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I’d even had a little thing for Kai way back when even though it was always painfully obvious he was all heart-eyes for my sister.
That said, the strongest of my little girlhood crushes might have been on Lincoln. Or, at least, the longest lived of them. Who could blame me? He was tall, fit without being too bulky, with an oddly sexy shaved head, perfect bone structure, that amazing skin thanks to his English mother and Jamaican father, and those dreamy brown eyes that had flecks of copper in them. He belonged on a movie or TV screen so everyone could get heart palpitations over him.
He was also just a good man. Personable, kind, open. He had a deep love and appreciation for women.
And, God, he smelled good.
As a whole, I hated ninety-nine percent of perfume and cologne. I liked natural scents. Essential oils used just right. I found that most scents people wore smelled overwhelmingly chemical to me. And that many people practically bathed in the stuff.
Somehow, though, Lincoln managed to find the one cologne that didn’t make me hold my breath when standing beside him. In fact, I often found myself wanting to lean in, take a deep breath, draw that scent in.
I had completely forgotten all about it.
So I was not prepared for him standing nearly shoulder-to-shoulder all smelling like that amazingness still.
Because, despite knowing that it was incredibly unlikely, it smelled like natural ingredients to me.
Woodsy, earthy.
Delicious.
“Are you going to lecture me about drinking coffee?” he asked, making me realize I had been staring at his hands while he got everything all together.
“What? No. Coffee actually has some health benefits too. Especially about preventing mental decline and such.”
“But you don’t drink it.”
“I don’t drink a lot of things,” I reminded him. As a whole, I avoided anything that was created in a lab. “But my system has never been able to handle caffeine. Even when I wanted it to in college when trying to stay up studying.”
“Just admiring my perfect hands then,” he said, making my head snap up, finding him smiling down at me. Friendly, open. “Alright, start talking, Gemma,” he demanded, pouring coffee, slipping in a little sugar, then turning to go over toward the seating area, pressing a hand into the small of my back to make me do so as well.
Tucking one leg under my body, I faced him, taking a sip and a breath to steady myself before speaking.
“Alright. Well, I started a new job about… eight months ago.”
“I’d say ‘Good for you,’ but I get the feeling this job has something to do with why you’re hiding out here.”
“You could say that,” I agreed.
“Where are you working?”
“Blairtown Chem.”
I waited for the expected reaction. The one all my family and friends had given me. The one my previous employers, professors, and my neighbors in my apartment building all gave me.
I wasn’t disappointed.
There was a long moment of a blank stare, like the words couldn’t quite sink in. Immediately following that, there were the pinched-together brows lowering over squinted eyes paired with the slight parting of the lips.
Yep.
That was the classic Gemma is working where?! look.
It was very familiar to me.
With good reason, if you knew me at all.
I was the person who spent her high school years begging her mom to stop buying chemical-laden all-purpose cleaners, room sprays, and laundry detergents. I would spend my weekends making my own concoctions out of vinegar and essential oils. I was using reusable grocery bags before it was a thing. I wore natural fabrics and ate organic. The girl I roomed with in an apartment through college used to complain because the entire balcony of our place was loaded with my personal garden of fresh veggies. And a blueberry bush.
I was someone that everyone else imagined would work in some up-and-coming ‘green’ company, some place that was thinking forward, reducing waste, working toward sustainability, and cutting down on toxins.
I was not supposed to work at a chemical company. As in a You need to wear gloves and hold your breath while using our products chemical company.
But that was where I worked.
Which was why the look currently on Lincoln’s face was so damn familiar to me.
“Blairtown Chem,” he repeated, shaking his head a little. “The place that makes weed killer and bug killer and, you know, shit that kills everything. That is where you are working? The woman who would shriek if one of us tried to kill a spider, getting up on the chair to catch it in a cup and relocate it. The woman who I once heard lecture someone for putting weed killer on the dandelions growing in their front yard.”
“I didn’t lecture him,” I objected, taking a sip of my tea.
“Sweetheart, I was there. You lectured. I felt secondhand-chastised.”
“Well… dandelions aren’t a weed,” I defended myself. “They’re vital to the survival of bees. And they are bunny food. And they make a fantastic tea that is great for digestion and reducing inflammation and…”
