It was the next step, and a natural progression in their relationship. But he didn’t do this all the time. He’d done this once, maybe twice before, and each time, it sent a pang of fear through his entire body. Amelia had hated his previous girlfriend, for no reason other than, “her vibe was off.”
He’d lasted six months with her before things petered out. He hadn’t cared much back then, but his relationship with Cleo was different. His stomach churned. What if Mia disliked Cleo too?
“Linc tells me you write books, Cleo. What genre?”
Cleo’s brows raised and her eyes widened. “He did?”
The server came to take their entrée order and clear the appetizer plates. Linc ordered a gyro, Cleo the lamb shank, and Amelia the souvlaki.
“He did.” Mia sipped her iced tea. “Was he not supposed to?” She gasped as her hand flew to her mouth. “Are they…?” She checked over each shoulder twice before continuing. “Do you write…erotica?”
Cleo half-laughed, half-snorted into her glass of iced water with lemon. “What? No!” She lowered her voice when she spoke again. “They’re just contemporary romance short stories. I mean… there’s steam, but they’re not smutty. Not that I don’t like smut.”
Amelia was beaming. “Then can I read some of your stories?”
“What? Why? No!”
Mia laughed. “Girl, what the hell is in these stories making you all prickly? Okay, we’ll let whatever impostor syndrome that’s working on you linger for a while, and when it takes a nap, then you can show me your stories, deal?”
“They’re really not that good.”
“Isn’t that for the reader to decide?”
Cleo opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again, but before she could speak, the server placed her lamb shank on the table in front of her.
Linc fought a smile. Amelia one, Cleo zero. Mia was nothing if not persistent. Perhaps hearing someone who wasn’t Linc smack down her fears might help Cleo realize her potential.
“Don’t terrify my girlfriend, Amelia.” Linc hoped his tone conveyed caution. While Cleo could hold her own, Amelia could be overbearing and unrelenting until she got her own way. He gave Cleo’s knee a squeeze under the table and was rewarded with a small smile.
“It’s okay.” Cleo sliced off a piece of lamb and speared it with her fork. “I didn’t think you talked about me to your family is all. It’s… new for me. Truthfully, it’s kind of nice that you’re both interested in my hobby. My mom… well, she’s not the biggest fan of it to be honest. I just find it hard to believe someone wants to see my words.” She gave a shrug.
As Amelia cut up her pork, she shook her head. “That must be so hard. I forget how easy we have it with our folks sometimes. They’re super supportive. Right Linc?”
His mouth dried up at her question. “Mhmm.” He nodded, slowing his chewing so he had an excuse not to say anything in reply.
“Sissy played the flute for years.” Amelia gestured with her fork between bites. “They thought she was going to go to college for music to be a performer, or a teacher. None of us could believe it when she picked medicine. She traded her flute in for a scalpel, and they were totally cool about it. They don’t care that I’m not going to college, do they, Linc?”
He finished chewing another mouthful of gyro and swallowed hard. She was right, they didn’t care she wasn’t going to college. They didn’t care that his older sister almost dropped out after her first year because she’d partied so hard she missed so much class and her grades sucked. But with him… with him they cared.
“Do you think they’d be supportive of your art, Linc?” Cleo wasn’t looking at him when she said it. He’d told her his parents didn’t know about his art, but he hadn’t mentioned his sisters, had he? Tendrils of cold dread curled around his stomach, threatening to bring up the gyro he was forcing himself to eat.
“What art?”
Cleo’s head snapped up, the color from her face draining away as her eyes darted between Amelia and Lincoln. “I…” Her eyes widened.
While he wasn’t angry at her for her slip of the tongue, his stomach churned. What would she say?
“Linc?”
He lifted his gaze to meet Mia’s. Tilting her head, her brows knotted together in a questioning frown, and her lips were pursed. “It’s nothing.”
“From the looks of your girlfriend’s ‘I fucked up’ face, it’s most definitely something. Have you taken up photography or something?”
“Lincoln…” Cleo’s voice was a whisper. Her jaw trembled, and her hazel eyes were red rimmed as though tears threatened. “I’m so sorry.”
He took her hand and slipped his palm against hers. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze, running his thumb along her knuckles. “Shh. It’s okay. It’s no big deal.”
He turned to Amelia again. “I draw, Mia. Paint, pastels, sketching with charcoal and yeah, sometimes I take photos too.” He swallowed as she processed.
