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Chapter 25
“Any idea when you’ll be done?” Lincoln handed Grace a lunch bag packed with a sandwich, fruit, crackers, and dessert. He’d gotten accustomed to making breakfast and lunch in her little kitchen, though he didn’t relish the idea of hanging around her house alone for an entire Saturday.
“Early evening, most likely.” She slipped her phone into her book bag, her bright hair falling across her cheek. “The kids are coming in two groups to work on scenes, then I’m going to help the backstage crew finish up the sets. I’ll text you when we’re close to being done.”
“I’m going to miss you.” He reached out to push the strands of hair away from her face. “I don’t appreciate old Will taking you away from me for an entire day.”
She smiled and patted his chest. “‘Parting is such sweet sorrow.’”
“‘Come what sorrow can,’” he brushed his fingers across her cheek, “‘it cannot countervail the exchange of joy that one short minute gives me in her sight.’”
“Oh my.” Grace stared at him, her hand going to her heart. “Keep going, Mr. Atwood, and I might abandon my students to stay here with you.”
“Much as I’d like to flatter myself by believing that, I know you won’t.” He rested his hand on the side of her neck. “But you can make it up to me tonight.”
“Noted.” She stood on tiptoe to give him a quick peck. “But I really have to go so I can start looking forward to thefuss.”
He moved away from her, his mind already on thoughts of unfastening the buttons on her sweater—it was insane how much he loved doing that—and then peeling her shirt away from her luscious body.
Later.
Picking up her book bag and a box filled with extra supplies, he walked with her out to her car.
After setting her stuff in the backseat, he tugged her closer for a deeper, proper kiss. As always, the sweet crush of her body and mouth against his sparked a wave of desire. He flexed his hands on her hips and reluctantly let her go.
“Call me if you need anything.” He kissed her nose for good measure.
“I will.” She flashed him a smile and got into the car. “Have a good day.”
“You too.” He stepped back toward the house. “Love you.”
They both froze. His heart crashed against his ribs.
What the—
Grace opened and closed her mouth. Heat crawled up Lincoln’s neck. He never spoke without thinking. He never said—
“Uh, I didn’t mean…that wasn’t…wasn’t what it…sounded like.” He wanted to kick himself.
Grace blinked and slowly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “No, of…of course not.”
Her cheeks were pink. Even from a distance, he saw her hand trembling.
He swallowed past the heat filling his throat and backed up another few steps.
“Okay, well, drive safely.” He almost couldn’t hear his own voice past the pounding of his heart.
“Okay. Bye.”
Instead of risking another blunder, he lifted a hand as she pulled out of the driveway. He watched her car until it disappeared around the corner.
Had he ever said those words before? He’d never heard them as a child—his parents hadn’t expressed love either to each other or to him and his brother. Maybe he’d exchanged anI love youwith a woman before, but never before had it slipped out so effortlessly, as if the words had just come right from his heart. Easy as rolling a bright, smooth marble.
Had he been wrong? Was it that simple—could his wild tangle of feelings for Grace be distilled into the wordlove? If so, what the hell was he going to do about it?
Maybe he just had too many sonnets and love poems crammed into his head. Grace had been right about his writing—his characters dealt with battles and solo journeys. Man against nature. Heroism. Mortality. Survival. But for the past month, he’d been immersed in lyrical metaphors about love. Hot hearts, binding souls, “you are my world” and all that.
Maybe that was why he’d spoken so carelessly, offhandedly.So easily.
