A chuckle rumbles in his throat as he sets his cup down. “Yeah, and the only members were you, me, and that stray cat that kept showing up.”
“Mr. Whiskers was very dedicated,” I joke, joining in the laughter.
The banter is like slipping into a comfortable old sweater, one that has been tucked away but never forgotten. There is an easiness to our conversation, a flow that cascades from subject to subject as naturally as the river runs through Lawson Ridge.
“Saving lives by day, stargazing by night,” I muse, watching a flicker of pride light up his eyes. “You always did want to make a difference.”
He shrugs. “What about you? Creating new worlds with code and software must be thrilling.”
“Thrilling, yes. But it's more like solving puzzles than creating worlds.” My fingers trace the rim of my cup, circling the edge as I gather the courage for what came next. “Though sometimes, I wish life was as easy to debug as a program.”
“Life's tricks are trickier, huh?”
“Much trickier. Like...like navigating a divorce.”
His expression didn't waver. “That's rough. Michael always did seem…”
“Charming?” I supply the word with a hollow laugh. “Yeah, until the charm wore off and left nothing but control and manipulation. It took me too long to see it, to break free.”
“Sounds like you've been through a storm. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, a storm…” I whisper. “But I'm still here. Still standing.”
“Stronger for it, I bet.”
“Stronger, yes. Wiser, definitely. And maybe ready to start trusting again. Slowly.”
Lincoln leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. The action brings his face closer to mine, and the cozy coffee shop seems to fade into the background. His eyes, a deep brown that always seemed to see right through people, are now focused solely on me—steady and unwavering.
“Michael wasn't that person. At first, I thought we were a team, but eventually, I realized I was on my own. He... he had this way of making me doubt myself. My choices, my feelings, my reality.”
“Gaslighting,” Lincoln says, the term rolling off his tongue with an understanding that suggested familiarity.
“Exactly. He twisted things around so much, I started questioning my sanity. It's like I was trapped in a fog, constantly trying to find my way out.”
“Sounds suffocating.”
“It was. But after the divorce papers were signed, it was like the sun finally broke through. I could breathe again, think for myself, make my own choices without fear.”
“Freedom. It's a powerful thing.”
“Definitely. And scary. Starting over isn't easy. But then again, nothing worth having ever is.”
“Truer words have never been spoken.” Lincoln's chuckle is soft, comforting. “You're doing it, though. Rebuilding. That takes courage.”
Lincoln's hand reaches across the table, a gentle offer for connection. “You're not alone in starting over,” he says, his voice a low timbre that resonated with unspoken truths. “My career... it's been my life raft and my anchor. But sometimes, I wonder if I've missed the boat on something just as important.”
“Love?” The word slips out before I can rein it in, but Lincoln didn't flinch at its weight.
“Exactly.” He chuckles, but it is tinged with a rueful quality. “I’ve been so wrapped up in the lives of my patients, ensuring their safety and comfort during the most vulnerable times, that I've... well, I've neglected my own heart.”
“Sounds like you care deeply about your work,” I observe, finding his dedication both admirable and achingly familiar.
“I do. But caring for others doesn't leave much room for romance. It's like I've built these walls, professional boundaries that somehow became personal ones too.” His eyes, those deep, soulful pools, hold mine.
“Boundaries can be good, though,” I counter, wanting to offer comfort, to bridge the gap his confession has laid bare between us. “They protect us.”
“Maybe,” he concedes. “But at some point, they start to feel less like protection and more like a prison. I've been telling myself I'm content, but…” Trailing off, he shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips that don't quite reach his eyes.
