Page 4 of Meant for Me (Magnolia Bay #3)

“Those were probably vegetables.” She wiggled the cookie and grinned. “This is sugar.”

“That’s even worse. You know I don’t eat a lot of sugar.”

“Just a taste.”

He glared. “Why is this important right now ?”

“Well, we’re already here, aren’t we?”

Why not? She practically had the cookie resting on his lips now, anyway. Besides, arguing with Zoey was an Olympic sport, and he hadn’t adequately trained. He took a reluctant bite, rolled his eyes. “There. Tasted.”

“And?”

“It’s good.”

She pouted, a breeze rustling her bangs. The moon peeked from behind a cloud. “You’re just saying that.”

Crawfish never argued back. Linc sighed. “It’s good .”

She adjusted the container on her hip. “I need description, Linc. My dessert catering business is on the line, here. Does it melt in your mouth? Does it make you want to order a dozen more? Is it too sweet? Just right?”

Kinda dry, actually. He frowned. “What am I, Goldilocks?”

She frowned back. “Imagine that you are.”

“Then I would turn myself in to the police for breaking and entering.”

“ Linc .”

“What? She committed a crime!”

A tree frog croaked, as if Zoey was interrupting its bedtime too. She pursed her lips, waited.

“Fine, it tastes better than porridge.” Maybe. Linc licked his lips. What had she put in there, sawdust? The aftertaste grew worse.

“How am I supposed to believe you like it if you can’t specify what you like?” Her eyes danced. “Okay, that’s it. You have to touch the post.”

She had him, and she knew it. He scowled, following her gaze to the ornate black lamppost stationed outside the gazebo. Its light glowed, soft amber rings reflecting on the worn sidewalk beneath. “That tradition is silly.”

“Some traditions are, but this one works. You can’t lie if you touch the post, and you know it.”

“Just because you declare something doesn’t make it true.” But somehow, it did, and she knew it. He never should have gone along with this ridiculous “pinky promise replacement,” as she’d put it years ago when she’d first dragged him there as a kid.

But he’d come and touched the post that day, just like he’d come tonight. And would do it again.

Because it was really getting hard to tell Zoey no.

Didn’t mean she’d like his answer, though. He closed the distance to the lamp and slapped his palm against the solid black post. “Go ahead.”

Her eager expression glowed under the light. She cleared her throat, squared her shoulders. “Did you like the new recipe?”

“No.”

Her smile fell. “Linc!”

“What? You’re the one making me do this.” He shifted his weight, still touching the post. “Anything else?”

“What didn’t you like?”

“Wasn’t a good cookie.” He shrugged. “Dry. Kinda tasteless—until the sawdust took over.”

She winced. “Sawdust?”

“Stick to beignets, kid. You’re good at that.” Really good, actually. “Donuts, kolaches. Fried stuff.”

“You forget I don’t have a fryer right now.” Zoey sighed. “Never mind. I just need to be patient. It’ll all work out.”

She kept saying that. Hopefully it was true. He let his arm fall from the post. “Why did this matter so much tonight?”

“I wanted to give you something after your nearly ruined tour.”

“It wasn’t, though.” He moved to stand closer to her. “Your dolphins saved the day. So what gives? You could have brought me porridge cookies tomorrow.”

“I guess I didn’t feel like going back to the inn yet.” Zoey dropped down to the grass, pulled her knees up to her chest.

Oy. Linc dipped into a squat, refusing to camp out longer than necessary. It was a good stretch this way, at least. “Why not?”

She pursed her lips. “Weird decor?”

He held her stare.

“Fine.” She looked away. “Sometimes the Blue Pirogue just reminds me of how much limbo I’m in. It feels like a hotel, you know?”

“That’s because it is.”

She ignored him. “I know it’s temporary, but it’s hard not being able to work. I’m used to cooking all day, marketing, being creative.” She wrinkled her nose at the discarded tub. “That’s part of why I’m playing around with catering efforts. Well, that, and the potential paycheck.”

He shifted his weight in his squat. “And photography?”

Her shoulders stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“I saw you taking pictures last week on the boat.”

Her eyes widened. “You did?”

“Yeah. Of the sunset, or whatever.” He’d noticed because he’d been cruising the pontoon, eyes locked on the water, thoughts ruminating on the next day’s schedule, when bam .

Next thing he knew, his mind had drifted to thoughts of her.

Of them. Of how nice it felt to have Zoey riding in the boat, like she truly belonged there.

Like it’d be weird for her not to be there.

The click of the shutter had thankfully snapped him out of the near-mushy moment.

Zoey cleared her throat. “Right, the sunset was top notch that night.” Her gaze lowered to the cookie tub. “Maybe I should give up on the cookie baking, work with you on the boat instead.”

Oh, man. There sure hadn’t been a camera shutter to snap him out of it today, had there, when he’d been watching her instead of paying attention to the water. The piling weather. His stomach tightened. She couldn’t fill in for Anthony. It was too risky.

But how could he turn her down when she clearly needed money?

He shook his head. “Maybe we need to find you a part-time job with steady hours until your catering can take off, or you get back into a beignet storefront. The tours aren’t consistent enough for what you need, I’m sure.”

Not a lie. But not the full truth, and that felt bad. But what was he supposed to say? Sorry I can’t keep staring at you while you’re performing that close to me ? He wasn’t a creep.

Things were just…weird right now.

“You’d help me find something?” She raised a brow.

“Of course.” Especially if that meant he’d get to sleep at night, not have to traipse around the town at nine p.m. “Maybe Elisa needs help at the diner.”

Zoey shook her head. “She doesn’t. Besides, can you imagine me carrying trays of food and drinks all day?”

Good point. She was a little clumsy. “What about Second Story? Or Chug a Mug?”

“Sadie already has all the part-time help she needs at the bookstore.” Zoey wrinkled her nose.

“And on second thought, I really don’t want to get plugged in somewhere just to quit days or maybe weeks later when my claims check finally arrives.

” She hugged her jean-clad knees. “I’ll just ride it out.

Eventually, I’ll be able to get a new storefront and everything will be like it never happened. ”

It wouldn’t be exactly like that, though. He knew all about denial. Some decisions, some circumstances, some things out of your control simply left scars. He rubbed the tattoo on his ribcage, grimaced.

Zoey rested her cheek on her knee. “The Blue Pirogue is great for my situation, honestly. I shouldn’t complain.”

Linc drew a breath, let it out. “I keep telling you I have an extra room.” Two, actually. He’d gotten the three-bedroom, log-cabin style house tucked into two acres of woods for a steal when he’d moved back to the Bay and started Boiling Bayou Crawfish six years ago.

“But I have a room at the inn.” She grinned a little. “Better situation than baby Jesus was in, right?”

“Suit yourself.” Probably for the best. He was starting to hope she would come stay, which was a red flag. He didn’t need company—didn’t like company. He just felt sorry for her, that was all. She was a friend, and in a tough spot. Nothing mushy about it.

Even if she was distracting him lately.

He stood.

“Look, I promise if my next option is a stable, I’ll take you up on the offer.” She smiled up at him. “Want me to touch the post?”

“No.” He held out his hand, pulled her to her feet. “I believe you.” Besides, he didn’t want her getting any crazy ideas, like making him touch the post again while asking him if he really wanted her at his house. “Don’t forget your container of sawdust there.”

She smirked. “Funny.”

He started walking toward his truck, then cast a glance over his shoulder. Zoey stood where he left her, staring up at the moon, arms crossed over her middle. “Coming?” he called.

“I think I’ll hang out a little longer. I like the fresh air.” Zoey waved him on. “Go ahead. Go to bed.”

He waved good night, then climbed into his truck. Started the ignition, drove down the street…then made the block and killed the lights, parking just down the road from the gazebo. He cut the engine and waited. Watching. Protecting.

Because—for better or worse—something about Zoey Lakewood always kept him coming back.