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Lexie
“Lincoln?”
He stood in the same spot we’d left him ten minutes ago in the lobby of Mrs. Johnson’s building. Had he moved?
It was hard to tell, but he was so still, he could’ve been a statue. One of those that everyone stopped to admire.
Get a grip, Lexie.
I’d blame my inability to think straight on my hunger, which had taken an abrupt turn to if I don’t eat something soon, I’m going to be a grumpy pants.
“Are you ready?” He tilted his head as he looked at me, like he was attempting to decide something. It was anyone’s guess what that might be.
“Banana ate all his food in two seconds.” Eric held up two fingers for emphasis.
“If he hadn’t been so fast, I would’ve joined him.” My stomach made an embarrassing growl that echoed in the quiet lobby.
“Are you up for a short walk?”
“I have on a dress and heels. Strolling in Central Park isn’t exactly—”
“To a restaurant.”
Thank goodness Lincoln stopped my smart response. I really wanted to eat. And he made me uptight. Grumpy pants had already arrived.
“She’s only like this when she’s hungry. And around you.”
I put an arm around Eric’s shoulders and squeezed. “Thanks for keeping me in check, bow tie,” I said softly. “You’re buying.” I pointed at Lincoln, and instantly regretted more of my words.
I didn’t want him to think we were interested in him for his money. We weren’t interested in him. That was a bad choice of terms. Whatever we were doing . . . gah, we weren’t doing anything.
“Never mind. We’re buying.” I glanced between the front door I was familiar with and the elevator I’d never noticed before today. “How do we get there?”
Lincoln gestured toward the glass doors. I steered Eric in that direction. He put an arm around me too, and my short temper vanished. I could always count on him for the love and support I needed. Where would I be without him? I couldn’t do life without him and that was one of the reasons my nerves were still shot.
“Hi, baby doll. Daddy’s out of jail and needs to see you. Now.”
What did he want? Why did he have to call me? And how was I supposed to avoid letting this agony be visible?
He stopped so quickly I nearly tripped. “We haven’t finished the deliveries.”
“He’s right. We’ll have to wait until we’re done.” I hung my head and trudged back toward the elevator.
Wordlessly, Lincoln escorted us to the van. He took the keys from my fingers, unlocked it, and held open my door. My eyes stung.
No. No. No.
No crying. Not in front of him.
“Wait here.”
I couldn’t bother with a snarky response that I wouldn’t know how to leave if I wanted because he did something no one else had ever done.
Opened my car door.
It was a simple thing. Definitely not worthy of getting emotional over. But it was kind.
Why did Lincoln have to be the one to do something nice for me?
