Page 8 of Meant for Me (Magnolia Bay #3)

“Cheers to that.” Zoey saluted Mama D with her cup. “So what’s wrong?”

She blew out a breath, chest heaving under her blouse. “I just had to ask—what are you both wearing to the wedding?”

Zoey and Rosalyn exchanged an amused look.

“Elisa’s wedding that’s in a month ?” Rosalyn tilted her head to the side, lips tilting in a gentle smile. “Mama D, I don’t know what I’m wearing tomorrow .”

Delia waved her hand. “Maybe not. I bet your man does though. Cade seems the type to iron the night before.” She turned her gaze to Zoey as Rosalyn snorted. “What about you, dear?”

“I’ll be in a maid of honor dress.” Speaking of which, she needed to go get fitted for her gown, which she’d refused to let Elisa pay for, despite being unsure how she was going to herself. Maybe the insurance money would hit before the fitting?—

“Oh, that’s right. Well, I’ve finally gotten away from that cane, and I’ve got to be snazzy.

Can’t let Madame Paulette show me up.” Delia lifted her chin, her deep burgundy lipstick only slightly smeared today.

No one could possibly show her up, though Lettie would try.

“Nothing that requires Spanx. I’m eating that wedding cake comfortably, mind you. ”

“As you should.” Zoey rubbed the woman’s hard-working, blue-veined hand. “You’ll look beautiful in whatever you wear. This whole town loves you.”

“You’re always so encouraging, dear.” Delia patted her hand back. “Thank you, but also, don’t flatter me. I need help.” She narrowed her eyes as she swung her gaze between them. “Now, which of you will do my makeup for the big day?”

Zoey pointed at Rosalyn, just as Rosalyn timidly raised her hand. “I believe I have some experience in that department.”

“Perfect.” Mama D slapped her hand on the table. “I’m thinking a dramatic smoky eye.”

She and Rosalyn began talking lip colors as the coffee shop door swung open, heavy boots clunking inside.

Linc.

Zoey’s heart jolted, her vision narrowing until the chalkboard wall and bronze light fixtures faded from focus. He strolled toward her, gaze locked on hers, brow drawn. Her stomach somersaulted. Had her trap worked?

“What is this?” Linc dropped a bowl—one of the solid black ones from his house—onto the table. It clattered in a circle, spinning on its rim until it finally rested still in front of Zoey.

Rosalyn’s eyes widened. Mama D leaned over to peer at the beige, lumpy contents.

Zoey blinked up at Linc, rolling in her lips and pressing them together. Joy bubbled. “Just some porridge.”

“Very funny.” Linc jabbed his finger toward the congealed mess, his mane of dark hair shifting on top of his head. “That stuff is like glue. You better get my bowl clean.”

“Of course, Papa Bear.” Zoey kept blinking innocently. “Nothing a little elbow grease can’t cure.”

Linc crossed his arms over his fishing shirt, glared. “I also heard you singing at six a.m.”

“Six-oh-two.” She tapped her watch with one window. “I set an alarm.”

His lips twitched. “I went home for lunch. Now I’m late for my next tour.”

“Better skedaddle, then.” She wiggled her fingers. “See you later, roomie.”

He narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth, then shut it. “If I come home and there’s some little blonde creature in a pink dress sleeping in my bed, I swear?—”

“Goldilocks wore blue.”

Linc’s gaze swung to Rosalyn, who winced and nodded.

He furrowed his brow back at Zoey. “You know what I mean.”

She shrugged. “All I can say is, too bad you didn’t like my cookies.”

“So this is what I get for telling the truth?” He thumped the bowl, which clanked against the table again as if full of concrete. “I’d rather the cookies.”

“That can be arranged too.”

Linc’s jaw twitched. He clearly wanted to laugh, she’d bet her next coffee on it. On second thought, she was only about seventy-five percent sure he wasn’t mad, which made her grateful she wasn’t a gambling woman.

Zoey cleared her throat. “No pink dresses, no porridge. Check, and check.”

Linc started for the door without another word, leaving the bowl behind. Without turning around, he called over his shoulder. “You owe me thirty pushups. Ten per day.”

“What in the world?” Mama D asked, face bewildered.

Zoey grinned at his retreating form. Linc was grumpy. Short. Annoyed.

Linc was back.

Which meant, for the moment at least, that Zoey didn’t have to pretend to be happy.

* * *

Maybe one day he could relax again.

Salt water sprayed Linc’s face as his boat raced across the water several hours later. Rays of afternoon sun bounced off the bay, and he turned his head into the mist, his shoulders tense under the warmth of early September air.

His fishing buddy Owen had referred to Linc once as that half-man, half-fish guy from the superhero movies…

to which Linc had snatched him up by the shirt collar.

But maybe it wasn’t that far from the truth—he loved the water.

Loved the smell of salt air, the crunch of sand and clay beneath his feet as he baited crawfish traps.

The tug of the water against his waders as he braced against the waves, the pull of the tide.

Being baked in the sun after a hard day’s work kept him too tired to remember.

Too tired to want more.

Like now. For a minute, the stress of his off-season business ventures didn’t exist. Worries about next season’s crawfish haul didn’t exist. Zoey’s cornflower-blue gaze relentlessly haunting his dreams ever since she’d moved in didn’t exist.

In fact, if he shut his eyes, took a deep breath, he could almost forget the fact that he wasn’t alone on the boat.

“You probably shouldn’t operate heavy machinery with your eyes closed.”

Almost.

Linc cut the engine and leveled his stare at Delia, who sat across from the captain’s chair, sleeves pushed up to enjoy the sun. “What’s the urgency of this private tour, again? It’s the middle of the day. In the middle of the week.”

“I’m retired.” Delia sniffed.

“And?”

“And I needed my vitamin D.”

“And?”

“And you need life advice.”

Oh, brother. He shouldn’t have pushed. Linc sighed, moved a wet strand of hair out of his face. “Do I?”

“I’ll say. Zoey is living with you.”

Red alerts sounded. That was a way more intimate description than the situation called for. “She’s staying with me until her check comes in and she can find her own place again. I have plenty of room.” He shifted on the captain’s chair. “And apparently, Trish snores and you talk too much.”

“Ha.” Delia hooked one sandaled foot over the other, folded her hands across her linen pants. Dark sunglasses covered her eyes, hiding the wisdom he knew brewed there on the regular. “Too much is relative.”

He narrowed his gaze. “Right now I’d have to agree with her.”

Delia laughed. “Lincoln Fontenot, honey, you don’t scare me. Or even bother me.”

Good. He didn’t want to do either of those things. But he also didn’t want the town mama freely offering her opinion on his life, uninvited.

He’d had enough sudden female input for one week.

As if reading his mind, Delia pointed at him. “If you didn’t want my advice, you shouldn’t have let it slip in front of me.”

How had he let—oh, yeah. The porridge bowl.

Linc started the engine again, puttering against the inland curve toward the gulf.

Things had felt odd with Zoey the past three days, their usual banter stilted.

It was like they were so busy tiptoeing around each other, both trying to be overly considerate, that they’d lost their friendship dynamic.

Which was the only reason why Linc had even offered to let her stay in the first place—he knew it’d be easy.

But it hadn’t been.

So while he ran the tour that morning and tried to tune out Anthony yapping about Louisiana wildlife facts and hurricane stats, he realized the only difference was that he and Zoey had stopped arguing.

He’d run home at lunch in search of something to pretend to be mad about, and bingo—porridge bowl.

He’d had to fight back a smile in Chug a Mug at Zoey’s pleased-with-herself smirk, at the light restored in her eyes.

Fighting a little smile now too, for that matter. Maybe he could allow himself to relax. Maybe things were slowly working out for everyone.

Maybe he wasn’t destined to be alone.

“…parents are missionaries, you know.”

Oh, yeah—Delia. Most people took his bouts of silence as a welcome cue to stop talking. Mama D did not.

He tried to keep up. “Whose parents?”

“Zoey’s.” Delia tilted her head, frowned. “You’ve never met them, have you? They would have already been overseas by the time you moved back to the Bay. They only come back to the States and see Zoey once or twice a year.”

Linc frowned. He’d known that, but Delia made it sound…different. Like maybe it bothered Zoey that her parents weren’t around. Every time she’d talked about them to him, she’d been proud of them. Happy they were living their calling, making a difference.

The sun dipped behind a cloud, casting a shadow over the water. “Anyway, just a heads-up that they might not understand this situation for what it is.” Delia lowered her shades, stared at him over the rim. “A friend helping out another friend.”

Aye . That stare could kill a shark in the water. What was she implying? Linc shifted in his seat, angled the boat back toward the dock. “Not sure what to tell you, since that’s all it is.”

Delia released a noncommittal hmm, lips pursed.

Man. He should have left that porridge bowl on the island at home. The last thing he needed was people getting into his business—or worse, questioning Zoey’s reputation. His own was probably shot long ago.

The motor hummed. Surely they weren’t doing damage with this temporary arrangement, were they?

He and Zoey were friends, and everyone in town understood that.

Besides, it wasn’t like they were hormonal college kids in need of a chaperone—they were grown adults, making the best of a hard situation that wasn’t anyone’s fault.

He snorted. Besides, this was Zoey . He’d seen her trick-or-treating in embarrassing Halloween costumes, seen her when she was feverish and puking her guts out.

Seen her stuff her mouth with a dozen jumbo marshmallows to win a contest, seen her burp-sing the national anthem at a baseball game on a dare. Hardly temptation-city.

Though lately, all of those memories were just making her more appealing. But Mama D didn’t know that, nor did anyone else.

What wasn’t Mama D saying?

Somewhere behind them, a fish jumped, splashed. The sun edged back into view. Linc guided the boat toward the dock, thoughts churning like the waves under the motor. For once, he felt slightly bad for all the times he’d left people in the wake of his silence. Say something, Mama D…

He finally caved. “Do you believe that’s all it is with us? A friend helping a friend?”

Delia smiled. “It doesn’t really matter what I believe, Lincoln.” She replaced her sunglasses, draped one wrinkled arm over the back of the seat, and tilted her face toward the sky. “The question is…what do you believe?”

He cut the engine as the dock edged closer, the sudden silence making his thoughts all the more deafening. What did he believe? Was he only fooling himself?

He swallowed as they floated, one hand tight on the wheel as he guided the boat toward the wooden structure. “Me and Zoey have always been friends.”

“Things can change, you know.”

He shook his head. “Not with us.”

Delia kept her face casually toward the sun, as if she wasn’t probing his deepest thoughts. “Why not?”

Because he needed Zoey—needed them —to be exactly the way they were. Change was risky, and he’d lost enough over the years. The words burned the back of Linc’s throat, and he coughed to clear it.

“Everything changes eventually, dear.”

“No. We’re different.” They had to be an exception. Even though the small ache in his gut hinted to the contrary. He risked a glance at Mama D to see if she, at least, was buying it.

Oh no. She’d taken off the sunglasses, pierced him with a look.

Linc shifted his gaze back to the dock, grateful for the excuse as the boat gently bumped the wooden side. He stood to grab the ropes, heart thumping. Surely she’d see he was busy now.

“Lincoln, all I’m saying is you might be playing with fire here.”

Like a sea bass with a baitfish, the older woman refused to let go. He wrenched the rope around the dock loop, pulling tight. Maybe he had to listen, respectfully, but he didn’t have to agree.

“And I think poor Zoey’s had enough fire in her life lately, hmm?”

Ouch. Okay, so that one hit the mark. Was this arrangement really that damaging for Zoey? He let go of the rope, blew out his breath as he turned to face Mama D. “What do you suggest?”

As if he was now the bass taking bait, she smiled smugly, tucking those dark sunglasses back on her face. “I’m sure you’ll think of something, dear.”

Oh, great. So there was that.

He finished tying off the rope, back muscles protesting as he wound maybe a little harder than necessary. If Mama D was right—and man, wasn’t she usually?—he might not get to relax again for a very long time.