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His brows draw low in confusion. “What were you pretending?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Everything. I was pretending I knew what I was doing. Pretending my family wasn't poor. Pretending I didn't want tobeone of the popular kids. Pretending I wasn’t envious of them. At least a little, anyway.” I pause to consider my words. “I think most people go through life pretending,” I say, my voice softer than before. “No one wants to admit they feel lost."
"Do you still feel lost?" Linc asks, turning to look at me.
I smile at him. "Sometimes. Less so, these days."
"What about tonight?"
"If I'm lost right now, I'm happy to stay that way for a little while longer."
"Me too,” he says before leaning down to kiss me lightly on the lips.
I want the kiss to last longer. I want to wrap my arms around him and never let him go now that I have him.Whoa. Slow down.Where did that thought come from? It’s our first date, for crying out loud. I can’t think in those terms right now. I don’t even know where we stand. I break the kiss and put a little space between us, taking his hand again as I start walking. I’m not sure if Linc senses that I’m trying to slow things down or not, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. Instead, he keeps the conversation going, asking me about my time after high school. I tell him how I’d opted to go to school for cosmetology after a semester at college showed me all the things I didn’t want to do.
“I got a paid internship at a big fashion magazine based in Atlanta. Granted, it didn’t pay great. But it was enough to afford a meager lifestyle filled with all the Top Ramen I could eat.”
He laughs, as I’d hoped.
“I got to do hair and makeup for a lot of glamorous models. It was stressful, but a lot of fun. Looking back, I don’t know how I didn’t get an ulcer from all the stress.” I laugh. “I had plans to be some super model's personal stylist, move to New York and be ultra glam.” I smile at the silly notions my younger self once had. “That obviously didn’t work out. I did score a lot of great clothes, though.”
Linc looks at me, full of curiosity. Even though I know what he’s going to ask next, part of me wishes he wouldn’t. I don’t want to spoil this amazing night by talking about the dark times in my life. But I won’t hide it from him either. So, I take a fortifying breath and wait.
As I’d predicted, he asks, “What made you move back?”
I clear my throat and say the words. “My mom got sick.” I can hear the shift in my tone immediately. I know he can, too. This is the version of me that sticks to the facts and uses dark humor to deflect from the real feelings. I hate it, but I can’t seem to stop doing it.
“In true Maggie fashion,” I say, “she waited until the bitter end to admit to anyone that she needed help. She didn't even tell me she was sick until her second round of chemo." I shake my head and suck in a ragged breath.
"I so wanted to be pissed at her,” I whisper, my voice threatening to break despite my best efforts. “But I came home, and I could see how sick she was. How bad things were."
We stop walking. I can feel Linc’s hand tighten on my own, but I don’t dare look at him. I can’t. I’ve told this story to only a few people over the years and it never gets easier. I don’t know why I’m telling it now; except I don’t want to hide things from him. Even the dark things.
“But I couldn't be mad at her. There was no use. It wouldn’t change anything. So, I just got to work. On the house. The bills. Taking care of her. Whatever needed doing. But it was too late by then. For my mom and for the house. She'd taken out an extra mortgage to pay for her medical bills. But when she couldn't work anymore, that money went fast. So, it was either sell the house or sell my body.”
I laugh, hoping he'll join in, but he stays silent. I risk a glance up at him and see the sadness in his eyes. I shake my head immediately.
“Don't,” I say. “I've cried enough over that part of my life. I won't have you make me cry tonight. Not when this date has been so perfect.”
When he doesn’t smile, I glare at him. “I'm serious. Smile. Or else.”
Linc finally gives me a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Then he reaches over and tucks a wayward strand of hair behind my ear.
"Only because you said so." He doesn’t sound quite like his normal self, but I don’t comment on it.
Despite the smile he just gave me, I still feel dangerously close to tears. I grip the front of his shirt and lean forward to rest my forehead on his muscled chest. Linc doesn’t say anything. He just brings his hands up to my shoulders and holds me against him, his thumbs stroking my upper arms gently and his chin resting on my head. It takes me several shaky breaths before I can trust myself enough to look up at him without tears in my eyes.
"Thank you,” I whisper, grateful that he seems to understand what I need without me even knowing.
When Linc smiles at me this time, it reaches his eyes. "When are you going to realize I'd do anything to see you smile?"
My heart squeezes almost painfully in my chest and I have to fight the urge to throw my arms around him. Instead, I smile up at him just before he leans in to kiss me. It’s a sweet kiss, gentle. It’s the kind of kiss you might expect for a first date. In other words, perfect. When the kiss ends, we turn silently and make our way back to Linc’s truck, his hand still holding mine.
We’re both quiet as Linc turns the truck back toward Peach Tree. The silence isn’t an uncomfortable one, though. I’m thinking over the events of the night and how amazing everything was, even with the way it ended. Normally if things get too quiet on a date, I rush to fill the silence, worried that his lack of conversation means he isn’t interested. But it’s not like that with Linc. He’s a silent sort of guy. Except in the bedroom. My face warms as memories of last night flow through my mind again.
Linc reaches over and takes my hand in his, threading his fingers through mine as he drives with one hand. I smile at the sight of our joined hands resting on the center console. I love how big he is compared to me. He’s taller than me. Stronger. Larger in every way. And yet, I know he’d never hurt me. I’ve never felt safer than I did last night in his arms. I can’t explain why; not even in my own head. But it doesn’t matter.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
