“Why should I?” I challenged, harnessing that frustration and using it. “I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Other than your name, all I know about you is you’ve spied on me at my grandmother’s funeral, stalked me in the forest, and now you’re here, committing a little breaking and entering. Why, I should be filing a restraining order against you, not authorizing you to write my biography!”
Lincoln stood tall during my tirade. He never flinched, never even wavered. Just watched and listened silently. Accepting it all.
“I’m trying to get to know you now,” he said once I stopped speaking.
“That,” I said, sputtering, searching for more words. “That is the most convoluted, backward way of looking at this!”
Lincoln shrugged my criticism aside. “Would you prefer we do rapid-fire?”
“What?”
“Rapid-fire.” He cocked his head to the side ever so slightly. “Last name?”
“Wilson,” I said, frowning.
“Silkweaver,” he said, hooking a thumb at his chest. “Middle name?”
“Anne.”
“No middle name. Birthday?”
“January eighteenth.”
Lincoln nodded. “August seventeenth. Current job?”
“Finance. Investments.”
“Do you like it?”
“The job, yes. Company, no.”
“Best friend?”
“Petra Carliaco, but we’re not that close. I’m, um, a bit of a loner.”
Wow. Not sure you had to add that in there.
“Rome Jackson,” Lincoln said. “Pets?”
“No. No time.”
“Same,” he said with a grunt. “Husband?”
I shook my head.
“Fianc??”
Eyeroll.
“Boyfriend?”
Glare.
“Favorite food you want for dinner tonight?”
My jaw, opened to begin telling him, slammed shut at the additional part to the question.
“What?” he asked coyly.
I peered at him suspiciously. “Did you just ask me on a dinner date?”
Lincoln opened his mouth wide, acting innocent. “I never said anything about you eating with me, or it being a date.”
“But … you …” I licked my lips, struggling to speak. “You said … I mean …”
Lincoln smiled broadly now. Not a grin but just a big smile, and it lit up the room, making my stomach do flips it was not remotely trained to be doing. I liked when he smiled, I was learning.
“Also, you never answered my question.”
“You want to go on a date?”
“Sure,” he said smoothly. Too smoothly. “We can definitely do that. But I was referring to why you left town, and what that was like.”
I stared, trying to figure out what the heck I was going to do. What Iwanted to do.
Do I really want to go on a date already? So soon after Caidyn, a situation I’m still dealing with? It’s only been a few days.
Comparing Lincoln to Caidyn felt rude. Improper. The two were so completely and totally different. It didn’t matter what had happened before.
No. This is crazy. You need time. You need to process.
“Tacos. And it’s just dinner,” I said, crossing my arms to make the point clear. “And I have questions for you. Starting with what happened last night and why didn’t you come back?”
Lincoln grinned toothily. “I’ll see you at dinner then. For a not-date.”
He winked at me and walked out before I could get another word in, leaving me frustrated, flustered, definitely confused, and maddeningly enough, more than a little aroused.
This is a big mistake.
Lincoln
“Hmmm.” I rifled through another cupboard, listening carefully for the reaction to my rather nondescript mutterings.
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