Page 65 of Lost in the Moonlight

“I don’t have my purse.”

He stopped, stared at me over the top of the sunglasses for a moment, and then turned the cart around, going back to pick up the basket I’d held, along with three more.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Willow, the one thing I have in spades is money. Get whatever you want.”

“We’re supposed to be here shopping for you,” I said.

“We’re here together. If you see something you need or want—or hell, just decide to try—I expect you to put it in the cart.” It was a grouchy command that somehow wound its way through my heart more than a soft request would have.

“I’m not mooching off you, regardless of how much money you have to throw around.”

Pleasure filled his face, lifting his lips once more. “You realize that only makes me like you more, right? How about we make a trade?”

And the way he looked down my body set my nerve endings on fire, but I frowned at him. “I don’t trade like that.”

He laughed gently. “Neither do I. You can make me something fabulous for dessert while I make dinner.”

“We haven’t even had lunch.”

“I’ll make lunchanddinner, and you can make dessert.”

“Do you like to cook?” I asked. We’d moved away from the berries, but I grabbed a variety of citrus as we went by.

“No. I can’t stand it. I have exactly two dishes I can make well. You’ll see both of them today.”

More laughter erupted from me, and it drew another pair of eyes as we went down the next aisle. “Not to brag or anything, but I did graduate from culinary school. How about I make you dinner and dessert and leave you to lunch?”

“I happily accept,” he said.

? ? ?

Even though I’d offered, Lincoln refused to let me help make lunch, so instead, I started on the dessert I was making with the strawberries. Finding things in his kitchen was like a scavenger hunt, and some of the items were in all the wrong places for their use, but it wasn’t my kitchen to reorganize. When I didn’t find a zester and had to ask, he lifted a brow.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t own one of those.”

I huffed, thinking of the three in different sizes I owned at the cottage.

But I was still reluctant to go back, not only because it had been violated with an ugly note but because I’d be alone there and I’d have to leave Lincoln to do so. Right now, the trip to the store with him had shoved aside all my fears and sadness and replaced them with a lightheartedness I wanted to hold on to as long as possible.

As if reading my thoughts and also wanting to stay away from anything that could send us back to the darkness, Lincoln asked, “Where’d your mom go this weekend?”

“State Science Decathlon. She and her students have worked hard to get this far, so I didn’t want her to miss it. Thank you for reassuring her I’d be okay.”

I was still uncomfortable I hadn’t told her the truth about who Lincoln really was. But she’d agreed with me the note was much more likely to be from Poco than the Viceroys, and I had to believe Poco wouldn’t do anything if Lincoln was with me. He was too much of a coward. Up until now, he’d only approached me when he thought I was alone and defenseless.

Regardless of what Lincoln had told Mom about not letting me out of his sight, I’d have to go home at some point. But for now, I’d enjoy these moments with him. I’d savor the company, and the connection, and the thrill of having him at my side while we were tucked away where no one could see us.

Lincoln plated two basic grilled cheese sandwiches and brought them to the beautiful oak table in his kitchen with a bag of potato chips. He turned back to the fridge, “Water? Tea? Lemonade?”

“Water. Store-bought lemonade is way too acidic.”

“Because the culinary chef makes her own?” he asked, lips twitching.

I shrugged. I could make my own, but drinks weren’t my expertise.

Instead of sitting across from me, he had us sitting side by side, and every time I moved my right arm, it brushed against him, sending secret little thrills through me. I was enjoying this way too much. Liking it way too much. It already hurt just thinking about losing him, but I’d allow myself to play with the fire just a bit longer. I’d revel in the bliss of every second at his side until the crash of reality came.

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