The stress of her situation was getting to her. She backed away, wiped apple juice off her face. “No sane person can do thirty pushups in a day, Linc.”
“I do fifty.”
“Like I said.”
Gravel crunched outside. Linc frowned, stopped mid-chew. “Expecting someone?”
“I wasn’t even expecting you.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, then remembered the flour. Too late. She swatted at the white streaking her hair like premature gray. Ha. Another few days staying in close proximity with Linc and she’d be full-on silver.
Linc brushed past her, toward the front door. “Delivery truck might have taken a wrong turn.”
She followed him, brushing at the front of her apron and leaving a trail of white powder in their wake. “How big a hermit are you that you’re assuming a postal worker is lost instead of bringing you a package?”
“I rarely shop online. My protein powder lasts a month.”
“People could send you gifts.”
He grunted. “That doesn’t even happen at Christmas.”
It didn’t? She frowned.
Linc peered out the screened door at an older model sedan parked halfway down the long, tree-lined drive. A middle-aged woman climbed out and began a careful trek in low heels over the gravel toward the porch.
Linc glared. “I have a no soliciting sign at the end of the driveway.”
“Maybe she’s lost, like you said.” Zoey nudged Linc toward the kitchen. “I’ll make you a deal. You go put the next batch of cookies in and set the timer—that way it’ll be your fault if they burn—and I’ll handle this.”
“Fine.” He obliged and headed back for the unsuspecting cookie dough. “I guess you living here is good for something besides making a mess.”
“I’m going to assume you’re joking,” she called over her shoulder. But she smiled as she faced back to the driveway. See? They had their groove back. She was annoying, he was easily bothered, they bickered and bantered.
Best friends. They could make this work for a few weeks, if it took that long.
Everything was going to be okay.
The lady outside, dressed in a faded pantsuit with a floral-print blouse and carrying a manila folder, finally reached the door. Zoey opened it before she could knock, put on a welcoming smile. “Hi! Need some help?”
“I’m looking for Linc Fontenot.” The brunette flipped open the folder in her hand and glanced at the document inside, as if to verify, before looking back at Zoey. Her foundation was a tad too dark for her skin tone, but her eyes were kind, if not tired.
A lawyer, maybe? Zoey frowned, shifting her weight to block the door as if that might keep Linc from hearing. “He’s not available right now. I could probably help.” If this was about the kid that fell off the boat, well, she definitely wanted to know first. Find a way to break the news gently to Linc.
Or better yet, have a chance to pack her suitcase and get a head start.
The woman shook her head. “I’m afraid I have to speak with Mr. Fontenot directly.”
Yikes. Definitely a lawyer. Zoey drew a breath, smoothed the front of her apron, then realized how ridiculous she must look with flour everywhere. She tried to find her most professional voice. “Listen, Ms…”
“Bridges.” She hefted her purse on her shoulder.
“Ms. Bridges.” Zoey leaned in closer, lowered her voice as she propped open the screen door with her foot. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding with this”—she gestured toward the folder—“suit.”
Ms. Bridges frowned, looking down. “What about it?”
“It’s not right.”
“Not right?” She tugged at the hem of her jacket. “Really?”
Zoey shook her head. “Honestly, it’s all wrong. Trust me.”
