Because if she wasn’t, then all of this had been for nothing. His and Zoey’s marriage, his bonding with Amelia, their developing family.
He’d lose it all.
He walked into the kitchen, the overhead light bright against the darkness outside. Zoey sat at the table, unclaimed photo prints from the wedding covering the wooden surface. Had that only been yesterday? Felt like a week’s worth of events had happened in the past twenty-four hours.
He studied the way she bent over the pictures, one arm braced on the table, the other propping up her chin as she studied each one before adding it to the growing stack. His heart twisted. They still hadn’t talked. The kiss was still hanging over them, like an anvil on an old Looney Tunes cartoon, waiting to drop.
And now this. How was he supposed to focus on that—onthem—now?
His life had become a giant question mark. Too many important things pulling at him at once. He wanted to sink onto the couch, throw a blanket over his head.
Or better yet, kiss Zoey again until all of this went away.
“Hey.” Zoey looked up. Her smile immediately calmed a bit of his stress, and she scooted the chair beside her out from the table with her foot, an invitation. The wedding band on her finger glinted under the kitchen lights, and he wanted to take her hand. Kiss her palm, the move that had started everything between them the night before.
But he fisted his hands, kept them to himself as he sank onto the chair. It’d been a wild, unsettling day—if he opened that door now, no one would be able to shut it. “These all from the wedding?” Obviously, but he didn’t know what else to say.
“Yep.” She moved a pic of Mama D and Farmer Branson from one pile to the next. “I’ll surprise her with this one. Maybe frame it first.”
“She’ll like that.”
Zoey pointed to the next print of Noah and Elisa shoving cake in each other’s mouths. “Funny what you can see in a photo that you miss in real life, isn’t it?” In the background, behind Noah’s shoulder, was Trish—glaring at Sawyer Dubois engaged in conversation with Harper.
Linc snorted. “That’ll be interesting later.”
“Like I said.” She tapped another stack of photos together and grinned. “Funny what you can see sometimes.”
They sat in silence, looking down at the photos. He stared until his vision blurred and the images swam.
Zoey’s voice was soft. “She has your eyes, Linc.”
He grunted, unable to meet her eyes. “Lots of people have dark eyes.”
“She has your attitude too.”
He cut her a look, then.
Zoey tapped his arm. “I think you’re worried for nothing.” A beat. “But I do think you should tell Amelia.”
He stiffened. “I don’t know that I want to talk about it right now.” Every decision he’d made lately felt like a ticking time bomb to destruction—to the loss of everything he’d just gained. Discussing it put him at risk of having to admit maybe some of those decisions were wrong.
“But think about it.” Zoey pointed upstairs, toward Amelia’s room, where she’d disappeared after having spent the afternoon with Mama D. “Honesty is a big deal to her. If she hears about it another way, she’ll be hurt you didn’t tell. Might break trust.”
His frustration ebbed. Zoey was right. But—“I don’t want to give her a reason to leave.”
Zoey frowned. “She won’t leave. She doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Maybe she won’t physically leave, but she won’t think of me as her dad anymore.” Linc swallowed. “We just got there…It’s too risky.”
“Love takes risks.” Zoey clamped her hand over his. “Personally, I think she can handle it. She’s pretty mature for her age, after everything she’s been through.”
“I agree. But not right now.” He shook his head. “Later.”
Maybe.
His breath tightened. He’d just wanted to come downstairs, forget about that horrible conversation with Ms. Bridges today that changednothing, and reset. Veg with Zoey on the couch or even help make another inedible cookie recipe, if she wanted.
He didn’t have anything beyond that to give right now.
