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Chapter 11
Lincoln pushed his plate away and reached for his glass. The Mousehole was busy on Sunday evening, with music and chatter rising in a cacophony. Along with dinner, Sam and Jake had ordered a couple of beer flights, both of which were almost finished.
“He thought he was in disguise.” Sam reached for a pilsner, eyeing Jake with amusement. “As if Blaze Ripley could hide behind fake glasses and a hat.”
“Callie made me stop wearing the wig.” Jake dipped a French fry into a puddle of ketchup. “Good thing, too, because otherwise she might not have gone out with me.”
“Or she just took pity on you.” Sam snickered.
“Well, yeah. Being pathetic is underestimated, as you know.”
Both men grinned and clinked their glasses together.
“Hey, you want another?” Jake glanced at Lincoln’s almost-empty pint. “Did you try the porter?”
“Yeah. No.” Lincoln shook his head and refocused. “I don’t want another, thanks.”
He picked up his fork and ate another bite of steak. The noise of the tavern hadn’t drowned out the thoughts of Grace running incessantly through his head. Nothing had. He’d gone to sleep and woken up thinking about her—and not with his usual writer’s objectivity.
Worse, he also couldn’t get her lost cat out of his mind, which really made no freaking sense.
For over a week, I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and when I went back to the café, I found out no one had spoken for her yet. I figured that was a sign she was meant to be mine. I had no idea how attached I’d get to her in such a short time.
“Lincoln.”
He glanced up at his brother’s voice. Sam and Jake were looking at him as if waiting for an answer. “Uh, sorry. What?”
“I was just wondering if you had any specific places in mind when you were writing about Tom Dillon’s road trip.” Jake took a swallow of beer. “I’m scouting locations this summer, and it’d be great to visit the places you incorporated into the book. Especially if they had a certain symbolism.”
“I didn’t use specific places.”
“Really?”
Lincoln shook his head. At least, he didn’t think so. He’d practically been a kid when he’d writtenTruth. A kid who’d been privileged and encouraged his entire life. His professors and other authors had praised his work so highly that he hadn’t given a second thought to sitting down and writing a book about a Vietnam vet who hits the road in search of home.
No, Lincoln had been full of belief in himself. And while his arrogance had paid off, he’d never been able to explain why he wrote what he wrote. He didn’t know where it came from.
He didn’t care if other people analyzed his work, but he wasn’t going to do it. Especially when Grace’s assessment still echoed in the back of his mind.
No heart. It’s like he doesn’t know how to feel.
In just a few days, he’d figured out that Grace was all heart. She cared deeply about her students and her family. Hell, she seemed to care abouthim, even though he’d invaded her territory and upended all her careful plans. Her cat was a fool for running away from a woman like that.
Even if Grace wasn’t looking for a relationship, she’d be so damnedgoodat it. She was tough, sweet, smart, and giving. Her soft mouth tasted like cherries, and her body was a temptation that had almost snapped his control in half. He never lost control.
“…the diner,” Sam was saying.
“What?”
His brother frowned. “I said, you once told an interviewer that the diner where Dillon meets Lottie was based on the Square Diner in Tribeca. You wanted the same feel, but in the middle of Nebraska.”
“I don’t remember that.” Lincoln set his fork down. Wouldn’t surprise him if he’d made up something about his inspiration or process. Anything to avoid talking about himself.
“I wanted to get your thoughts about shooting the first part of the book here in Bliss Cove.” Jake ate another French fry. “Even though it’s by the ocean rather than a lake, I think it’s about the same size as Woodpine, and the economy is similar.”
“Yeah, sure.” Lincoln pushed his cuff up to check his watch. “Sorry, I should go. I’ve got a…thing to do tomorrow.”
He sensed Sam’s irritation from across the table, but he shoved his chair back and stood. As he reached into his pocket for his wallet, he touched the folded flyer Grace had given him. He pulled it out.
