Page 12 of Lillian

“Ready to go, sweetie?” I ask, and she pouts but nods, dropping the toy in her hand. “Say goodbye to Yasmine,” I tell her.

They hug quickly, and then I’m out the door with Grace on my hip. Normally, she’d walk, but I told her we had to hurry because we were late for Mommy’s appointment. She complained for a minute until I offered—bribed—her with ice cream after.

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting on an exam table with Grace on my lap as we wait for the doctor. The longer we wait, though, the heavier I feel her get until her head falls completely weightless on my shoulder. Sound asleep again.

Wonderful. She’s going to be awake almost the whole ride back now. Of course, the doctor walks in two minutes later, ready to go.

She stops when she sees my sleeping baby and whispers her hello.

“Sorry, she just fell asleep.” I shrug unapologetically. If they ran on time, she would have been awake.

The doctor is unperturbed, though. “That’s okay, I can work around her.” Her smile is kind and professional. “You’re just here for a basic wellness screening and STD check?” she asks.

I nod.

“Great, if you could shift her to one arm, I’ll start with your blood pressure,” she instructs.

I do as she says, barely having to move Grace at all. We go through all the regular steps. Blood pressure, lung and heart check, health questions. Then she draws blood from my arm for the—I guess—extensive STD panel.

The doctor leaves after confirming the results will be sent in a few days.

The sun is setting when I leave the office, blanketing the office buildings in a golden hue. Grace woke up as the doctor shut the door behind her on the way out, so she’s walking hand in hand with me to an ice cream shop down the street that used to be my go-to spot when I lived in Phoenix four years ago.

The nap gave her a big burst of energy because she is jabbering away, and I do my best to listen to her and keep an eye on our surroundings. One guy walks a little too close, and I give him the stink eye. At the look, he frowns but steps a foot in the opposite direction.

“Mommy! Look!” Grace yells at me to look at where she’s pointing. The ice cream shop has a big cone sign lit in neon colors, which she has spotted up ahead.

Two seconds. That is how long I’m distracted, ignoring the group of businessmen walking past us.

“Lil?” a deep, surprised voice calls out. It stops me in my tracks with Grace still clinging to my hand, trying to pull me toward the line of people out the shop’s doors.

That voice…

A trickle of a memory breaks through. Flashes of lazy kisses while snuggling on the couch, teasing over breakfast, and strong fingers gripping my hips all hit me in a five-second span of time. The voices filling the busy Saturday sidewalk filter out as I turn in slow motion to see the man who broke my heart four years ago staring at me like he’s seen a ghost.

Lincoln.

Shit.

Panic starts to build as I think through my options. Do I ignore him? Give him a small wave and obligatory smile like an emotionally mature thirty-year-old woman and then go on my way? Do I stop and catch up?

His group of friends, or maybe coworkers, have stopped as well and are glancing between the two of us in obvious interest. I wonder what they see on my face. Panic? Longing? Pain?

I school my features into what I hope is a bland smile as he breaks off from the group and walks toward me. My eyes scan him from head to toe, and damn him, he looks good. Still absolutely gorgeous with his hazel eyes, dark mop of hair, and thick, trimmed beard.

There are a few gray hairs around his temple now, though, and as he gets closer, I notice the beginnings of crow's feet around his eyes. But rather than detract from his look, it makes him even more attractive.

How do men do that? Get better looking with age.

He’s bigger, too. Even in his perfectly tailored navy suit, I can tell he’s packed on at least ten pounds of muscle in the past four years.

I’m still agonizing over which approach I’m going to take with him, the friendly and polite brush-off or the still jilted lover, when he stops in front of me. Turns out I don’t need to worry. Not as Grace tugs on my pant leg and whines, “Mommyyy.”

Lincoln’s hazel eyes shoot right down to the beautiful little girl clutching me, begging for the sweet treat I promised, and he stills.

Well…shit.

I watchthe sun start to set through the floor-to-ceiling windows in one of the building’s conference rooms as Greg and Tyler bicker about the wording for our latest draft.

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