Page 43 of Layla Meets Her Match

I force myself not to scowl that she’s chatting with him. Lincoln and I aren’t dating. I have no claim, and I certainly haven’t told Astrid about my growing feelings for him. She can’t be blamed for what she doesn’t know.

“It was so cool to watch a game from that suite. I’ve never done that before,” she goes on, clapping her hands in front of her face. “Well, I’ve only been to a couple live games, but that was definitely cooler than any other game I’ve been to.” She beams at Lincoln.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” His response sounds polite. Or am I just reading into what I want to hear?

Astrid glances at me. “Everyone online is saying you two are dating since Layla wore your jersey.”

I’ve changed my mind. I hope one of those customers idling by the menu board steps up. Soon. Astrid’s question is a clear attempt to see if we actually are, and I don’t know how to answer that. We’re just friends doesn’t feel like the full truth anymore, despite me reiterating that to my agent.

I chuckle and avoid the question by turning to Lincoln. “What are you having this morning?” I ask in my most chipper voice. Am I being too friendly? Did that sound flirty? I can’t help glancing over at Astrid, and she’s staring between us, waiting for one of us to reply to her statement about our relationship status. “Mila made sugar cookies,” I go on, and I’m rambling. “She made a cheesecake frosting that’s mwah.” I put my fingers to my lips in a chef’s kiss gesture.

Lincoln grimaces. “Uh, no sugar cookies for me today.”

I cringe. “Still too soon?”

He laughs, and having his full attention warms me. “I didn’t even eat one of them before, but I can’t help feeling anxious when I think about it.” His cheeks pink a little bit, like he’s embarrassed to admit that he’s bothered by the thought of poisoned cookies.

“I don’t blame you,” I reassure him. I lower my voice further. The other customers are still out by the menu board, but it’s always better to be careful. One of them could be the culprit. None of us have any idea who’s stalking Lincoln—or Mila, I guess. “Has Dillon gotten back to you about the muffins?” I ask.

Astrid gasps next to us, and we both turn toward her. Her expression is aghast. “Someone else got sick?” Her face is so pale, and she’s blinking rapidly. Is she sick?

I shake my head and remember that she and Mila went into the truck before Officer Brady suggested that Lincoln keep buying stuff from the bakery truck to lure in the perpetrator but to be careful about it. She’s worried, just like the rest of us. I shake my head. “No. Lincoln’s going to be taking the stuff he buys over to Landon’s friend so that the police can try and catch whoever’s doing this in the act.”

Astrid sags with relief. “That’s a very good idea,” she says. She looks around, expression anxious, like the culprit could be anywhere. And I guess they could be.

But seriously. This is my time with Lincoln.

Which is so dumb to think. I’ll have an entire evening with him tomorrow, so there’s no need to be selfish about the ten minutes he spends at the bakery truck this morning. Maybe I should dunk my head in cold water. There must be some way to get the image out of my head of the way he looked when he opened the door the other night at the hotel. Mamma mia, he’s like some kind of movie character but real. Thinking like this should worry me. I know what it’s like to date a movie star.

Deep in my heart, I know this isn’t the same. Lincoln Knight is an actual superhero. Phantom Hex is just a character.

“Yeah,” Lincoln says, pulling me back to the conversation about the poisoner. “Hopefully keeping up the routine gives Officer Brady some leads. Maybe they’ll be able to get fingerprints or something if we find out something’s been poisoned again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Astrid says absently. She’s still looking over the customers. We need to catch the poisoner soon so we can all quit worrying.

Lincoln turns back to me. “The muffins were clean,” he says with a shrug.

“I guess that’s good news.” But it also means there’re no leads yet. I hate that this is hanging over all of us. I cut a glance to Mila, baking away in the back and lost in her passion. She scoops some batter out of a bowl and tastes it, smiling to herself and then tossing the spoon into the small sink with a clatter. This situation has been stressful for her, and she’s threatened on more than one occasion to close the bakery truck down until whoever’s trying to poison her customers is caught.

Lincoln glances at his watch, and my heart sinks. Tuesday night, I remind myself.

“I saw cherry vanilla mini German pancakes on the board?” he says. “I’ve got to try those. My mom used to make German pancakes when I was a kid. They’re my favorite. I’ll take four.”

“They’re delicious,” I say approvingly, tapping his order into my tablet.

“Just don’t forget to be careful with them,” Astrid admonishes, getting up to box up the order. Her gaze is fixed on something across the street, and I follow it, but all I see are people walking down the sidewalk, some pausing to look over toward the food truck.

“Of course,” Lincoln assures Astrid. It might be just me, but his smile looks a little forced. The kind you give a little kid when you pat them on the head and say, Definitely no monsters under the bed.

A woman about my mom’s age steps up behind Lincoln. Lincoln must notice the movement, because he glances over his shoulder and then steps aside for her.

“Is someone stealing from Mila?” the woman asks, her tone indignant, as she gestures back to the sign.

I glance at Lincoln, unsure how to answer without lying. “There, uh, has been some tampering with her ingredients.”

“That’s despicable,” the woman says. She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “I bet it was that guy who has the barbecue truck. You know the one that’s a couple down when Sweet Kisses parks with all the other trucks? He’s always grumbling about Mila stealing his customers like he even makes the same thing.” She rolls her eyes.

Well, that’s something to tell Officer Brady. I know the truck the woman is talking about. Still, I’m careful not to lob accusations when I don’t even know the guy. “We appreciate your loyalty. What can I get you this morning?”

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