Page 82 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

NASH

When Lincoln said he wanted to get ice cream, I assumed an ice cream cone or maybe just a scoop of something. No, this man went all out with a whole goddamn banana split and then some. Me? I ate chocolate ice cream with coconut flakes, mostly for the look he gave me when I put it together.

“You know, just because that thing has a banana,” I began through a mouthful of ice cream, “doesn’t mean it’s healthy.”

“Shut up,” he shot back. “That banana makes it healthy, just like the coconut makes yours healthy. End of story.”

“Mine’s missing something—”

“Stop that!” Lincoln exclaimed in a hushed voice, smiling widely. I returned the affection to the best of my ability. It was bittersweet to sit there and tease him.

You know it’s the right thing, the voice commented.

It was quieter than usual, giving me a rare moment to enjoy my time with Lincoln. To make it a good memory and something for him to fall back on.

“Did you enjoy tonight?” I asked.

“I did, and we didn’t die in a fiery death from a hazardous candle display,” he said. I arched a brow.

“That was a fucking mouthful, baby.”

“Admittedly, I thought it’d be a good idea for a date night—”

“I liked the music,” I interjected.

“I did too, but I’m beginning to wonder about the legality of such an event, especially considering we didn’t sign any sort of liability waiver—”

“Lincoln,” I cut him off before he could continue, taking his hand and running my thumb over his knuckles. “Turn your work brain off and let yourself have fun.”

“You say that like it’s easy,” he retorted.

“You went to a concert, you listened to good music, and now you have a healthy, no-calorie banana split that you don’t have to work off tomorrow,” I told him.

“And you,” Lincoln added. “I have you too.”

No, he doesn’t, the voice said.

“Yeah, you do,” I agreed. “So, maybe you had fun.”

“I did.”

“And maybe this was a successful date?”

“The date’s not over, Lucky. I still have more plans,” he informed me. This was what I got for letting the man who needed a plan for everything be in charge of date night.

“Okay.” I shrugged. “As long as you’re having a good time.”

“Are you?”

“I’m with you. That’s all that matters.”

And it was.

Hours later, we walked through the door to his condo, and Lincoln let out a giant sigh.

I felt the sentiment in my soul. I was too damn old to be doing these all-night dates.

Still, the rooftop lounge that he’d picked to go to after the ice cream shop had one hell of a view.

We’d spent hours with me pointing out different areas of the city and telling him about them.

That conversation drew a clear line between us.

There were so many things about Seattle that Lincoln didn’t know.

I pointed out the different places I’d slept, and the restaurants that tried to help homeless people.

I showed him the park where I met Jay every other week, and then I told him about Jay.

We touched a little too deeply into conversations about my life—things I didn’t share with anyone—but I let myself crack open for him. I gave him all the bad that came with the good he insisted he saw in me. I wanted him to have that part of me.

And by the time we were home, I was too ramped up and incapable of sleeping if I tried.

“I can’t remember the last time I stayed out this late,” Lincoln announced while he moved through the condo. I caught him by the arm and pulled him back to me. I kissed him, slow and sweet, savoring him.

“Watch the sunrise with me,” I suggested.

“I… don’t think I’ve ever watched the sunrise,” he said.

“You’re missing out on the finer things in life, baby,” I told him. His arms wrapped around my shoulders, and his lips brushed over my pulse, making it race a little faster.

“You’re definitely going to have to find a way to keep me up, Lucky,” he whispered against my skin, “because there’s no way in hell I’m staying up otherwise.”

“I can think of a few things we can do to pass the time.”

“Good.” Before he could say another word, I lifted him off the ground just enough to draw a yelp out of him, the sound making me laugh. “There’s no need to manhandle me!”

“There’s always a need to manhandle you, Linc,” I retorted as I walked us toward his bedroom with a laundry list of ways to keep him occupied running through my mind.