Chapter 21

Considering it took Lincoln Knight a full fifteen minutes to respond after I ended a text message with a heart, I overthought that message until he responded.

And to be honest, that simple "you're welcome" didn't help matters.

He probably thinks I'm coming on to him. Despite all the ways it's looked like I'm flirting with him, he hasn't said anything to me. If he liked me back, he'd do that, wouldn't he? He'd say, "Hey, this is a fun thing we've got going on. Wanna go out?"

He has kind of asked me out. Me and my daughter. For a celebration. It's a total friend thing. The way it should be.

This is how my brain goes around and around as I walk to work on Saturday morning. Margot agrees with me on all points with hearty squeals. Or she could be cheering on the squirrel that follows us for three blocks. Hard to say with an eight-month-old.

When we approach the bakery truck, I see Astrid pacing around several feet behind it, on the phone. She's scowling, and I'm pretty sure she's arguing with whoever she's talking to. I forget my dilemma with Lincoln—mostly—and head toward her. I'm ready to intervene if Kipp can't take no for an answer.

"You can't do that!" she says in a high, fearful voice. She looks up, sees me approaching, and ends the call. "Hey," she says, plastering a smile on her face when I get to her. She crouches down next to Margot and gives her a more genuine smile, making Margot reach toward her.

"Everything okay?" I ask. The wobbly tone to her voice when I walked up has all the hairs on my arm standing on end.

"Totally fine," she says, her voice calm and making me question what I heard a moment ago.

After giving Margot a quick kiss on the cheek, Astrid stands and leads us toward the back of the truck, where the bodyguard is making a round. She stiffens when she sees him, and I draw in a breath. I know he's protecting us, but he's also a reminder of the awful stuff going on with Mila's truck. She's been talking about shutting down until the police find out who's doing this. It has me thinking if my videos can tide us over until I start getting a paycheck from the show.

"What if it's not just Lincoln that's getting poisoned items, and we just don't know?" Mila had asked Landon last night.

Landon and I both pointed out that people would be sure to report that.

She'd settled by making a sign to post on the menu board for the foreseeable future. "Sweet Kisses has been the target of some foul play. If you see anything off, please report to us or the police immediately." It's going to make for an interesting day, for sure.

"Astrid, if you need help with something?—"

She cuts me off. "Everything is fine," she repeats. She pauses at the back door while I get Margot out of her stroller.

"Kipp?" I guess, eyeing her.

She shakes her head. "No. It's a director that I'm working with. He's super demanding."

I pull Margot into my arms and cast Astrid a comforting look. "That's hard, but also great that you have a job. Congrats! What is it?" What I heard as fearful was probably just frustration.

She waves her hand. "Just some little job. A commercial for social media or something." Her cheeks color.

I put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't be embarrassed," I tell her. "No job is small. I make ad videos for that kind of thing all the time at nights. It's how I afford to have my own apartment."

She draws in a breath. "Yeah, okay."

I slip Margot into my sling and follow Astrid inside to start getting ready for the day. "How about another double date with me and Lincoln?" I ask, hoping to brighten her day. She could use a night out if she's got a difficult job she has to go and do. "He has a friend."

Astrid's cheeks turn pinker. "That's okay," she says, grabbing a stack of boxes to fold into shape. "I … there's kind of someone else."

"Oh, have you and Kipp decided to be exclusive?" I try to keep my expression neutral and my tone light, even though I disapprove.

"No, no, no," she says. "It's not him." She pinches her lips into a line, but the expression fades. "It's someone else. I don't want to say because I don't think he thinks of me like that." She shrugs and looks down at the boxes.

Oh, girl. I know the feeling.

I mentally slap myself. It doesn't matter. I'm not dating right now, and that's okay. "Okay. But if you change your mind, let me know. It's Shern from Eli's house the other night. He told Lincoln he thought you were cute."

She chuckles. "I'll let you know."

I'm not sure how to feel when Lincoln ends up ordering from me about fifteen minutes later when he arrives before heading to the Rays facility for meetings. My heart starts thumping at the sight of him, and I almost want to wave him over to Astrid's line so I can calm down. And so he doesn't get the wrong idea about how I feel, of course.

How do I feel?

"Foul play?" he says in a low voice and with a sexy, mischievous smile that I could melt into a pool over. (Oh, seriously. Like I was going to send him to Astrid's line.)

I chuckle. "We couldn't exactly say people were being poisoned," I reply in a low voice. "But Mila also felt bad going about business as usual. She wants to encourage people to report it to her if they get sick."

The smile doesn't leave Lincoln's face as he nods. "It's smart."

"Hey, Lincoln!" Astrid says brightly from her station as she swipes a credit card from a customer.

He turns. "Morning, Astrid. How are you today?"

"Really good." She hands back the credit card, keeping her eyes on Lincoln. "Good luck against Seattle tomorrow. I know that's a big game."

"Thanks." He clears his throat. He looks back to me, and I notice the way he drums the fingers of one hand in a steady rhythm against his navy-blue joggers. "Eli and I talked about getting a suite for you all to watch the game. We thought that would be fun." His voice rises at the end of each sentence, questioning if that's something we'd like to do. "That way you could corral Margot if you brought her or whatever, you know?"

I glance back at Mila. "We already told Eli we were in. It sounds way fun," she says.

"I'd love to," I say. "I'll probably get a babysitter for Margot though, so I can just relax and enjoy the game."

"Yeah." Lincoln nods quickly. "Good idea. But she is welcome if you decide to bring her," he adds. "You're invited too, of course, Astrid," he says, turning back to her.

A prick of jealousy dances through my chest, kind of like when she was so excited to see him at Eli's earlier this week. I sweep it away. I don't need to be jealous of Astrid's attention to him. First of all, Lincoln and I are just friends, even if my daydreams sometimes pretend otherwise. (This is not out of the ordinary. Women fantasize about pro athletes all the time. It's not weird.) Second, he's trying to set her up with someone else. At my request.

I narrow my eyes at the way she chats with him now about how she'll know where to go, and he responds by saying he'll text her the details. He has her number?

I shake my head. This is a dumb train of thought to jump on.

"Dude," the guy behind Lincoln says, making Lincoln jump. "Not to be rude or anything, but are you going to order?"

Lincoln blushes. "Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I'll take half a dozen raspberry muffins." He says the order so fast I almost don't catch it. I barely have it tapped in before he's holding up his phone, ready to use it to pay for the order. "Sorry," he says to the guy again as he steps aside.

The guy blinks at him, maybe catching sight of Lincoln's face for the first time, or maybe it's the Rays logo on Lincoln's oversize hoodie, but now the guy's cheeks redden. I think because he recognizes Lincoln. He waves away Lincoln's concern. "No problem. No problem."

"No problem?" the guy behind him mutters. "He's holding up the whole line."

Lincoln's shoulders tense, and I try to communicate with my expression that it's fine. Why are our only two grumpy customers today right behind him? The second guy looks familiar. I scowl when I recognize him. He's the guy who asked if we had anything healthy last week and then walked out of line, which is why I remember him. Now he can't wait to get a cookie?

"Just a minute, sir," I say, overly sweet.

"Yeah, no problem," he repeats again. The guy behind him scoffs.

I turn to get Lincoln's muffins but notice that Astrid is just putting the last muffin in. She keeps glancing up at the two guys waiting in my line, her expression nervous. Okay, Mama Bear Layla is about to pounce with them making everyone in this truck on edge.

"Are those Lincoln's?" I ask, keeping my voice gentle.

She jumps, her gaze snapping to me. "Yeah. Here you go." She slams the top of the box down and hands them over. Her cheeks are bright red.

"Don't worry about them," I say in a low voice.

Astrid nods, but it's an automatic gesture. She hurries back to her seat, calling the next person over to her line and taking the order, leaving me with Mr. Healthy.

I hand over Lincoln's muffins to him before sitting down, and he gives me an apologetic look. "See you tomorrow?" I ask him, ignoring the impatient bearded guy standing way too close to the window, as though I've forgotten he's there. Today he's wearing a tight black Nike T-shirt and matching running shorts.

Lincoln's expression lights up. "You guys will be my lucky charm." He waves and walks off, leaving me wondering if I imagined that he held my gaze for a long moment before glancing at Astrid.

"Are you going to take my order anytime today?" Muscles huffs.

"Chill out," someone says from behind him, and I want to give them a free cookie.

"Sorry for the delay." I widen my smile sweetly for him, turning on the "customer is always right" act to kill this guy with kindness. "What can I get for you?"

He looks over at Astrid, who's avoiding his gaze, and I don't blame her. "I'll take a raspberry muffin, and can you leave off the icing?" His tone is so condescending.

I should get an Emmy just for continuing to smile. "I'll have to go back and check." I scoot back in my chair and try not to laugh as he lets out another huff. "Any of those muffins not have the icing drizzled over yet?" I ask Mila, tilting my head toward the guy who's now shifting from side to side impatiently.

She widens her eyes. "Those ones just came out." She gestures to a dozen on the cooling rack.

I grab one, box it up, and head back to my seat. "Thanks for your patience," I say, my voice dripping with syrupiness. He just grunts as he taps his phone against the reader and reaches out for the box. He's already stalking off as I call cheerfully, "Have a nice day!"