Page 32 of Meant for Me (Magnolia Bay #3)

No reason to compare their situations when they were beyond comparison. So what if Linc thought she looked pretty in her dress? Nothing had changed.

Just like he wanted.

There, finally. She patted his buttoned cuff. “Report to Cade—and Noah—that all is well. We’ll see you guys in there.” She took a step back.

“Great.” Linc started back down the hall, toward the men’s Sunday school room, then stopped. Turned. “Oh, and Zoey?”

She waited, one hand on the door frame. “Yeah?”

“I realize we didn’t have an aisle at the courthouse, but for the record…” The corner of his mouth lifted. “There was no ‘manning up’ required.”

Then he turned and disappeared around the corner.

Leaving her with her expectations decidedly more wrinkled.

* * *

This wedding was getting to his head.

Or maybe Zoey was.

Linc tapped his fork in rhythm to the live band playing from the stage.

The reception hall, a venue on the outskirts of Magnolia Bay, was bursting with people, all dancing, laughing, eating cake.

Sadie, Harper, and Mrs. Peters sat at a circular table laden with floral centerpieces, while Trish, wearing a form-fitting halter dress, stood nearby, batting her eyelashes at Sawyer Dubois, who was attempting to ignore her while talking to Owen.

Elisa’s dad, Isaac, helped himself to the buffet with August Bowman and Miley.

Sheriff Rubart had shed his typical uniform tonight and stood off to the side of the stage, mouthing along the words to the trendy pop song.

It was as if the whole town had turned out to see the age-old family feud of the Bergerons and the Heberts officially come to an end.

And in the center of the tiled dance floor, Noah and Elisa swayed, her head resting contentedly on his chest.

Had to admit, they were a great couple—brought out the best in each other.

The fork stilled in his hands. Sort of like Zoey did for him.

She coaxed all the best things out of Linc—what little bit of good there might be.

Not that he’d been great lately about returning that favor.

He frowned. What was Zoey even getting out of this arrangement with him besides a roof over her head?

She was doing so much for him and Amelia…

and with zero complaining. Sure, he was taking care of Zoey financially for now, but it didn’t seem fair. Didn’t seem like enough.

Across the table from him, Amelia sat, chin propped in one hand. She swiped her finger through a glob of leftover icing and licked it off. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Having fun?”

She raised one back. “Would you, if you were thirteen?”

Fair enough. He tossed her a table mint, wrapped in green and peach wrapping—the wedding colors.

Which Zoey wore the best, if he were honest. Sure, Rosalyn was movie-star beautiful in whatever she wore, but Zoey…

that green brought out her dark hair. Her eyes.

That faint smattering of freckles across her nose, the ones that had only recently developed after so much time on his boat the past few weeks.

He cast a glance toward the photo booth—he only allowed himself one every five minutes or so—which Zoey had manned for the past half hour, helping arrange the guests as they chose props on sticks and posed for the flash.

Made him sort of want to snag her picture too, though she wouldn’t need the flash.

She lit from the inside out, her joy contagious with everyone around her.

She’d seemed a little…off…when he came to the bridal room before the ceremony, but whatever that was had clearly worn away.

Funny how Zoey used to bug him a little, with her endless talking and energy and ideas.

And now he just wanted to be around her as much as possible. She charged him, like a solar battery. The sun.

He glanced back at Amelia. “Want to hit up the photo booth?” The words escaped his mouth before he could realize it might be a bad idea.

He didn’t do pictures. Or anything in the spotlight or intentionally cringe, for that matter.

And wearing fake glasses or holding a cardboard hat up to his head was definitely that.

But Amelia’s eyes lit and she sat up straight, dropping the unwrapped mint back on the table. “Yeah!”

Well, that was the first exclamation point he’d gotten out of her in a week. Make that two weeks, if he was going for positive exclamation. He shoved back his chair. Looked like they were doing this.

“Come on, then.” He gestured for Amelia to lead the way, her borrowed black dress swishing around her knees and making her look way older than almost fourteen.

Another stab in the gut of how much of her life he’d missed already.

Madame Paulette stood next to Zoey, wafting essential oils as she gestured to the photo booth. “So you hook your camera up to this machine here, and it prints them immediately?”

Zoey nodded. “That way, the guests have souvenirs.”

“Hey, these are good.” Madame’s jewelry clanged and she cackled. “You should come take some class pics of my young students. Their parents would pay good money for these.”

“That’d be fun.” Zoey hadn’t noticed his and Amelia’s approach yet, which provided Linc the perfect opportunity to study the way her eyes sparkled as she looked at the preview screen.

The way her slim shoulders curved against the sleeves of her dress, the way her neck arched gracefully toward the camera…

Then she turned, and he was busted. He swallowed, elbowed Amelia. “Amelia wanted a picture.”

Amelia shot him a strange look, but thankfully didn’t correct him. He made a mental note to start her an allowance later.

Surprise lit Zoey’s face, but she concealed it quickly. “Sure, come on. Pick your prop.”

Amelia began pawing through the basket of costumes, pulled free a red boa.

“You should all get in there.” Madame Paulette took the camera from Zoey’s hand before anyone could protest. “Go on. You too, Muscles.”

“I’m assuming she’s talking to you,” Zoey whispered.

“Obviously, since you’re skipping pushups.”

Zoey stuck out her tongue at him before plucking a cardboard prop from the pile—a red bowtie. She handed it to him with a grin.

Why not? It was probably the lesser evil in the stack. He took it with only a mild groan, got into position beside her. Amelia stood in front of them, squatting slightly, boa draped around her neck.

“Okay, everyone. Smile now.” Madame Paulette held up the camera.

He moved the bow tie on a stick under his chin, refusing to smile despite Madame Paulette’s repeated instructions. Thankfully, no one seemed to be watching, as the band had picked up another fast song, the floor filling quickly. What prop had Zoey picked?

He glanced sideways at her, taking in the cardboard mustache she held over her lips, and couldn’t stop his grin.

Flash .

“Perfect!” Madame Paulette handed the camera back to Zoey.

Amelia tapped Linc’s arm, mischief dancing in her expression. “You should ask Zoey to dance.”

“He doesn’t dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

He and Zoey spoke at the same time, connecting eyes. Both of them lying, because it’d happened before, and they both knew it. But the kitchen was one thing. A one-time thing. A dance floor in a public setting was by far another.

But something about the hope in Zoey’s eyes, and her past comments about not having had a cake or photos at their wedding, stopped him short. His own thoughts taunted him. What was Zoey getting out of this?

He held out his hand.

Madame Paulette gasped. “Oh, honey, go. I’ll man the booth.” She shoved Zoey forward, and he caught her, led her toward the floor while Amelia grinned and Madame Paulette swooned.

Aye . He led the way to the dance floor, heart pounding, couples giving him double takes as they quickly cleared his path. Zoey trotted to keep up with him, and he parked them in a spot off to the right, farthest from the stage. The song was slow, had just started. He held out his arms.

And just like that night in the kitchen, Zoey stepped into them, fingers curling into his bicep. His hand curved around her hip, and she moved in close, smelling like leftover roses and shampoo.

Heaven.

Torture.

“Good call.” Zoey cleared her throat, smiling at him. “People would expect us to dance.”

Right. Appearances. He spun her in a quick circle, pulled her back in. Nodded vaguely, not wanting to confirm the lie.

Not wanting to tell the truth.

Which was getting more obvious to him by the minute.

The music crested, and he spun her again, missing her warmth every time she left the circle of his arms and forgetting how to breathe every time she landed back in close. He had to say something.

Had to stop himself from falling.

But that wasn’t going to happen, was it? And maybe that was what he could do for Zoey in return for all she was helping him with—hide the truth. That he was dangerously close to loving her more than he’d ever imagined loving anyone.

Maybe the best way he could serve her in return was to keep his promise that nothing would change.

Even if it slowly killed him inside.

He cleared his throat, fighting the moisture building behind his eyes.

“People seem to really like your photos.” And said people were no longer watching them, thankfully.

In fact, looked like all eyes were on Mama D and Farmer Branson, slow-dancing together by the band.

He did a double-take. “Did you know about that?”

“About what?” Zoey turned to look over her shoulder, and her eyes widened. Then she grinned. “I did not. But it explains a lot.”

“I’ve never seen Farmer B in anything outside of overalls.” Granted, he’d traded them for jeans, but that was dressed up for him.

“Looks like he trimmed his mustache too.” Zoey’s grin widened. “Hope he appreciates the lipstick efforts Delia’s been making.”

“I can guarantee you he doesn’t.” He nodded toward Zoey’s photo booth. “Also just realized the real reason Madame Paulette wanted to get rid of you.”

Zoey followed his gesture, where Madame Paulette was apparently trying to gather all of the single men in the room, and shook her head. “I should get back there or Elisa will end up with nothing but footage of Sawyer Dubois.”

“Ah, she’ll be okay a little longer.” He turned her again, but not so fast he didn’t catch the surprise lighting her eyes.

She relaxed back with him, humming a little under her breath. “This is going okay, isn’t it?”

What, them? The dance? The wedding?

He thought back to their conversation on the porch the first night Amelia arrived. Define okay. He definitely wasn’t.

But he would be, for her. For everyone.

Linc shrugged, opting for the latter—the safest topic. “Sure. I mean, they’re married—that’s the end goal of a wedding, right?”

Zoey’s smile slipped. “Right.”

He waited a beat of the music, two. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.” Her stiff shoulders suggested otherwise, and he wanted to fix it. Fix them. Maybe he couldn’t admit his feelings, but he could keep their normal dynamic going. He had to have that like he had to have oxygen. So much that just a little bit of truth wouldn’t hurt.

He took a breath. “I’m not a romantic guy, Zoey.”

Her gaze flickered. “I know that too.”

“I think tonight was great. The wedding…Noah and Elisa…” He swallowed. “You.”

“You think I’m great?” Her lips curled.

He coughed. “Pretty.”

“Pretty great?”

“No.” Aye . “I meant, I think you look pretty.”

She knew, she was teasing him. It was evident in her eyes. She tilted her head back, grinning.

He groaned, spun her again. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“You’re cute when you’re awkward.”

“Only then?” Good grief. How was he even managing to dance if he had both feet in his mouth? Though he couldn’t complain, really. Their banter was back, and he’d gladly suffer a little embarrassment if it meant they kept their footing.

“Not just then.” She ran her hand down the arm of his jacket, and the entire left side of his body lit on fire. “But you did clean up extra nice tonight.”

The compliment, even if half-coerced, sank in deep. Too deep for his own good. “Better than Farmer B?” He tried to keep his tone light, despite every instinct wanting to pull her off the floor. Scoop her up. Go home and be fully married.

Aye , he was in trouble.

“Way better.” She grinned.

“So we’ve established we both look nice. Guess you and I are still a good team, then.” Good grief, a new song had started, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“Good thing.” Her grip tightened on his arms, and he decided not to spin her. Wanted to keep her close. “Because you’re stuck with me now, remember?”

Man, he hoped so.

With all his heart, he hoped so.