Page 36 of Falling for Her

After five minutes of her not answering me, I put the phone on the bedside table, turn off my light, and drift off.

CHAPTER TWELVE

FINLEY

The throbbing wakes me up, and when I open my eyes, I look down at my hand. Every single time my heart beats, I feel it in my palm. I bend my fingers slowly and wince at the tight sensation. I flip the covers off me and head to the bathroom before grabbing two more pills and getting back in bed. I lie on my side for a couple of minutes, trying to get comfortable so I can catch some more sleep before I have to get up.

I don’t even know how long I’m lying awake before I finally just give up and reach over for my phone. It’s just a little after 6:15 a.m. “Might as well just get up now and start the day.”

I get back up, stretch, fix the covers, then head to the little kitchen. I pull open the fridge, grab the milk, then walk over to the milk frother I ordered. I’m glad I got it. It was waiting for me when I got here yesterday after the hospital, and my new coffee maker was set up before dinner last night. I was so exhausted after all the excitement of the day, I had two pieces of peanut butter toast and crashed, the adrenaline from the day finally letting go. I pour the milk to the max line, and while it heats up and spins, I make my coffee. As the aroma of coffee floats through the small place, I close my eyes, waiting for the milk to be done. When the red light turns off, I pour it into my coffee mug, the liquid coming first and then the thick foam at the end.

“If that doesn’t look like the best coffee I’ve ever seen,” I gloat, placing the frother in the sink and putting water in it, “I don’t know what is.” I grab a spoon, stir, and take a sip. “Mmmm.”

Phone in one hand and coffee in the other, I open the door. The warm air engulfs me, and the birds’ singing fills the morning. I sit on the step, early sun pleasantly warm on my bare legs. I’m about to check my email on my phone when I hear the back door sliding open.

Lincoln steps out wearing gym shorts and nothing else. His hair is sticking up all over the place. My eyes roam down to his sculpted chest, then the light dusting of hair that spans his lower belly, disappearing behind his waistband. He notices me, and I have just enough time for my eyes to go back up. I’m thankful he didn’t catch me checking him out. How fucking awkward would that have been?

“Morning.” He seems surprised that I’m sitting outside. I notice his eyes move from my eyes to my legs. I should have changed before I walked out here. My nipples tighten, and I look down, thankful this tank top has a built-in bra. The matching loose linen shorts have a little ruffle at the hem.

“Morning,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee, not knowing if I should stay outside or retreat inside. It takes me less than a second to remind myself that I have every right to be outside.

“How you feeling?” he asks me.

“I just took two more pills, so I should be feeling better in no time.”

“Do you want to come up here and have coffee?”

I get up off the stoop and join him on the deck, pulling out the chair in front of him. “Did you guys end up going to the tree house?”

He nods. “We did. And about the girl rule⁠—”

I hold up my hand. “It’s okay, I get it. My place”—I point to the garage—“is a girls-only space, so it works out.”

He laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Noted.” He extends his legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankle. “Everything working okay?”

“It is. It feels very homey.”

“Do you miss home?”

I shrug. “Some parts of me, yes,” I admit. “Other parts, not so much. I guess it’s a good thing to get away.”

“Why is that?” he asks, and I take a deep breath.

“I’m in the middle of getting a divorce.” I watch his face to see if he knows. His eyebrows go up a touch.

“Why are you getting divorced?”

The pit of my stomach tightens. “I wasn’t enough for him.” I don’t feel sad about it. Strange that I don’t even miss the man I thought he was when I married him. But I hate myself for not seeing all the red flags sooner. “Apparently, it’s okay to be with other people as long as I was the one he was coming home to.”

“He said that?” He looks at me, and I nod. He snorts before looking ahead again and taking a sip of his coffee. “What a fucking idiot.”

“Why did you get divorced?” I ask him, without skipping a beat.

“According to her, I was married to my job.”

“Were you?”

“I worked long hours, but I was trying to move my way up in the force.”