Chapter Fourteen: Sway

Chapter Fourteen

Willow

SWAY

Performed by Danielle Bradbery

I was still practically vibrating with glee as I unwound my hair from its clip and pulled on another maxi skirt over my leggings. The Tea Spot had been busier than ever this morning, and all my samples had disappeared by ten o'clock. I'd have to make a triple-sized batch tonight, at least.

My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out to see a text from Lincoln.

My overly full heart almost burst out of my chest.

LINCOLN: I'm out front when you're ready to walk home. Hector tells me there are no more samples. Did you really not save me any?

I hustled through the swinging doors, eyes searching the café for him and pulse spiking when I found his tall, broad-shouldered frame waiting off to the side of the door. Only the very tip of his nose and chin were visible under the baseball cap he wore as he glared down at his phone.

Why, when I knew just how impossible it all was, did I still long to wipe away his frowns and scowls and bad moods? Why did I yearn so badly for the one man I couldn't have? Why was it only the idea of his smiles and his brilliant cobalt-colored eyes lighting up at the sight of me that brought happy butterflies to my chest?

A long-sleeved, white Henley was spread tight across wide shoulders, his carefully sculpted muscles were easy to miss if you gave him just a cursory glance, but when you lingered on him, they stood out, screaming strength. His shirt was tucked in at his narrow waist where artfully worn jeans covered equally muscled thighs. He was stunning. And people noticed, eyes drifting toward him and away.

Even though the café was extremely crowded, there was a bubble of empty space around Lincoln. I wasn't sure if it was because of the leave-me-alone vibe he was putting off, that rigidly straight back screaming confidence, or the simple fact the regulars didn't know him.

As if he felt me staring, his head lifted, and his gaze locked on me from across the room.

The grin that wiped away his frown caught my breath. A little thrill tripped through me, knowing I'd been the reason for it.

Mom was right that I liked this man. Utterly and completely too much. And even though standing next to him in the daylight was stupid and risky, my feet still moved toward him as if his gaze had reeled me in.

"Hey," I said, wondering why it sounded so stupid. And then all thought disappeared, and heat bloomed along my skin as he slowly took me in from head to toe.

He brushed a loose strand of my hair back behind my ear, finger skimming my cheek, and my whole body lit up. I'd never understood that phrase in books, the idea of my body literally bursting into awareness seeming impossible, but now I knew. No matter what else happened from here, I had Lincoln to thank for giving me that experience.

He looked down at my hands, where I was clutching my phone so tightly I thought it might break. "I don't see a treat in those pretty fingers. I can't believe you didn't save me even one."

He raised a brow, and the intensity of his stare made my insides flip-flop.

"I forgot to tell Hector the little box in the kitchen was for you. He handed it to the art teacher at Bonnin who started this madness." I waved my hand at the crowd.

Lincoln's eyes journeyed around the room and then back to me. The upward tilt of his lips disappeared into a new scowl. "Poco show up?"

I shook my head and then hurried toward the door. Lincoln's quick stride allowed him to pass me and open it before I got there. I slid by, arm brushing along his chest, causing fire to erupt inside me.

As we stepped outside into the sunshine that dappled the tree-lined sidewalk with diamonds of light, we almost ran into another group of students hurrying toward the café. As they passed us, one of them turned to stare at Lincoln before whirling back around and whispering to her friends who all shot looks our way.

And that sucked some of the pleasure from my morning away, replacing it with panic. And while none of the girls took out their phone and snapped a photo, what was to say the next person who recognized him wouldn't? Or what if some paparazzi I didn't even see was staked out, trying to catch a glimpse of the president's son?

After I'd spurred our pace to almost a jog, needing to get to the safety of our street before anyone else recognized him, I asked, "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Ignore the looks and the whispering?" His chin jerked up, searching behind us for someone staring. When he turned back to me with a furrowed brow, I waved my hand back in the direction of the café. "They're gone now. They went inside."

The rigidness of his shoulders grew impossibly tighter. "Did they take a picture?"

I shook my head.

"We're trying to keep it on the down-low that I'm here in Cherry Bay—at least until I open the gallery."

My gaze widened. "Gallery?"

He chuckled and pointed past Remi's and The Prince Darian to what used to be a custom bath shop. The owner had retired to Florida to be with her grandkids last year, and it had been empty ever since.

"I'm surprised it wasn't in the papers," I said, shaking my head.

"I bought it incognito. It'll come out eventually, and it'll draw people into the showroom when it does, but I'm hoping my peace will last a little longer."

We walked in silence, and some of the strain left my shoulders as we reached the quiet of our street. Not a single soul was there, and it allowed me to forget everything else and just be in this moment with Lincoln. To savor it while it lasted.

The birds were twittering above us, and a colorful butterfly fluttered past, darting into the roses in a neighbor's yard. Music drifted out an open window, a bright and uplifting pop tune.

Before I could register what was happening, Lincoln had whirled me into his arms and was dancing with me right there in the middle of the street. Our bodies were pressed up against each other, one of his hands was at the small of my back, and the other was cupping my neck. With an incredible amount of skill, he slid us together, grinding our hips, and causing every last bit of oxygen to leave my lungs.

"Wh-what are you doing?" I gasped.

"Dancing," he said beaming down at me. "God, I've missed it."

He spun me out and around, and when my feet didn't quite catch up, when I might have fallen, he caught me and drew me impossibly closer.

I wasn't much of a dancer. I hadn't ever gone out clubbing or danced in public, but I wasn't really sure this was dancing either.

These moves felt completely sensual. Each shift its own act of foreplay.

I'd never experienced anything like it.

I ignored the screaming at the back of my head telling me we were making a spectacle of ourselves. I didn't care that we were out in public where anyone could see us. I didn't care about anything but the way my body molded to his. How it fit. How it burst into heat and flame and want and need.

The song ended, quiet descended, and I might have made a deal with the devil to have it turn back on. To once again move to that erotic beat with him.

The pure pleasure on his face as he looked into my eyes sent another spike of lust to my already overheated body.

But his words broke the spell. "We should go dancing. Is there a club close by?"

I couldn't go anywhere with Lincoln—certainly not to a club where dozens of people would see us, take pictures of him, and capture me at his side. Disappointment slid through me. A bitter taste of pure chocolate before it was combined with sugar to cut the edge.

I pulled away without answering him, and his smile disappeared. I hated I'd been the reason for it. Hated that I'd taken his joy and popped it like a water balloon, making it leak out on the street where it evaporated in the sunshine.

At my gate, I turned back, battling the need to do something—anything—to bring the smile back, warring with the desire to ask him inside. I wanted to offer him a cup of tea and ask a thousand questions about his gallery. I wanted to feel the warmth of his hands on me again, to feel the flare of attraction and lust and want, but I couldn't.

So I'd simply tuck away this beautiful moment where I'd danced with a stunning man in the sunshine and hope it would be enough to last me until the pain of knowing him and being unable to keep him left.

"You're staying in now? Making more of those desserts I've yet to sample?" he asked. And the way he looked at me, the way his eyes lingered on my mouth before journeying back up, sent all the fire and flames licking through me once more.

For a moment, I couldn't find my voice, and when I did, it was breathless. "Yep. Staying in. I'll make sure to save you some tom—"

"Do you know that car?" Lincoln demanded. Any ease he'd had left from our dance vanished as he shoved his chin in the direction of a gray sedan parked near the cemetery.

A cold disquiet crept over my spine at his tone and the question. I wasn't exactly sure of the model, but it wasn't any of our neighbors' regular cars. I knew those like the back of my hand. But sometimes people dropped by the graveyard to pay their respects or wander the tombstones, many of which were as old as Cherry Bay itself.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to make out who was in the vehicle. It was impossible to tell if the person was a man or woman from this distance. It wasn't Poco. Poco had a big beefy truck raised too high to be useful, and once in a while, I'd seen him drive up to the café on a motorcycle. He wouldn't be caught dead in this banged-up car with its rusted hubcaps.

"I don't know it," I finally replied, trying to keep tension from my voice.

"That's it. I've had enough," Lincoln growled and started toward the car.

He'd only taken a couple of steps before the engine revved, and the car sped down the street with the driver turning their face away from us as they went by. My palms turned sweaty, and my vision swam.

It wasn't Poco. And it wasn't the Viceroys.

We're safe here. We're safe here. We're safe here , I chanted to myself.

But it could have been someone taking pictures of Lincoln, couldn't it? A paparazzi searching for the money shot? That thought set my stomach roiling. He must have seen the near panic on my face when he got back to me, because one strong arm went around my shoulders.

"Do you think they took our p-picture?" I choked out.

He shook his head. "No. I didn't see a camera."

I could practically hear his questions in my head. The same ones from yesterday. Why was I terrified? Was I running? Who'd hurt me?

"Willow, I can help. If you tell me what's wrong, I know I can." His voice was deep and full of promises I wished I could take him up on. I wanted to spill my guts, wanted to tell him everything, just so someone would actually know the truth of us…of me.

I dragged myself from him, stepping back. "I can't be seen with you, Lincoln."

His frown grew, and before I could help myself, I pushed at the little lines between his brows just like I did with Hector. I held my breath as our eyes locked. Then, I pulled my hand away, tucking it into a pocket so I wouldn't do it again.

"Who are you hiding from? What happened to you?" Lincoln persisted.

I shook my head, backing through the gate and shutting it so a physical barrier existed between us—one I desperately needed.

"Thank you for walking me home. I think we can say Poco isn't interested in me anymore, so we should be good from here." I kept my voice as firm as I could, given how shaky I still felt.

"That car might have nothing to do with you, Willow. I had a run-in with some guy the other night. I think it was him."

That didn't help my anxiety at all. I couldn't afford to be the center of any kind of run-ins or controversy or attention. Not even positive. With people flocking into The Tea Spot, I'd already told Hector he'd have to say he'd made the treats and the display. I'd made it seem like I was just really embarrassed…shy…but Mom had been right. I couldn't risk some reporter, even our local one, putting my face out into the world. It was enough to know people were enjoying what I'd created. I didn't need more than that.

"Have you even told your mom about what happened?" he asked.

"Yes. She was grateful you walked with me, but we both knew it was just for a few days. Poco hasn't bothered me. We're in the clear," I repeated.

I wouldn't tell him Mom also thought we'd started some big romance. I'd have to tell her the truth about who Lincoln really was before she found out. And I would…after she got back from the decathlon with her students.

Lincoln searched my face with that soul-deep look that pulled back my layers.

I glanced away and then back, raising my chin. "I'm off until Sunday anyway. Mom will go with me in the morning to drop off the desserts at the café, and then, I'll be back here working on a new piece. I'm not going anywhere for the next couple of days."

One long finger ran along his brow before he dropped his hand to his side.

When he still didn't say anything, the air between us almost started to broil with all the mixed emotions we seemed so good at flinging at each other. I took a step backward and said, "Stop by The Tea Spot tomorrow. Hector will have a box for you."

He just watched me as I continued to move farther and farther away. The sadness on his face almost made me run back, grab his hand, and drag him into the house with me. But this wasn't my fairy tale. He couldn't be my fairy tale.

Before I could be tempted, I hurried the rest of the way to the cottage. I rushed inside and leaned up against the door, trying to calm my racing heart. Just as I got myself together enough to punch in the alarm code, my phone chimed.

Somehow, I already knew it would be from him.

LINCOLN: You don't know me well enough yet, Willow. But nothing will prevent me from protecting the people I care about ever again. So, I'll see you Sunday morning at two-thirty, if not before.

My stomach dipped and whooshed at the strength of his words. The quiet promise laid out in almost every syllable. It was so very wrong, and yet I couldn't help the thrill that traveled through me at the idea I was someone he cared about.