, since the feature wouldn’t print until later on. She’d already wondered if the North Pole display was too on-the-nose Christmasy, but her shop thrived in the holidays, and it had felt right. She hoped the magazine felt the same way.
As she hung up her rejected options and got ready for bed, she told herself that a good night’s sleep would fix everything. Whatever was going on with Lincoln would still be there after the photoshoot. Dealing with the fact that Mabel and Vanessa had orchestrated everything could wait too. She would focus on one thing at a time, as she always did, and everything would be all right.
But as she lay in bed an hour later, looking at the reflection of the Christmas lights from outside, she had a feeling she wasn’t going to be able to get a wink of sleep… for more than one reason.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lincoln stood outside the door to Artisan Chocolates, wondering if he was being a complete idiot.
He knew it was the day of Imogen’s shoot for the magazine. He didn’t want to distract her—he knew how important it was to her. He knew how hard she’d been working on the sculpture, how much of a difference the feature could make for her business. It was a huge opportunity, and he didn’t want to do anything that might hurt her chances of it being perfect.
But he also hadn’t slept at all the night before, and he couldn’t think of anything that morning other than getting to the bottom of why Imogen seemed to be pushing him away. He’d hoped that he’d wake up to a text from her telling him that it was fine, that she was just really busy and she’d talk to him later.
There had been nothing, though. And on the way to the rink, he’d found himself driving in the direction of her shop instead, unable to stop himself from following through on what he knew was a bad idea.
Just go in and say hi,he told himself.Wish her luck on the shoot today.He’d leave after that, and her mood would at least give him some clarity on what was going on.
The bell over the door chimed as he entered, and Lincoln was immediately struck by how different the shop looked today. Where normally the shop would be full of customers, today the space had been completely transformed. There were displays of chocolates arranged on top of the counters, the hot chocolate station was pristine and had several mugs sitting out ready to be filled, topped, and photographed, and there was camera equipment everywhere. In the center of it all was the sculpture that Imogen had been working on for so long, and the sight of it made Lincoln stare for several long moments.
It was an impressive recreation of Santa’s workshop, all in chocolate. Everything from the workshop itself, to the presents in the waiting sleigh, the elves bringing them out, the reindeer harnessed and waiting to fly, the trees and snow and lights, even a train in the background… it was all rendered in chocolate, so delicate and fine and highly detailed he couldn’t believe it was possible.
He’d always believed Imogen was talented, but this was something else. He’d never seen anything like it.
And then he saw Imogen step out of the back room, and his breath caught in his throat.
He’d never not thought she was beautiful, but she looked gorgeous dressed up for the shoot, he thought as he looked at her. Her chestnut hair was out of its usual ponytail and curling around her shoulders, she’d done her makeup, and she was wearing dark jeans, a rust-colored sweater and a cranberry blazer that set off her hair and skin perfectly. He’d thought he’d had some idea of what he was going to say, but everything fled as he looked at her, feeling completely dumbfounded. She was still the girl he’d fallen for fifteen years ago, and someone else entirely, all at once. He was frozen, everything sensible he could have said deserting him.
“Lincoln?” She sounded flustered, he realized, when she said his name. “Is something wrong? I didn’t expect to see you here.”
He felt his cheeks heat as he realized how he must look, showing up on the day of her shoot out of nowhere after she hadn’t responded to him.
“I…” he started, then cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to catch you off guard. You just… you look lovely. Really lovely.”
The compliment seemed to fluster Imogen even more, and Lincoln watched as her cheeks flushed, somehow making her seem even more beautiful. He wasn’t sure how that was possible.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice slightly strained. “I, um, I wanted to look professional for the photographs.”
“You look perfect,” Lincoln said, then felt the heat in his face extend to his ears as he realized how that sounded. “I?—”
They stood looking at each other for several long seconds. Lincoln cleared his throat.
“I should probably…” Imogen gestured vaguely toward the workspace behind her, where one of the photographers was adjusting the lights.
“Yeah, of course.” Lincoln swallowed hard. “I just wanted to stop by and see… well, see how you were. I haven’t seen you for a while.”
Imogen’s eyebrows rose. “We saw each other a day ago,” she said with a small laugh. “It hasn’t been that long.”
“Right,” he said, feeling foolish. “One day. I guess it just feels longer because…” he trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence without revealing how much their sleigh ride had affected him.
Imogen looked at him curiously, and he had a feeling he’d completely messed up the conversation before it had even really begun.
