“Someone, you mean,” he says with a laugh. “About time.”
I ignore him, moving to the door.
“And if she won’t take you back, remember—grovel more!” Wyatt yells after me.
“Oh, stop. I’m not sure today is the day for that,” I hear Meadow tell him. “I don’t think she’s ready to talk.”
I block out her words and keep moving.
If I want to send up a flare, I’ll need a real plan.
I won’t stop until she’s mine again—or until I believe she’s happier without me.
How the hell do I talk to a woman who won’t give me the time of day?
I know where she works, yeah. That’s a start, but I sure as hell won’t become her stalker ex.
I need to be the man she can count on.
The man she turns to.
The man who restores what we had before I went and fucked it all up.
Since I don’t know what else to do, I reach for inspiration.
“Lincoln? To what do I owe this late-night call?” Ma answers the call like she’s waking up from a dead sleep.
“In those silly movies, if a guy pissed off his fake fiancée, what would he do?” I can’t believe I’m asking.
Mother gasps.
“Oh, dear! You’ve come to your senses.”
“Ma, no. This isn’t about me,” I lie. “Wyatt’s fighting with his girlfriend.”
“Oh, Lincoln. You may bend the truth at conferences and get away with it, but I’m your mother. You can’t lie to me.”
“Answer my question, then. What happens in the movies?”
“I’ll tell you a few you can watch. You’ll figure it out,” she says, mischief in her voice.
Six hours later after I’ve watched the titles she rattled off, I’m only sure of one thing. I’d be better off if I were a prince from a country no one’s ever heard of.
Since I’m only the Duke of Dickheadistan in her eyes, I have to find a better way to lay out my soul. To show Dakota Poe she’s everything.
All the constellations in my life, all the light, all the soul I’ll ever need.
Even above my own pride and dignity and coldhearted logic.
23
Quoth The Raven (Dakota)
My phone dings, tearing me from a delicious dream of kisses and soft words with a man who once held my universe together.
I blink my eyes open.
Just a dream—no, a memory from the day on the boat—again.
I grab my phone with a sigh to see who wants what. The first text I see guts me.
Lincoln: Can we talk?
Hell no. But I guess ignoring his last few messages for days hasn’t gotten the point across. He’s certainly not done.
I’ve done some thinking, Dakota. A lot of thinking. I know this is all my fault.
Still clutching my phone, I freshen up, get dressed, and run downstairs, beating on Eliza’s door.
She opens it with a yawn. “What’s up?”
“I have a question—does every man ever born have the same script?”
“What’s wrong?” She moves aside so I can enter.
“Nothing.”
“Will vanilla bean make your nothing better?” She pads into her kitchen and starts pawing around for coffee.
“Please.”
“Seriously, tell me what happened?”
“I need to block his number. That’s what,” I say. But there’s no chance I will.
Unlike Jay, it doesn’t feel right.
As if to prove my point, the phone pings again. I shouldn’t look because I’m sure it’s him. On the other hand, I’ve been scouting jobs I’m not sure I’ll even take just out of curiosity, so...
I look down.
Bad move.
Lincoln: Will you trade an hour of your time for a year’s worth of Sweeter Grind?
I can’t roll my eyes hard enough.
“Great. Now he’s trying to bribe me with Regis rolls.”
“Yikes, he’s playing his best card already?” she jokes. “Are you going to talk to him?”
“Nope.”
Her eyebrows dart up. Does she think I’m overreacting?
“I mean, this feels too familiar,” I lie. “He’s blowing up my phone after he said it was over. He freaking resigned rather than deal with me, which just made the rumor mill spin—and when an office romance goes wrong, everyone always blames the woman. Then he disappears for over a month and thinks we can pick up just like that?” I snap my fingers. “I’m so over it, Eliza. I bet whoever he really wanted dropped him and now I’m Backup Girl again. Screw that. Not having it.”
“Who did he want?” she asks quietly.
“...I don’t know.” I shake my head. “There’s usually someone. In Jay’s case, it was band girl. Lincoln probably has some lightning-hot Instagram model or a scary power CEO who eats nails for breakfast.”
Eliza laughs at the image.
I shrug, hating how paranoid I am. Hating that I still care enough to be upset.
“This could be completely different. What if Lincoln fell down the stairs and the bump on the head knocked some sense into him?” she ventures.
“Why step away from his job then?”
“His friend from the park was in the hospital, wasn’t he? Maybe he wasn’t lying and he was actually tied up.” She gives me a careful look.