He wanted to kiss Zoey.
No denying it. He’d thought about it in the kitchen that night, at the gym earlier. But this…this was different. This was need.
This was bad.
Linc flopped on his side, tucked the pillow under his neck. The ceiling fan whirred overhead. He’d finally confessed the truth to Noah while they were docking the boat and the women stood on the pier, chatting about wedding plans. He sort of figured there was a good chance Zoey had already told Elisa the conditions of their marriage, anyway, so Noah was the safest bet. And Linc had to say something.
Noah hadn’t seemed surprised, which meant he had probably been right about Zoey spilling the beans to Elisa. “Sometimes relationships take time to develop.”
Linc had wrapped the anchor, set it back in the bench compartment. “We’ve been friends forever—you heard the story.”
“Talking about more than friends, bro.” Noah clapped his shoulder. “You remember how long it took me and Elisa to figure it out. We went from one romantic summer as teenagers, to essentially worst enemies—until my grandfather’s will forced us to work together. Ended the family feud.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have a grandfather giving me instructions from beyond the grave.” Linc snorted.
“No, but you’ve got a daughter from the past giving you motivation. I’d say that’s pretty close.” Noah grinned, then sobered. “Look, you made the decisions that put you here. So why not fully commit? Give it a chance.”
“I don’t think Zoey wants that.” Linc brushed it off as thinking of her, trying to look noble. But deep down, it wasn’t so much fear that Zoey didn’t want to take a chance with him. It was fear that shedid.
And that he’d still eventually end up alone. Not be someone worth staying for.
Judging by the look Noah shot him, he probably could tell Linc’s altruism was misplaced. But he didn’t push it. “You’re married now, man, so you got time. Pray about it.”
He’d shut the compartment lid. “I’m sure Zoey’s got that covered.” God would rather hear from her, anyway. Not that he’d tell Noah that.
Noah stepped onto the dock, turned to look down at Linc as if he’d somehow heard it anyway. “You can pray too, you know. There’s no quota on topics per household.”
“I know.” Linc hesitated. “I’m just out of practice.”
He believed in God as a kid, thanks to his mother’s early efforts—he still did. But his foster parents hadn’t instilled much of a lifeline in that department over the years, and getting tangled up with misdemeanors, recreational drugs, and then Kirsten hadn’t helped. After all that, he’d kept his head down, went to church as often as he could get up on Sundays. Figured he owed it to God to straighten up. But that’s where he kept his distance.
Zoey believed God worked teenage mistakes and commercial fires for good, and he could see her logic there.
It was much harder to see the good in his own father turning him over to the courts.
Linc abruptly threw back the covers, stood up. Enough sheep counting. He pulled on a T-shirt and house shoes, the boring gray slippers only reminding him of Zoey’s smiley-faced ones, and there went the rabid squirrels again.
Probably wasn’t anything good in the fridge, but even a glass of water might help at this point.
He shuffled into the hallway, pausing at the light shining down the hall from Amelia’s room. What was she still doing up? Last he’d glimpsed the clock—quite a few squirrels ago—it’d been nearing eleven p.m.
He headed to knock on the door, which stood just a little ajar, but stopped again at the muffled voices inside. Amelia’s—and Zoey’s. He shook his head. Leave it to Zoey to initiate girl talk at nearly midnight. He started to head for the kitchen.
“…don’t tell Dad.”
He stopped short. Craned his head.
“Amelia, I can’t do that.”
He released a little sigh at Zoey’s logical response. Of course they wouldn’t gang up on him like that.
“Please?” Amelia’s voice shifted into tearful begging. “He’ll be so mad if he finds out I tried to steal a phone.”
Shewhat? His chest tightened.
Her young voice pitched. “What if he kicks me out?”
“He’s not going to do that.”
