Chapter Eight: Keep on Wanting

Chapter Eight

Lincoln

KEEP ON WANTING

Performed by The Fray

Once I'd let myself into my house, I headed straight for the study still battling the intensity of emotions flooding me. At the desk, I opened the security system software on my laptop that was linked to both my phone and computer. The cameras gave me a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the outside of my property with no obstructed views.

I played with the angles of the ones out front until the gate and the front of Willow's cottage came into view. It wasn't good enough. What I really wanted was an unobstructed three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of her property. But if I demanded cameras be added, she'd likely think I was a door with a missing hinge. I wasn't her friend, her boyfriend, or a relative.

I was a stranger who'd shown up at a bad time. My behavior was borderline obsessive at this point, especially considering how short of a time I'd known her.

I meant nothing to her. She meant nothing to me.

Except, the knot at my throat disagreed. The fact that it was there, tugging and tightening, was almost as troubling as the idea of Poco showing up in the middle of the night when I couldn't see him.

I closed the security app and opened my email to find a flurry of messages from Mom. The subject line of the top one read, If you don't answer your phone today, I'm sending Hardy.

Shit.

I slammed the laptop shut and jogged up the stairs to my bedroom. The phone was right where I'd left it, charging on the nightstand. When I picked it up, I had twenty text notifications. It wasn't the worst I'd ever found, but it was enough to make me grimace.

Katerina's was at the top, begging me to answer Mom once again. I groaned as I realized I hadn't sent the message I'd intended to. I'd gotten sidetracked with cardboard and cemeteries and Willow. I shot off a note saying I was responding right now.

I debated texting before wondering if Mom knew what was eating at my sister. Talking would be easier.

"The lost boy awakes," Mom answered in a tease that barely covered the worry.

"Just because I'm not tied to my phone like it's a body part the way Katerina is, doesn't mean I've disappeared off the face of the planet." It was an old argument. Even with the enormous things that had happened to me, even when I'd lost myself to alcohol for weeks, or been in a haze of sleeping pills that made me forget, I'd never been suicidal. That would have been the easy way out.

I'd needed the pain of existing in order to earn my penance.

"It's a mother's prerogative to worry about all her children," she said.

"Like Katerina? What's the deal with her these days?"

Mom hesitated for a beat. "What do you mean? What's wrong with Katerina?"

Well, hell. Now, I'd just given her something else to worry about instead of easing her mind. I tried to cover up my mistake with Katerina's own words. "I suppose she's just working too hard."

"Hollywood is almost as bad as politics," Mom said with a sigh. "It can eat your soul if you're not careful. I'm seeing her soon, so I'll get to the bottom of it."

That meant I'd be getting an irritated message from my sister about siccing Mom on her.

"Where are you today?" I asked, hoping she'd forget all about our conversation.

"Arizona. In ten minutes, we're leaving for lunch with the governor."

"You're schlepping around in sweats, then," I teased, knowing she was done up elegantly in a perfectly fitted dress suit. Just like I knew her brown hair layered with highlights of cherry wine and gold would be coiled neatly at her nape. Her light-blue eyes framed by expertly sculpted brows would sparkle and charm whomever they were with, her lean, tall frame standing regally at Dad's side as if she'd inherited the posture from her English-royal ancestors. My twin sisters had inherited her looks, while I took after my father. Dad got his code name of Gibbs from his resemblance to the actor who played the NCIS character.

She huffed out a laugh and then asked, "How's Cherry Bay?"

Entrancing. Captivating. I'd felt that way about the town even before Willow had shown up and added another layer of interest to it all. Instead of saying any or all of that, I simply said, "I started painting."

"Lincoln…that's wonderful, darling." Her voice was full of emotions. The press had nicknamed Mom the Ice Queen decades ago when nothing they said ruffled her feathers. But she'd never once been that way at home. My sisters and I had always felt the full force of our parents' love. Even when their lives were chaotic and busy, they'd always made time for us. They showed up when it mattered. They were front seat at Katerina's plays and Juliette's academic decathlons and in attendance at as many gallery showings as they could manage. They'd been the first ones at the hospital the night Sienna had died.

"You know how it is. You'll likely hear less from me while the painting works its way through my system," I told her.

"You're sleeping enough?" she asked.

"I'm getting used to the change in my environment," I said instead of lying. "You won't recognize the house when you see it again."

"After California, we'll be back in D.C. We'll get a trip down there on our schedule."

"It's a busy time for you right now. Save it for the gallery opening."

"Do you have a date?" She sounded surprised.

"No," I chuckled. "But it has to be soon. Otherwise, I'll be in the red before I even open the doors."

I was proud of the fact Sienna's gallery had been profitable after its first year, and I had no intention of the gallery here leaching into it. I was using the salary I'd paid myself to start up this one, and while I could lean into my trust fund, it was the last thing I wanted. I had every intention of passing my trust down to the next generation of Mathertons in better shape than I'd inherited it.

"Trish is waving me toward the door," Mom said with a sigh. "Try to respond to me once in a while so I don't have to worry quite as much."

"I'm good, Mom. Just concentrate on getting Dad through this last campaign."

"I can't believe it's almost over," she said quietly. In those words, I heard all the pride and relief my sisters and I felt, but I also heard sadness. For my parents, it was an era coming to an end. I couldn't really imagine their lives without politics. What would they do when every minute was no longer carefully choreographed and accounted for?

"It'll be done in five years, Mom. You'll both have done your time."

"You know we don't see it that way. It's been an honor to serve."

And wasn't that just the crux of it? I'd always seen Dad's career as a burden while they'd seen it as a gift. A duty they happily fulfilled. An attempt to protect a nation that didn't always deserve it.

Maybe protection was in our blood.

After hanging up with I love yous in the air, I returned to the office and the security system. It wasn't my responsibility to look after Willow, not even considering my past and the failures hanging over me, but it was a duty I would happily and willingly perform.

? ? ?

After searching the internet for anything I could find on Poco and coming up empty—the man didn't even have a social media account—I turned to Willow and was surprised to find she didn't have any either. At least, there were no accounts with her real name. I tried a few different usernames like ‘Cherry Bay baker' and such before giving up. In today's day and age, it was odd to have no accounts. No footprint at all. Didn't everyone leave some kind of trail?

I didn't know her mother's first name, but when I searched for a Cherry Bay teacher with the name Earhart, an article came up in the local paper. It was about a science decathlon Erica Earhart's students had recently won and how they were moving on to the state championships. What was odd was that there wasn't an image of her in the paper or on the high school's staff directory.

Something was off, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

My stomach growled loud enough to jerk me from my online search.

When was the last time I'd eaten? The scone this morning, but what had I had the day before?

Nothing. My refrigerator was empty except for a few condiment jars I'd brought with me from the D.C. condo. I needed to go grocery shopping, but I had no intention of doing so tonight.

I could order in, but escaping from the rabbit hole I'd journeyed down was the better option. I found my keys on the desk, grabbed the baseball cap from the coatrack by the door, and headed out into the fading sunshine.

Across the street, a well-used Pathfinder now sat along the curb in front of Willow's cottage. My stomach tightened uncomfortably, desire and concern mixing. Was it her mother's car? Some man's?

I shook my head, shoving the cap on my head and striding toward downtown. If I continued down this path, investigating her online and standing moodily outside her door, fixated on who was at her house, I'd cross over into the stalker category that Felicity had entered.

It wasn't until I'd broken up with her and refused to answer her calls that the Secret Service had found the cloning software on my phone placed there by a private investigator she'd hired to investigate me. She'd dug into my past as well as my present, trying to uncover all my secrets. She'd downloaded messages between me and my family and tried to use them to reel me back in. She'd cried large crocodile tears, saying she'd hired the PI because she had a stalker when we had proof that she'd asked the PI to follow me rather than any obsessed fan of hers.

When the Secret Service showed up at her door, she'd retaliated by releasing a twisted compilation of my private messages with my family to the media. She'd cut and spliced them with the secrets I'd given her, the truths about my ghosts and the guilty conscience I carried, hanging it out for all to see. She'd used her sad, baby-blue eyes, shiny auburn hair, and fragile air to convince them I was a heartless deranged sadist who'd tossed her aside after I'd promised her a lifetime.

The fury and disgust I felt every time I thought of her betrayals fueled my steps. It stayed with me until I hit Main Street where the sun setting on the cozy village sucked my breath away just as it had when I'd stayed there late last summer. The peaceful haven eased the boiling in my blood, shoulders relaxing. If anything good had come out of my time with Felicity, it was this—the fact that it had led me to Cherry Bay.

I scanned the buildings, eyeing the handful of restaurants tucked into the gingerbread fa?ades. I'd eaten multiple times at the Italian restaurant while staying at a bed-and-breakfast down the street. Remi's had decent lasagna and a killer chicken parmesan, but I wasn't in the mood for red sauce laden with garlic. A wry grin hit my lips. Maybe I really was turning into a vampire.

I strode past the restaurant, and the bar next door tempted me. The stained-glass window showing a prince and a princess bursting into light added another layer of magic to the downtown. I stared at it for a moment, something wavering at the back of my mind—an idea for the gallery that wouldn't quite take hold.

I started toward the bar's door, but a loud burst of laughter traveled out and halted me. Even if I didn't take my hat off indoors like my mother had instilled in me, I might be recognized while eating a meal. I needed takeout.

I turned, intending to head toward the Chinese restaurant at the far end of the street and ran straight into a man standing directly behind me. He had dark hair and angry eyes behind thick-framed glasses. His face was so white it bordered on pasty. He wasn't as tall as me, but his frame was stocky, and his clothes hung off him in a disheveled sort of way. Not quite dirty and torn as someone living on the streets might wear, but more a look of being worn down by drugs or life.

"My apologies," I said, moving around him and away.

"You should be sorry."

The fury of his tone had me glancing over my shoulder. His fisted hands, clenched eyebrows, and scowl screamed an aggression that startled me. I'd barely bumped into him.

Attempting to ignore it, I strode down the street only to have him follow me. I groaned internally. I couldn't afford a confrontation. Not here. Not now. If he attacked, and I had to use my years of martial arts training to defend myself, it would make the news. I could see the headline: Lincoln Matherton Attacks Man on Streets of Cherry Bay . My parents would have to deal with the fallout. The town I'd escaped to would be flooded.

I crossed the street, and the man did the same. As I neared the doors of the yoga studio, a group of twenty-somethings with rolled mats under their arms emerged, laughing and jostling each other.

The man was forced to step to the side to let them go by, and I ducked into the studio.

The man glared through the window at me but didn't venture in.

I approached the desk where a petite blond woman in yoga pants and a sports bra sat. Her stomach was round with pregnancy, and she had a hand resting on top of it. She turned a serene smile to me as she asked, "Can I help you?"

"Just looking for a schedule of your classes," I answered.

She stared at me for a long moment.

"Have you been in here before?"

My jaw tightened, hoping I could get out of the place before she recognized me. I tugged at the brim of the baseball cap before saying, "No. I'm new to town."

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out where she knew me from. I held my breath, waiting for the aha moment. When it didn't come, she turned and pulled a brochure from a stand behind her, handing it to me. I thanked her and walked out.

I glanced both ways down the street, the tension in my back easing when I didn't see the angry man. The crisis had been averted. But for how long? How long would I be able to remain anonymous in this tiny town, especially after opening the gallery? And once word spread I was here, what would the locals think? What would the press do?

I adjusted the baseball cap again as I strode down the sidewalk, continuing to scan for the man just in case. An engine revved, and a beat-up Civic sedan sped by. I wasn't sure if it was the same man behind the wheel, but I had a distinct impression it was.

Unease crept over me, the entire exchange leaving a bad taste in my mouth. The Secret Service had instilled in me the importance of listening to my gut, but in this case, I had no idea what it was trying to tell me.

What I did know was that my appetite was gone. So instead of heading toward any of the restaurants dotting the street, I made my way to a tiny shop that was little more than a convenience store. The prices were high and the stock low, but I grabbed a basket and dropped in a few essentials and microwave meals that would tide me over for a day or two.

The sun had drifted even lower over the buildings, all but fading away by the time I'd paid and exited the store. Shadows blended in with the pink blossoms scattered across every available surface. I'd found peace here when I'd visited last August, and I'd hoped it would surround me permanently once I'd moved here. But now, within a matter of hours, my peace had been disturbed by a stranger and Poco. Even more so by Willow.

As I left the slow hum of downtown behind and ventured along the quiet of my street, I glanced one more time at Willow's cottage. A warm light leaped from the antique windows, pirouetting over the roses and shrubs in the delightful garden.

More painting ideas swept through me. The continued twirls of dark and light I'd already started but also images of her flitting along the canvas like a butterfly dancing through marigolds. Fragile and yet incredibly strong as long as the oils of humanity didn't touch her wings.

My fingers itched to capture the image, long strokes transitioning from black and white into color. The urge was so strong, so intense, I almost dropped my bags and headed straight for the studio. Instead, I finished carrying them home, knowing I'd be getting very little sleep again tonight.