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“Yes,” I said quickly, buckling my seatbelt and tapping my feet on the floor for emphasis as Lincoln closed the door.
The door closed and I let out a slow breath, willing my pulse to slow down. It was like trying to corral a wild pony. Hell, it was a wild pony, galloping across the landscape fast enough to take flight.
Moments later, we were driving. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Coffee and a donut?”
“Only if you’re going,” I said quickly.
“That’s a given. But I’d like to point out that even if I didn’t want coffee and a donut, which, I do, I would happily take you.”
“I know, but—”
Lincoln slid his gaze to mine. “Do you want coffee and a donut, Chloe?”
“Yes!” I burst out.
He huffed out a quiet laugh and turned his attention back to the road. I didn’t know why every conversation with Lincoln felt either completely out of control or stilted. I pressed my lips together, endeavoring to stay quiet for the rest of the drive.
“How’s your dad?” Lincoln asked.
“Good. He can’t wait to go fishing when it’s time.”
“I’m sure. We’ve already planned several trips for him.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
Lincoln slid his gaze to mine again, one inky brow rising. “We want to, Chloe. We like your dad. He’s a nice guy, and he loves fishing. So shut up about it.”
“You just told me to shut up,” I sputtered.
“I’d do it again.”
“You shut up,” I shot back.
He burst out laughing. Another moment to hold close. My hormones were predictably thrilled. Which was a real problem.
Blessedly, getting from my dad’s place to Firehouse Café was a very short drive. I was relieved to walk in a few moments later, happily inhaling the scent of baked goods, fresh coffee, and warmth.
My friend Casey was behind the counter and glanced up, a smile stretching across her face. “Good morning,” she called in a singsong voice. As Lincoln and I approached the counter together, she glanced between us. “Are you two dating?”
“He’s giving me a ride,” I rushed to explain.
“Wow. We’re not dating, but that seemed really important for you to clarify,” Lincoln said dryly.
My cheeks felt like they were on fire, about to melt off my face in real time. I glared at him, and Casey pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Coffee? Donuts?”
“Yes, please.”
“Your usual?” she asked, her question addressing both of us.
“Yes.”
“What’s your usual?” Lincoln asked.
“She likes a triple shot Americano. This girl does not mess around with her caffeine, but you like the same thing,” Casey said.
“Smart,” was all Lincoln offered.
“And what are we doing for donuts today?”
