I grab my phone, thinking of what to say, how to thank Lincoln for a dress that likely cost a small fortune. I consider how much Poppy is going to freak out, and how I feel overdressed just looking at the gorgeous piece.
Coffee.
Coffee will help. Coffee always helps. I drape the dress across my bed to prevent any wrinkles and head downstairs to the kitchen. I grab my favorite mug, an extra-large one that is big enough to hold a bowl of soup, and bright shades of orange like the sun. I’m stirring in creamer when Dad comes in, wearing jeans, a dark green sweater, and a focused expression as he silently reaches for his keys, stopping when he notices me. Guilt prevents him from looking me in the eye. “Morning.” His voice is gruff as he fixes the sleeve of his sweater tucked into his watch—a gift from Mom.
“Where are you going?”
“Work.”
I stare at him. “You aren’t still seeing her, are you?”
“Who?”
“Who? There’s more than one?”
“What are you talking about?”
I stare at him, shaking my head. “Your teenage girlfriend.”
His eyes turn hard. “That was a misunderstanding. Nothing happened.”
“You remember I saw you, right?”
“Nothing happened,” he repeats.
“Are you kidding me? That’s the story you’re sticking to?”
“Dammit, Raegan.” He slams his hand against the counter, the granite barely making a sound. “This isn’t any of your goddamn business.”
“But it is Mom’s business. You need to tell her. They might be giving her the opportunity to be superintendent, and if this comes out, it could ruin her chances. You owe it to her to be prepared.”
His scowl makes him a stranger. “Forget about that night. Forget what you think you saw. Forget all of it.” He grabs his keys and turns on his heel, ending the conversation as he breezes through the house and slams the garage door behind him.
I wrap my hands around my coffee cup, the warmth seeping into my icy fingers, my emotions numb as I try to process his words. Could I have been wrong? Was he not having an affair? My dad is smart. If he were having an affair, he certainly wouldn’t bring the girl home where his chances of being caught would go up ten-fold, right? Did I misread the entire situation? But if I did, why didn’t he clarify who she was? Why did he get so defensive? Why has he been sneaking around? The questions continue to mount, making my thoughts far too heavy. I set my forehead against the counter, soaking in the coolness from the granite.
Am I just avoiding the truth?
My phone buzzes beside me, and I’m reluctant to look at it until it sounds again, and then again.
Poppy: Did you find something to wear?
Poppy: Do we need to go shopping?
Poppy: You better not be sleeping!!!!
I pull in a deep breath and sit up.
Me: Got the dress.
Me: Going to shower now. You can come over anytime.
Poppy: Need me to stop and get anything?
“Just answers,” I say to the empty kitchen as I type out a quick ‘no.’
I scroll to Lincoln, my cheek still resting against the counter, breaking every rule of good posture.
Me: The dress is beautiful. Thank you.
It’s a gross understatement for both the dress and my feelings, but I still feel like I’m tiptoeing around Lincoln, uncertain about where we both stand.
Poppy arrives while I’m blow drying my hair. I answer the door in a towel, and she lifts cups of coffee from Beam Me Up, where I work. “Nate was working. He says hi.”
“Don’t freak out, okay?”
She cocks a brow. “You can’t start a sentence like that. It builds my anticipation, and then I’m either disappointed or primed to freak out.”
I tilt my head, indicating for her to follow me.
“Are your parents home?” she whispers.
I shake my head.
“Then, why can’t you just tell me.”
“Because I need to show you.” I grip my towel in one hand, and her arm in the other since her hands are still full with the coffees.
“You didn’t kidnap Candace and hide her in your closet, did you?”
“You should’ve suggested that two years ago.”
“I did. You told me it was illegal.”
I laugh, pushing my bedroom door fully open. Poppy stops, her eyes roving over the stunning dress before bouncing to me. “If you tell me he sent that, I’m going to freak out.”
“You should probably set the coffees down.”
“Oh. My. God!” She turns, setting both cups on my desk. “Did you know?”
I shake my head. “I never wear pink.”
She chuckles. “It’s gorgeous.” She wipes her hands across her torn jeans before approaching my bed and running a hand down the fabric before she checks the size, just as I had to ensure it’s going to fit. “I’m so Team Lincoln after this, Raegan!” Her eyes jump to mine. “This is the most romantic thing ever.”
“Is it? Am I channeling Maggie as I question if he thought I wouldn’t look nice enough if left to my own devices?”
Poppy shakes her head. “Push those thoughts out of your head and out the window, down the street, and into the ocean because you’re so wrong. That is not Lincoln, and you know it. This was his way of telling you he wants you to go. His way of telling you he thinks you’re as gorgeous as this dress. His way of being romantic.”
I release the air that keeps getting stuck in my throat. “You’re freaking out a little.”
“Oh no, I’m freaking out a lot. I’m just trying to keep it together, so you don’t get nervous.”
“This is a lot fancier than I imagined in my head.”
She grins. “He’s going to be wearing a tux.”
My heart races erratically, a mess of conflicting thoughts and emotions, making this moment far more bitter than it ought to be.
“Finish blow-drying your hair. We have nail appointments in an hour. You’re going to look so good, this doctor you’re trying to impress is going to be recruiting you on the spot. We won’t even cover what Lincoln’s reaction is going to be.”
12
Lincoln
I park in Raegan’s driveway, the button of my dress shirt pinching at my neck. I leave my keys in the console, passing by a colorful metal turkey in the flowerbed, my determination to make this night a success with her introduction to Dr. Swanson, making my steps light as I climb the porch and ring the doorbell.
I rock back on the heels of my dress shoes that, like my shirt, feel too tight.
The front door opens, and my thoughts come to an abrupt stop. My breaths stop, my heart stops—time fucking stops—allowing me this moment to study and admire Raegan. Her high cheekbones, bold eyes and long lashes, and her perfect lips that are stained red. Her neck is bare, drawing my attention to her collarbone, the line of the dress tastefully hinting at her cleavage. Then she smiles, and it’s nervous and hopeful and so goddamn perfect I want to tell her to forget about the party and about the reasons we should be avoiding each other and focus on all the ways I can make her feel good, all the ways I’ll pledge myself to her pleasure and happiness.