Zoey pointed at Rosalyn, just as Rosalyn timidly raised her hand. “I believe I have some experience in that department.”
“Perfect.” Mama D slapped her hand on the table. “I’m thinking a dramatic smoky eye.”
She and Rosalyn began talking lip colors as the coffee shop door swung open, heavy boots clunking inside.
Linc.
Zoey’s heart jolted, her vision narrowing until the chalkboard wall and bronze light fixtures faded from focus. He strolled toward her, gaze locked on hers, brow drawn. Her stomach somersaulted. Had her trap worked?
“What is this?” Linc dropped a bowl—one of the solid black ones from his house—onto the table. It clattered in a circle, spinning on its rim until it finally rested still in front of Zoey.
Rosalyn’s eyes widened. Mama D leaned over to peer at the beige, lumpy contents.
Zoey blinked up at Linc, rolling in her lips and pressing them together. Joy bubbled. “Just some porridge.”
“Very funny.” Linc jabbed his finger toward the congealed mess, his mane of dark hair shifting on top of his head. “That stuff is like glue. You better get my bowl clean.”
“Of course, Papa Bear.” Zoey kept blinking innocently. “Nothing a little elbow grease can’t cure.”
Linc crossed his arms over his fishing shirt, glared. “I also heard you singing at six a.m.”
“Six-oh-two.” She tapped her watch with one window. “I set an alarm.”
His lips twitched. “I went home for lunch. Now I’m late for my next tour.”
“Better skedaddle, then.” She wiggled her fingers. “See you later, roomie.”
He narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth, then shut it. “If I come home and there’s some little blonde creature in a pink dress sleeping in my bed, I swear?—”
“Goldilocks wore blue.”
Linc’s gaze swung to Rosalyn, who winced and nodded.
He furrowed his brow back at Zoey. “You know what I mean.”
She shrugged. “All I can say is, too bad you didn’t like my cookies.”
“Sothisis what I get for telling the truth?” He thumped the bowl, which clanked against the table again as if full of concrete. “I’d rather the cookies.”
“That can be arranged too.”
Linc’s jaw twitched. He clearly wanted to laugh, she’d bet her next coffee on it. On second thought, she was only about seventy-five percent sure he wasn’t mad, which made her grateful she wasn’t a gambling woman.
Zoey cleared her throat. “No pink dresses, no porridge. Check, and check.”
Linc started for the door without another word, leaving the bowl behind. Without turning around, he called over his shoulder. “You owe me thirty pushups. Ten per day.”
“What in the world?” Mama D asked, face bewildered.
Zoey grinned at his retreating form. Linc was grumpy. Short. Annoyed.
Linc was back.
Which meant, for the moment at least, that Zoey didn’t have to pretend to be happy.
* * *
Maybe one day he could relax again.
