Page 58

Chapter Three

The Sweet & Savory Table buzzed with midday energy, and every table was filled with happy people.

There were a few couples deep in conversation, a family of three sharing a towering stack of pastries, and a group of colleagues laughing over sandwiches.

Sonja weaved between them, coffee pot in hand, pausing for quiet exchanges or a quick refill before moving on.

The rich and inviting scent of fresh bread, melting butter, and spiced meats curled around Lincoln.

It should have been comforting. Instead, it sat heavy in his chest, a warmth he couldn't quite let in.

Lincoln sat at a corner table, fingers resting against the smooth ceramic of his coffee cup, his pulse steady but annoyingly aware. He had no reason to be nervous. None at all. He and Henry lived in the same house, passed each other in the hallway, exchanged polite words over breakfast.

But they hadn’t had a real conversation in days.

Henry had come in late Saturday night—after two in the morning—his shift as Dungeon Monitor at Club Indigo keeping him out.

By the time Lincoln woke, Henry was already gone, a note left on the kitchen counter about a crisis at work.

Layoffs, national budget cuts, the government slashing funds like environmental preservation was an inconvenience instead of a necessity.

Sunday, Henry hadn’t come home at all.

Monday morning, they’d exchanged brief words over coffee, nothing more. Just another day of pretending things were fine.

So, Lincoln had sent him a text:

Lunch? Sweet & Savory. 1 PM.

A quick Okay had been the only response.

Now, he checked his phone. 12:50. He inhaled slowly, catching a drop of coffee sliding down the side of his cup with his thumb. Henry wasn’t late. But Lincoln worried he might not be coming at all.

The door chimed, and Lincoln’s breath hitched before he could stop it.

But the new arrival wasn’t Henry.

The man who stepped inside was sharply dressed—dark suit, crisp white shirt, confident stride.

A glance at his Rolex as he walked to the counter, scanning the menu.

Handsome. Polished. The kind of man who would have turned Lincoln’s head once.

But he barely registered the thought as he tracked the stranger’s movements.

Yvonne greeted the customer, her Dutch accent still noticeable, though she’d grown far more comfortable in her role since starting here.

More self-assured, especially since getting involved with Kate and Chris at Club Indigo.

She handed the man his coffee to go, and with a polite nod, he turned toward the exit.

The man in the sharp suit passed by with his coffee cup in hand. Lincoln barely registered him—just another professional grabbing a midday caffeine fix—until the movement cleared his line of sight. The door swung again, and this time, Lincoln's breath hitched.

Henry.

Although he wasn’t in a three-piece suit and didn’t wear a perfectly pressed tie, Henry outshone the smartly dressed stranger.

His Master never needed such things to exude power.

A casual button-up stretched across his broad chest, sleeves rolled up despite the overcast day, exposing strong forearms. His muscled legs were hidden beneath a well-tailored pair of slacks, his shoes polished to a shine.

Henry’s sharp and assessing gaze swept the room until it landed on him. He paused—just for a second, just enough for Lincoln to catch the barest flicker of hesitation—before striding forward.

Sonja greeted him from a few tables over. “Be there in a sec.”

Lincoln watched as Henry approached his table. He didn’t waste energy with his movement. Shoulders squared, right hand tucked into his pocket, his left arm hanging loosely at his side. To an untrained eye, he looked casual, at ease. But Lincoln knew better.

It was in the way his steps were too measured, too precise—like a man holding back, keeping himself in check. A man who was here, but not really here.

When he reached the table, he sat without a word. His fingers stroked the edge of the table once before he settled his hands in his lap. He didn’t meet Lincoln’s gaze right away, just a fleeting glance before letting his focus shift, scanning the café as if cataloging the exits.

Lincoln had seen this Henry before. The courtroom version, the one who never let an inch of emotion slip unless it was calculated. It had no place between them—not here.

And yet here he was.

Lincoln’s chest tightened, a dull ache blooming beneath his sternum. For a split second, he couldn’t breathe.

This wasn’t just distance—it was absence.

Henry wasn’t looking at him like a husband. He was looking through him, like a man assessing risk.

Lincoln swallowed hard against the heat rising in his throat.

He’d spent months aching for Henry’s attention. Now that he had it, he barely recognized it.

No kiss, no heated stare.

Lincoln swallowed. To a bystander they could be mere acquaintances.

“You made it,” Lincoln said. He struggled to keep his tone light. But something had to change. It had to.

Henry’s lips pressed together before he nodded. “Yeah.”

Before Lincoln could figure out how to start their conversation, Sonja appeared at their table, notepad in hand. “What’ll it be?”

“Pastrami on rye,” Henry said without hesitation.

She nodded before turning her attention to him.

“BLT,” he said. “Bacon extra crispy.”

“Drinks?”

“Sparkling water,” Henry answered.

Sonja’s eyebrow slid up. She didn’t comment, just jotted it down before shifting her gaze to Lincoln.

“More coffee, please.”

“Coming right up.”

She disappeared toward the counter, leaving them in the silence Lincoln had yet to figure out how to fill. He could feel Henry watching him, but neither of them spoke. He curled his fingers around his empty cup, tracing the smooth edge with his thumb.

Sonja returned moments later, setting a glass of water in front of Henry, a thin slice of lemon floating on top. In her other hand, she held the coffeepot, refilling Lincoln’s mug with the rich, dark liquid.

“Thanks,” he murmured, watching as she turned on her heel and scurried away, leaving them alone once more.

Lincoln’s gaze flicked to the glass. “Sparkling water? That’s a bit tame for you.”

Henry didn’t bite. “Didn’t think this was the kind of lunch where I should be having a bourbon. Besides, getting Sonja and Suzie in trouble with the liquor board would be a hell of a problem. Especially with their Doms.”

Lincoln snorted. “Assuming the two of them didn’t handle it first.”

Sonja was a force to be reckoned with—everyone at Club Indigo knew she wore the brat label like a crown. And Suzie? Easygoing until you crossed a line. Then she went full Medusa.

Henry’s mouth curved, just slightly. “Fair point.”

Lincoln exhaled through his nose, feeling relieved that they’d lost a bit of their tension. When Henry entered the café, Lincoln already knew how this was going to go. Careful Henry. Handling him like he was breakable. Like Lincoln was something to shield, not something to hold.

Lincoln set his cup down and reached for the sugar packet, turning it over in his fingers. “I was surprised you agreed to lunch.”

Henry lifted his glass, rolling it between his palms before taking a slow sip. “Why?”

“I didn’t think you thought I had the energy to dine in a café.”

Henry exhaled through his nose. “Oh? Why not?”

Lincoln arched a brow. “You tell me.”

Henry’s jaw tightened, but his tone remained even. “You get overwhelmed easily.”

“That was six months ago.” Lincoln tore open the sugar packet, the granules spilling onto the table.

He brushed them aside with a swipe of his thumb.

“I’ve improved, you know. I can go to a shop or a bar or a restaurant.

” He reached for his coffee, took a sip.

“Do I have to rest every three to four hours? Yes. But I don’t sleep for hours anymore.

A power nap, closing my eyes for a bit, and I’m good to go.

” He set his mug down. “I’m not weak, Henry. ”

Henry’s fingers tightened around his glass. “I never said you were weak. I just want to be mindful.”

Lincoln let out a humorless laugh and picked up his fork, spinning it between his fingers. “Well, stop.”

Henry blinked. “Stop?”

“Yeah.” Lincoln met his gaze.

Sonja arrived, setting their plates down with a bright smile. “Pastrami on rye. BLT, extra crispy bacon.”

“Thanks,” Lincoln murmured. He picked up his sandwich, biting into it a little harder than necessary, chewing through his frustration.

A smear of mayonnaise clung to the corner of his mouth, but before he could reach for a napkin Henry leaned in. Without a word, he used the edge of his thumb to wipe it away with the gentlest of touch.

Lincoln froze for just a second, surprised by the simple familiarity of it. Oh, how he longed to be touched. It was brief but lingered like the ghost of something they hadn’t shared in too long.

Then Henry leaned back, wiped his fingers clean on his napkin, and reached for his water. The moment dissolved into the space between them.

Henry took a long pull from his glass before lowering it. “I don’t want to push you too fast.”

Lincoln set his sandwich down with a deliberate motion. His gaze stayed locked on Henry’s. “Maybe I want to be pushed.”

Henry stilled.

Lincoln leaned in. “Have you asked me what I needed since I got ill? Or have you just assumed what I needed?”

Henry let out a slow breath, shoulders dropping a fraction. His gaze met Lincoln’s, and something unguarded slipped through the cracks. “I haven’t, have I?”

“No, you haven’t. And I miss you.”

Henry let out a sharp laugh. Not a happy one. “How can you miss me? We live in the same house.”

Lincoln scoffed. “Live in the same building, yes. But not as partners.” Not as lovers, he didn’t say, but he thought it. “We’re like roommates.”

Henry’s jaw tightened, but he still said nothing.

“I’m not broken, Henry,” Lincoln pressed on. “I’m not fragile. I’m just… different.”

Henry swallowed hard, his gaze finally shifting, but Lincoln wasn’t done.

“I’m sick and tired of you shielding me.” His voice tightened, an edge of frustration, of grief. “I want you back . I want us back.”

And then, quieter, rawer?—

“I want my Master back.”