Page 33 of Meant for Me (Magnolia Bay #3)
nineteen
W hat a night.
Zoey stood by the dock near Linc’s pond in her bridesmaid dress, the cool night air grazing her bare arms. Fall had officially arrived, as evidenced by the burgundy and coral leaves crunching under her low-heeled shoes.
Despite the chill, she went ahead and toed them off, let the damp wood ground her. She drew a deep breath.
Dancing with Linc had unnerved every cell in her body. Grumpy Linc, she could handle. Sullen Linc, busy Linc, selfish Linc—no problem. She knew how to cheer him, make him grudgingly smile, call him out on his attitude or harsh words.
Sweet Linc, romantic Linc, slow-dancing Linc—that Linc she had no idea what to do with.
She tossed a rock into the pond, watching the ripples dance across the dark surface, breaking the reflection of the half-orb moon overhead.
Amelia was in bed, and Linc had started rummaging through the pantry for a snack, so she’d taken the opportunity to slip outside, gather her thoughts. Her emotions.
But they kept slipping through her grasp.
Why was he making this effort toward her lately?
Did he suddenly feel what she felt, want what she wanted?
Or did he just feel guilty for roping her into his mess and was trying to be nice?
There’d been that hug in the kitchen after the argument over Amelia…
the way he looked at her while dancing at the wedding…
she’d wanted to rise up and kiss him, test the waters, hope he felt the same way she was feeling.
If she guessed wrong…it could ruin everything.
But was missing out on something potentially amazing any better? What was worth the risk?
The tired dock creaked behind her, and she stiffened. Linc. She closed her eyes.
“You okay?”
She slowly turned to face him, her sunshine generator feeling decidedly cracked. She didn’t want to shine. She wanted answers. “Why do you keep doing things you don’t typically do?”
He tilted his head, shoved his hands in his pockets. “Like what?”
“Dancing, for one.”
He looked down at the wood beneath their feet. At the inky water visible through the cracks. “I don’t know. I guess I feel like I owe you.”
Right—she should have guessed. Obligation, duty. She was still the burden, someone else for him to take care of. A second dependent. “You don’t owe me.”
“Good to know.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I went into this whole thing willingly, in case you don’t remember.”
“I remember.” He wasn’t getting annoyed back, which only annoyed her worse. “I was there.”
“So, I don’t need any favors. Don’t do things you don’t want to do.” She crossed her arms over her chest, shivered.
He pulled off his jacket, draped it around her shoulders. “Who said I didn’t want to?”
Oh . She stared up at him, her fire extinguishing. He wasn’t joking.
“I wanted to pay for your dress too. So I did.”
She drew a breath. “That was you ?”
“Well, yeah. What are husbands for?”
Husband. Not friend. Her stomach turned to mush.
His eyes searched hers. “Why didn’t you ask me?”
She shrugged. “You’ve done enough already.”
“Look.” He sighed. “You got the short end of this stick, Zoey. We both know it—paying for a dress is hardly equal to what you’re doing for us.
For me and Amelia.” He stepped away from her, raked one hand through his hair.
“You got a grumpy, clueless father and a moody teenager in this deal. If I can do something to help you be happy, then I’ll do it. Even dance.”
“I don’t see it that way.” She took a step toward him.
“Then you’re blind.”
She licked her lips. “I just see my best friend and his brilliant daughter, both of who are going through a really hard time.”
He nodded. “That’s why I need you.”
Need.
Not want.
She inhaled. Once again, that was as good as it was going to get with them. And she had to be okay with that—because she’d known all along exactly what she was getting. And painful as it was, she still didn’t consider it a short stick.
Maybe that’s what love did.
Painful as it was.
But maybe she could get a little something from it. She tucked deeper into his jacket, fisting the collar in both hands. “If you feel like you owe me, how about telling me about that tattoo you got removed?” She teasingly arched a brow.
He groaned. “Seriously?”
“Hey, I didn’t even know you grew up in the system until a few weeks ago.” She tilted her head. “Or that you’d been arrested before.”
“Or had a kid. I know, the surprises keep coming.” He scuffed one shoe across the dock. “Though to be fair, one of those I didn’t know either.”
She stepped toward him, tugged at the white dress shirt he’d untucked at some point after they got home. “Tell me.”
He didn’t stop her from lifting the hem, running her finger over the healed, slightly scarred skin on his lower ribcage. His corded side shuddered. Must be ticklish—she never knew that either. And all of that was what hurt the most—that she didn’t know him as well as she assumed.
That maybe she wasn’t as special to him as she’d hoped.
Zoey looked up at him just as he looked down. Their gazes tangled. “It was something to do with Kirsten, wasn’t it?”
He blew out his breath. “I was young and dumb. Got her initials. She was supposed to get mine too, but chickened out.”
Ah . Zoey touched the mottled spot with renewed interest. He’d cared enough about Kirsten to do something like that. Surprisingly, the fact didn’t make her jealous. It just confirmed what she knew deep down—despite his reputation and shell, Linc loved hard.
And when he committed, he went all in.
His voice deepened. “Should have taken the hint that day, but didn’t.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Hurt worse removing the tat than getting it.” He made no move to lower his shirt, and for the life of her, she couldn’t stop touching him. This link to his past, this chain that had brought Amelia to them. Brought their new family together in the most unlikely way imaginable.
She swallowed. “I think it’s beautiful.”
Linc frowned, tugged the hem down. “Funny.”
“No, I’m serious.” Zoey stepped back, clutched his jacket around her shoulders. “Scars are stories. They show where we’ve been.”
“To hell and back.” His expression tightened.
“And look where you are now.” She couldn’t stand it any longer, had to touch him again. She took his hand, and he didn’t pull away. “You’re a dad .”
“More like half a dad.” Linc swallowed. “I missed so much.”
“You’re doing all you can now, and that’s what matters. Amelia sees that, whether she’ll admit it yet or not.” She squeezed his hand. “You’re showing up. You’re taking care of her.”
He glanced toward the house, mostly dark save for an upstairs light. “You really think she understands?”
“If she doesn’t, she will.” Zoey squeezed his hand. “It just might take a little more time.”
“I’m afraid that’s what I don’t have. Kirsten could dump this latest loser and show back up, want to go back to normal with her kid.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Is it weird that Amelia is still distant with me, but the very thought of her going back to Lafayette rips me apart?”
“See? You are a good father.” The jacket slipped from one shoulder. “Not weird at all. Those are your protective dad instincts coming out.”
He grew quiet, lips pressed together. His hand shook a little, and he used his free one to pull the jacket back up around her. One corner of his mouth curved up, his eyes surprisingly gentle. “What would I do without you?”
Zoey looked down at their joined hands. “Eat less fast food?”
“Probably.” He snorted.
“Do more pushups?”
“That too.” He ducked his head, catching and holding her gaze. “I don’t know why you put up with me. But I’m glad you do.”
Oh, she didn’t know what to do with serious Linc. She needed jerk Linc to come back, make an off-handed comment to annoy her. Stabilize her. Because if he didn’t feel what she felt, if he was just being nice…
“What are friends for?” Friend . Not husband. She diffused casual into her voice, despite her heart threatening to thump right out of her dress and into the pond.
“You’ve been a much better friend to me than I have been to you.”
“That’s not true. You were there when Bayou Beignets burned…” She distinctly remembered the way he held her, protected her, tucked her face into his broad chest so she couldn’t watch.
He shook his head. “I mean lately.” He was so close, moving closer. Drawing their joined hands up to his chest. His facial hair, clearly as stubborn as he was, had long made an appearance post-wedding.
Unable to help herself, she used her free hand to run her thumb over his jaw, exploring the square line of his face, the scruff over his chin. His eyes hooded, darkened, and a jolt of regret sliced through her midsection.
What was she doing?
“I’m sorry.” She pulled her hand free, heat flaming her cheeks. “I don’t know what?—”
But he took her hand back, returning it flat against his cheek.
Oh.
Then he turned his face to press a kiss into her palm.
Oh . Definitely not a friend move. Her legs tingled, wobbled. Tentatively, she continued her journey, tracing his lips with one finger, then two. The top one dipped in the middle, and he had a small scar where most people might have a dimple. How had he gotten that one? Had she never asked?
She wanted to know it all.
Wanted to know him.
“Linc…” Her finger then trailed down his corded neck, running horizontally across his collarbone, until both hands slid to land on his chest. Even through his shirt, his muscled pecs flexed under her fingers. On instinct, maybe. Because Linc would never try to impress her—he
didn’t have to.
Didn’t he know she stayed that way?