Page 27 of Lost in the Moonlight

Seeing Poco had been a rare exception.

So we’d walk together for a few mornings, and I’d keep all my attraction and wishful thoughts wrapped up tight. And if everything was still quiet by Thursday, the end of my work week, we’d both be reassured. I could thank Lincoln and send him on his way, and my life would go back to the simplicity of before.

It was the only possible ending to this story where once upon a time a lowly baker met the prince of the kingdom.

Chapter Ten

Willow

PLAY ON

Performed by Carrie Underwood

By the time I’d walked outthe door the next morning, clutching my bakery box, I’d almost convinced myself that yesterday had been one big overreaction by both Lincoln and me. I was certain Poco would leave me alone and that Lincoln would come to his senses and not show up in the early hours just to walk me to work. And I’d also convinced myself that going our separate ways now was for the best. We could just wave at each other occasionally without anyone, namely me, having gotten too attached.

So, when Lincoln stepped out of the darkness, I let out a yelp and jumped, almost losing my hold on the precious pink box.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, steadying the box in my hands.

As I tried to slow the hammering of my heart, I stared up at him. In the mix of shadows and light from the streetlamps and mist, he looked just like the vampire we’d joked about theday before. Defined muscles layered over a lean frame gave the impression of a speedy stealth. Add in those eyes that mesmerized, and it was easy to imagine him ensnaring a victim.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” I said breathlessly.

When his lips quirked upward, it only added to the rapid rhythm banging away at my veins, causing me to bobble the dessert again.

“I always keep my word,” he said before swooping in to grab the box. “Let me carry that for you.”

I rolled my eyes as he lifted it with ease. “What are we, in middle school? You don’t need to carry my books to class.”

As soon as the words were out, I tensed, biting my lip and wishing I could take them back. They sounded even worse than when I’d basically asked for his phone number yesterday because these words sounded like I thought we were dating. As if I thought this was something more than one neighbor going out of his way to help another.

When he let out a gloriously deep and sincere laugh, the warmth of it coasted over me like opening an oven door. The low pitch echoing in the dark was more addicting than the growl he’d sent my way multiple times.

“It’s heavier than I expected. What’s in here?” he asked.

Pride filtered through me. While I was pretty damn happy with this first attempt, I was also unsure what others would think of this weird combination of food and art. My mom and Hector were inclined to like it simply because I’d made it, but what would our customers think? What would someone like Lincoln, whose job was to showcase art, say about it?

“Dessert,” I finally replied before setting off toward Main Street.

“I am all in favor of dessert for breakfast. What are we having?” His long legs easily kept pace with me as we made our way through the mist crawling up from the pavement. The storm from yesterday had disappeared, but it had left behind a bitter cold that whipped through me.

“It’s a variety of miniature pastries.”

“Why were you hiding it on your counter?” he asked, brows furrowing.

“It’s something new and…” The words died in my throat as a quiet whistle broke through the air. Several notes of a cheery tune before it disappeared again. I spun around, looking into the darkness behind us. I’d just barely gotten my pulse under control, and now it spiked again.

I’d thought for sure Lincoln and I had overreacted. That Poco would be nowhere near me.

When I glanced up at Lincoln, anger flickered over his face in the glow of the streetlamps.

“Did you see anyone on your security system?” I gulped.

Lincoln stepped closer, our jackets brushing. “No. I went through the footage from yesterday, and there was nothing there, but I also didn’t check the cameras this morning before I walked out. I won’t make that mistake again.”

I inhaled sharply and then forced my feet toward the safety of the café.

“You should really reconsider talking to the police,” he said. This time there was none of the anger and irritation that had been there the day before when he’d asked about it. This was gentle. Soft. Almost pleading.

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