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Lincoln grunts, still looking unconvinced by my story, but he doesn’t push it. “Well, it’s cool that you get Friday afternoons off anyway.” I redden even more but don’t correct him. “How do you like working at the cake shop?”
Relieved by the change of subject, I hurry to answer him. “Oh, I love it! I love being creative with the cakes and getting to make cool designs for people. The best part is seeing their faces when they come to collect their cake. Something about it just brings out a kind of childish excitement in people when they see a cake that looks just like a football or a burger or something. And Emily is so great to work with! We’ve become really close—she owns the shop and she runs Sweet Tooth Bakery as well. It’s such a fun place to work—”
My voice falters slightly as my thoughts stray to Jake. Instantly, my mood dampens, and Lincoln frowns.
“Is there something you don’t like about it?” he asks.
I swallow hard, trying not to think about Jake’s words. His disgusting forty-dollar bet. I can’t let him set me back on the road to loving myself. I can’t let his words feed the mean little voice in my head: the voice that says I’m ugly and unworthy of love. I’ve been working so hard to silence that voice, and I’ve been making good progress. But Jake’s words are poking holes in my confidence. I’m a big girl and I always have been, and I’m working so hard on accepting my curves and my body, but it’s not easy when people like Jake exist, always ready to tear you down and make you feel bad. I don’t want to put my self-worth in the hands of some jerk I work with, a guy I barely even know, but forgetting what he said is easier said than done. It makes me wonder if everybody is secretly thinking ugly thoughts about me. Thoughts they won’t say to my face but will laugh about with their friends instead. I can still hear those boys calling my name all those years ago, chanting at me: Daisy Donut. Daisy Donut.
“Daisy?” Lincoln says, his deep voice pulling me from my memories. “Hey, are you okay?”
I’m horrified when I feel tears welling up in my eyes, and I blink them away, pushing down my emotions.
“Yeah! Fine,” I say brightly. “Sorry, just a little twinge from my ankle. Um, anyway, that’s enough about my job. What about you? How do you like working for the Marion Retreat?”
Lincoln is still frowning like he’s not sure whether to believe me, but eventually, he says, “Yeah. It’s good. Rewarding. It feels like I’m doing something my mom would be proud of.”
I smile. “She would definitely be proud of you and Nash for running that place.”
Lincoln sighs. “Honestly, it’s all down to Nash and his wife. They’re the ones who had the idea and got the place up and running.”
“It must be great to see Nash again after so long,” I say tentatively. I know that Lincoln fell out with his brother after their mom’s death over ten years ago. Brett told me about it. Apparently, when their mom got sick, Nash couldn’t handle it. He was CEO of the family business at the time, and he just pretended it wasn’t happening, leaving it to Lincoln to take care of their mom. Lincoln did everything for her right up until her death, and he immediately cut Nash off after the funeral. They’ve put the past behind them now, and Brett says they’re closer than ever, but I figure it could still be a sensitive topic.
“Yeah, it’s great to have Nash back in my life,” Lincoln says, nodding. “Honestly I…I regret how I handled everything back then.” He sighs. “I never really talk about it, but even though Nash is the one who apologized and reached out, I feel like I made mistakes too.”
I consider this for a moment. “I think you had every right to be upset, Lincoln. I remember when your mom got sick. You were so good to her, and it’s totally natural that you resented Nash for not being there when you needed him.”
Lincoln shrugs. “Yeah, what Nash did was shitty. And I know he’s really sorry for it. But what I did afterward, cutting him off, running away to join the military, leaving him in that big empty house all by himself to deal with the aftermath…well, I think that was pretty shitty too. I was mad at Nash. Hell, I really thought I hated him for a while there. But I always knew deep down that he wasn’t a bad person. He messed up badly, and he should have done better, but I guess he just didn’t know how to deal with losing somebody he loved. I don’t think he deserved all those years of misery…” Lincoln tapers off, looking wistfully into the fireplace until he shakes himself. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m talking about all this shit. It’s over now. We’re good. And Nash did an awesome thing when he turned our old home into the Marion Retreat. He’s made up for his mistakes tenfold. I guess I just don’t feel like I’ve made up for mine.”
“Sure you have,” I tell him. “You do great work for the Marion Retreat. And you did great work for your mom too when she needed you. There’s nothing to make up for, Linc.” Instinctively, I reach out to grab his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before I pull away.
Linc looks at me, nodding slightly. “Thanks, Daisy. I appreciate it.” He smiles. “Hey, when did you get so wise anyway?”
I laugh. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get too cocky. Remember, I know all about your crush on Mr. Lopez.”
My laughter falters and I frown at him. “Mr. Lopez? My math teacher?”
Lincoln nods, smirking at me. “You don’t remember? He was the love of your life when you were a kid. The guy was about seventy-five.”
“I didn’t have a crush on Mr. Lopez!” I say incredulously. “What the heck are you talking about?”
Lincoln raises an eyebrow. “You were always doodling hearts with L’s in, remember? All over your homework, in books, on little notes. Brett teased you like hell for it until you finally caved and told him you had a crush on Mr. Lopez. He was laughing like a maniac when he told me.”
Lincoln chuckles at the memory, and I feel my heart start to thump. I vaguely remember what he’s talking about. I was so obsessed with Lincoln that I would doodle L’s all over the place as a kid, and when Brett caught me doing it, I panicked. I obviously couldn’t admit it was Lincoln, but instead of being smart and pretending it was one of the kids in my grade like Lucas or Leo, my dumbass said the L was for Mr. Lopez, my cranky old math teacher.
“It wasn’t for Mr. Lopez,” I say, looking down at my lap. “I just said that to get Brett off my back.”
Lincoln’s smile wavers. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. The L in question was just as cranky as Mr. Lopez though. Probably even crankier.”
Understanding dawns on Lincoln’s face and he raises his eyebrows. “Me?”
I nod and groan, covering my face.
Oh God, why did I admit that?
