Chapter Six: Breathe

Chapter Six

Willow

brEATHE

Performed by Kenzie

I blew out a breath as annoyance and worry sped through me in equal measure, taking the good mood I'd finally settled myself into as I'd baked this morning and sending it back into the ether. Hector did not need to get involved in this. Who knew what would happen if he started something with one of Paul's henchmen? A flash of a body riddled with bullets hitting the ground whipped through me before I could stop it.

"What happened?" Hector demanded. "Did he try to get into the shop? If he did, I'll have it on camera. We can give it to Dexter and his deputies, and they'll follow up on it."

I shook my head, putting a hand on Hector's arm, attempting to both reassure him and hold him back. "No. Nothing happened here. It's fine. A little misunderstanding. Lincoln interrupted us, but I'm sure I would have been able to work it out."

Lincoln grunted his disagreement, and I shot him another glare, hoping he'd take the hint.

"Where were you?" Hector demanded.

I hesitated for a beat too long, and it was clear to everyone I didn't want to say. It wasn't that I was embarrassed exactly about my visits to the cemetery, but I also understood it wasn't a normal hobby. After we'd buried my dad, I'd become fascinated, maybe even slightly obsessed, with the wording on the tombstones. That had turned into an interest in the artistry of them and then into a desire to make sure the people there were remembered in some way. That their life had meaning. The gravesites without flowers were the ones I gravitated to the most. Names I looked up on the internet. Lives I tried to imagine. A whisper in the dark that said, "You weren't forgotten."

"I was on my way to work," I finally said.

"He was on your street? Stalking you?" This hadn't calmed Hector down the way I'd thought it would. He twisted away from me, heading for the old-school landline hanging on the wall near the cappuccino maker. "That's it. I'm calling Dexter."

"Hector, please!" I begged, and maybe it was the unusual desperation in my voice that made him stop. "I can't talk to Detective Muloney. It needs to be forgotten."

Even though the Marshals pretty much left us on our own now that we weren't in active protection, if a police report was filed, it might flag in their system, and they might scurry back into our lives. They might make us move all over again. I didn't think Mom would make it through another recreation of our lives. The first one had taken almost everything she had. It wasn't just losing Dad. It was the fact she'd lost everything. Everything but me. And even though we'd had each other, neither of us had been the same for a really long time.

I couldn't do that to her again. And I was happy baking. If we were relocated, would they make me give up my career like they'd made Mom give up her nursing? Would I ever be able to bake professionally again without fear that it would tie back to this version of me who'd lived to bake? That thought nearly stole my breath. It was scarier than being caught in Poco's grip. A cold sweat broke out along my neck.

Still, I forced a smile, knowing from experience if I kept it long enough, I'd actually feel it, while I underplayed the events of this morning. "It was nothing, really. Lincoln didn't hear the entire conversation. Everything is fine."

Lincoln stepped up to the counter, and when I risked looking at him, anger had returned to his eyes. The same anger I'd seen when he'd stepped up to defend me, but I couldn't help it. I shook my head at him, pleading with him in a different way than I was with Hector.

A timer went off in the kitchen—the second batch of the Mexican brownie scones ready.

Hector looked from my forced cheerfulness to Lincoln's glowering face, and his hand dropped away from the phone. "I don't want you alone with him ever again. If he comes into the shop, and you're at the counter by yourself, I want you to get me or Shay or whoever else is here."

"Deal," I said quietly.

"I'll get the timer," he said, tilting his head toward Lincoln. "You get him one of those scones he was waiting for. It's on the house. I won't take money from someone who defended you."

Then, he disappeared behind the swinging door, and I turned back to the display case with a mix of emotions flowing through me. Frustration that Lincoln had inserted himself into this. Panic at the thought of the Marshals getting involved. Warmth from Hector's protective love. And over the top of it all, that heated zing of attraction as Lincoln's eyes watched me putting a scone into a paper bag.

Had I really thought this spark would disappear if we met again simply because a counter was between us? Did this kind of lure ever go away? I wouldn't know because I hadn't had enough experience with it. But the attraction I felt didn't change the impossibility of chasing it. Didn't change my aggravation at Lincoln telling Hector about this morning. I hadn't even been sure I'd tell Mom, and I told her practically everything—I mean, as long as it didn't threaten her safety or send her back to those first awful days of depression.

I pushed the scone across the counter to Lincoln and met his penetrating gaze, surprised to find his face was now completely shuttered. The anger I'd seen moments before was put away behind a blank fa?ade—a stunningly handsome one.

He was his own work of art.

Not only gorgeous, but kindhearted. Sure, he'd interfered, but it had been out of consideration. Out of worry. So, when I finally spoke, it was with a gratefulness I hadn't felt just seconds before. "Thank you again for helping me this morning. But everything is fine."

I accompanied the words with a beam I hoped was reassuring. One he didn't return.

When he spoke, his tone had a surliness that tried to bite at me. "I obviously don't know you very well, but I didn't get the impression you were stupid."

I could have been offended by his taunt, but instead, I was overwhelmed with the same desire I'd had earlier to soothe away his ruffles until nothing was left but joy. The absurdity of my thoughts as much as the strangeness of the president of the United States' son sticking up for me had me letting out a huff of air, half chuckle and half annoyance.

His intense gaze narrowed on my mouth.

I had the distinct feeling this man could easily tear away my layers if I let him. I was uncomfortable at what he'd find, even while I longed for him to do it. To find the me buried deep inside. Not the cheerful baker Willow, nor the terrified teenager Wendy, but some amalgamation of them. Something more. Someone he'd find worth holding on to regardless of the risk that came from wanting her.

Too bad I couldn't even let him try.

The sooner I severed the bond tying us together since the cemetery the better.

"I know Poco isn't a nice guy," I told him with a shrug. "But I also know he won't do anything serious enough to draw police attention to Tall Paul's business. So, he'll drop it."

"You have a lot of experience with criminals that tells you this?" Lincoln asked, and I could hear the disbelief but also the disappointment in his tone.

It took a practiced effort to prevent a dizzying slew of ugly images from my last tangle with criminals from taking over, but I did it. I did it and increased my smile to full wattage. "No experience. I've just lived in Cherry Bay long enough to know what's what."

The tension in the air was much more than just that enticing pull of desire. Frustration brewed as we stared at each other in an unspoken dare. Who would back down first?

He dragged his hand through his hair, that wayward lock falling gently back over a brow, and I noticed his fingertips were black. Ink or chalk or something similar, and it reminded me he didn't just own an art gallery in D.C., but that he was an artist himself.

"You were drawing?" I asked.

My attempt to change the subject didn't go unnoticed, but he seemed to accept it. Relief and a strange giddiness washed over me as I realized I'd won the dare. I'd pushed, and he'd given in. I had a feeling it didn't happen often. I'd bet every last, limited dollar in my bank account that Lincoln Matherton wasn't used to people ignoring the commands he issued.

His voice dropped an octave as he responded. "I started something new for the first time in over a year. I guess I have you to thank for it." An eddy of dark emotions existed in those words, like a secret pond hidden in a shadowy forest. Emotions that might drown me, ripping away the light I'd fought for in my life, and yet I found myself stepping up to the waters anyway.

"Me or Poco?" I teased, wanting him to say it was me as much as I wanted to continue flirting just to test these new depths. I wanted to see if, instead of him dragging me toward the murky waters, I could fling the sash wide and let the sunshine burn through the gloom around him. Let it burn through both of us.

His blue eyes narrowed. "I saw you before. You were at the cemetery on Sunday also."

My stomach lurched at the question I heard there. The desire to know why I was spending time in the dark with the dead. But before I could even decide if I'd respond or not, the bell jingled over the door, and three college girls hurried inside, bringing the remainder of the damp and wind with them as they laughed and joked with each other.

It jolted me back to reality in the same way the hail on the roof had earlier.

For the first time in forever, having to get back to my baking felt like a burden instead of a gift. I wanted to stay right here, taunting Lincoln until he gave me that stunning, real smile I'd seen briefly in the car. But instead, I'd go back to work, holding on to another tantalizing memory where I'd flirted and bantered with a famous artist, and later, I'd add it to my list of beautiful experiences.

The sound of the door brought Hector from the kitchen. He glanced over at Lincoln and me again before wiping his hands on a towel and stepping up to the counter to help the trio.

"I have to get back," I said, pointing toward the swinging door. "Lemon poppyseed scones are calling me, but thank you again for stepping in and also for knowing when to leave things alone."

It was a preemptive thank you because he hadn't said he was letting it drop. But all I wanted to do was put the entire thing behind me.

I had to put it all behind me, including Lincoln.

Lincoln picked up the drink and scone before saying, "I'll see you around, Willow."

And in that handful of words, I heard a quiet promise that sliced right through my intention to be done with him. Because it was clear Lincoln wasn't done with me. He hadn't gotten the answers he wanted. I'd thought he'd backed down from the dare, but instead, he'd simply called a momentary halt to the war.

It thrilled me as much as it terrified me.

My body was glad, humming softly as if loaded up with sugar and cream. But my conscience was screaming at me to stop this before it went any further.

As I watched him stroll out of the café, one of the three teens followed him with her eyes before swirling back around to whisper to her friends as if she'd recognized him. And that right there was just another reason why spending any time at all with Lincoln was an impossibility.

The answers he wanted weren't going to happen.

? ? ?

The kitchen was spotless as I tossed my apron into the hamper with a pile of towels. The café was hopping with noise I could hear through the swinging door. Ted and Shay were out front, but Hector was in his office when I went to grab my things from the lockers.

He pushed his glasses up on the top of his head and set aside his paperwork as I let my hair down and pulled a gauzy skirt on over my leggings.

"Want to tell me what really happened?" he asked.

I sighed. "Truly, it was nothing. You know how Poco is. Sort of creepy, pushing to see how far he can get. But he always walks away."

I wanted to believe if Lincoln hadn't shown up in the cemetery, I would have been able to convince Poco to let me go. I just hadn't had the chance to get that far.

"I can refuse to serve him," Hector said.

"It's not necessary, really."

Hector's kind eyes took me in. "Make sure your mom knows so she can keep an eye out."

I didn't really want to disrupt her good mood. But if Hector knew, it was just a matter of time until Mom did, especially if the plans Shay and I had been making to throw them together took shape.

I shouldered my bag and slung my coat over my arm. "I'll tell her. But you worry too much. Everything is fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

As I headed out, my feet halted in the hallway, thinking of the dark and shadowy places in the alley. After a brief internal debate, I headed for the front entrance instead, making my way through the throng of customers, relieved when Poco wasn't one of them. I hated that he'd returned to me the skittish feeling I'd finally shaken after the trial.

I'd lived four years waiting for the shoe to drop while the wheels of justice turned slowly in Chicago. I'd waited for the Viceroys to find us—for the worst to happen. The first year here, I'd rarely left the house. The second year, I'd signed up for classes at Bonnin and felt both relieved and terrified to leave the four walls of our cottage. But blending in, staying invisible, had still been the goal. Needing to lie about who I was had made me uncomfortable enough that I'd been afraid of making friends in case I let something slip I shouldn't. Something that would lead Aaron Vitale and his gang to our door.

I'd sort of gotten my feet underneath me by my second year at Bonnin and had even gone on a couple of dates with Chad. But he'd dropped me like a lead balloon once I'd hinted about the truth of my potential medical situation, and I'd stuck to the things that brought me the most pleasure. The Tea Spot. My friendship with Shay and the warm glow of Hector's praise as I puttered around with his recipes.

Spring of my junior year, the trial had finally taken place, and I'd found myself retreating to the darkness of that first year. The look of anger and hate Aaron had shot me once the guilty verdict had been read was hard to forget. Hard to shake. But knowing the two men responsible for Dad's death were in jail for the rest of their lives had allowed me to breathe easier. The risk that any of the Viceroys would come after me had decreased by leaps and bounds after I'd testified.

I'd come back to Cherry Bay determined not to waste my life. I'd made a list of things I wanted to experience while living within the bounds of witness protection, and culinary school had been at the top. I'd accomplished it along with many more tiny, daily pleasures.

I wouldn't let Poco take my good life away.

As I stepped out of the café, the wind snapped at me, sending a cloud of cherry blossoms whirling into the air much as it had the day before. I caught one in my hand, and the sweet color and smell sent a wave of ideas through me for the piece I was working on at home. For two seconds, everything around me disappeared as my mind filled with frosting and tarts and shades of pink.

Whistling brought me out of it. A sickly cheery tune that had goosebumps crawling over my arms. I jerked my head up from the petal, scanning the street.

Nothing.

No Poco. No lurking gang members.

A black Range Rover pulled up along the curb, and the passenger side's tinted window rolled down to reveal Lincoln leaning over from the driver's seat. "Get in. I'll drive you home."

Had he been waiting for me? That idea brought a wash of mixed emotions. Joy and hope that needed to be squashed. Irritation. Worry. It was all too dangerous. Too complicated.

I stepped over to the window. "I live literally five minutes away. It's the middle of the day. No rain. No Poco. I'm fine." But the echo of the whistle reverberated in my head, mocking me.

"If you don't get in, I'll get out and walk with you, but I'm running out of steam. So, do me a favor and climb in?" The firm set of his jaw told me he'd do just that.

As I opened the door, I told myself I was only getting in because of the shadows under his eyes that I didn't want on my conscience, but a little voice was laughing at me. I was tempting fate. Daring the universe. All because of the lure of attraction buzzing inside me.

The warmth inside the vehicle had me shivering after the chill left over from the storm. I buckled my belt, and when Lincoln didn't move from the curb, I looked over with a raised brow. "Home?"

Those strong and sensual lips quirked upward. "And where's home?"

I laughed softly, realizing he had no idea we were neighbors. "Mom and I live in the cottage across the street from you."

Surprise lit his eyes. "The house with the fairy-tale garden?"

I beamed up at him. "Yep. That would be us."

He looked over his shoulder and pulled out into the lunchtime traffic. It was heavier this time of year with Bonnin's semester in full swing and tourists flocking to the greater D.C. area for all the different cherry blossom festivals. Those first few years here, not knowing who was coming in and out of town, not knowing if one of them was looking for me, the volume of visitors had been disconcerting. Now, the ebb and flow of people was one more thing I loved about Cherry Bay.

Lincoln took a right at the stop sign, and the hustle of downtown turned into the quiet of houses tucked up against the meadowland bordering a forest of cypress trees. Neither of us spoke as he drove the short distance, the tension in the air causing me to tug at my necklace and fidget in my seat. I expected him to stop in front of our cottage, but instead, he pulled into his driveway. We got out in the same silence, meeting at the back of the SUV. I stopped there, ready to try and say goodbye one more time, but he simply strode across the street toward our gate.

"You don't have to walk me to my door," I called out to him.

He looked over his shoulder with one eyebrow raising. "You can't get out of answering my questions that easily. Plus, I want a closer look at your garden."

Bewilderment swam through me as he let himself into our yard. I really didn't understand why my safety had become so important to him or why he so desperately needed answers. Maybe it was simply because I hadn't been good at pushing him away. I'd sent mixed signals, teasing and smiling one moment and then trying to close the door the next. But the truth was, the pull I felt toward him was confusing. Heady and tantalizing, it was hard to find my way while juggling the new emotions. Juggling dreams with protocols.

By the time I caught up to him, Lincoln had stopped in the middle of our riverwalk path, spinning to take in the cherry tree at the back and the willow tree up front with its feather leaves in full bloom. In between was a chaotic mix of flowers and herbs and wild ground cover bursting with new buds. The yard had already been full of plants and color when we'd moved in, but Mom and I had added to it, making it into exactly the fairy-tale garden Lincoln had called it. One where imps and gnomes might come alive at night. Where the insects shared secrets and butterflies felt safe to rest their wings.

"It's a bit of magic," he said with a small grin that set my pulse flying. "How long have you lived here?"

"Almost six years."

"It's beautiful. Peaceful."

It was. Working on the garden had marked off a box in my journal. Life had bloomed and blossomed under my fingertips. Seeing Lincoln's pleasure, the awe and contentment on his face, was another beautiful moment. It was an image I'd keep and cherish, just like the life and magic pouring from the garden.

I continued down the path to the cottage. The solid oak door stood out against the gray stones, white-washed plaster, and gingerbread Tudor trim. The leaded-glass windows in the dormers reflected the clouds drifting by, and the steeply pitched roof, now a faux-thatch, made it easy to imagine the prince and princess from the mural at the café calling it home.

Lincoln followed me to the door, and I tried once again to end our time together by saying, "Thanks for the ride."

His eyes narrowed. "As I said, you're not blowing me off, Willow. Tell me what's really going on. Why were you in the cemetery, and why did you refuse to call the police on Poco?"

I wanted to roll my eyes. I was so tired of talking about it already. I wanted to just let it blow away like the storm. I turned up my smile and said, "Really, there's no need for you to be involved."

He was standing so close I could feel those sparks of attraction traveling over me again. I imagined myself grabbing hold of each tiny flame, holding on for a brief moment before letting them fly up into the sky as I sent Lincoln on his way.

"I'm afraid it's too late for that," Lincoln insisted. "Even more so now that I know you live across the street from me. If I still had my detail, they'd be knocking down your door and Poco's after it. I don't want to have to call them back. I like my privacy too much."

"So, in order for you to keep your privacy, I have to give up mine?"

My words seemed to hit home, because he looked uncomfortable for the first time since laying out his demand for me to get into his car. Brilliant blue eyes looked both sad and determined.

And suddenly, I was angry. At him for not letting go. At my life for making me shove this stunning man away. At all the things I couldn't have. I let the emotion sink into my veins for all of two seconds, but then I let it go, just like the sparks. I knew more than anyone what anger did. It destroyed. It tore through goodness and let evil win.

I wouldn't let it back in my life. I'd already had enough of it.