Page 72 of Lost in the Moonlight

I laughed and turned back to the pancetta I’d been in the middle of chopping when the doorbell had rung. Lincoln stepped away, sitting on the barstool at the island, and pulling his sketchpad to him along with the pencil I’d snagged. He flipped past my design to a fresh page and started drawing while I worked.

I hadn’t meant to look at the drawings when I’d been searching for a blank page. But it wasn’t just the angel statue that had snagged my eye. It had been the pictures of someone who looked like me but not quite. A blurred version of me, without the freckles and a more pointed chin. He’d said he’d seen me in the cemetery before that night with Poco, and from a distance, he wouldn’t have known I had the marks running along my nose and cheeks. It had been odd to see myself, or some strangely fuzzy rendering of me, on the page.

But I didn’t let it go to my head. He hadn’t known me. He’d been caught by the idea of someone in the cemetery in the middle of the night.

As I finished the meal, he sketched and asked a million questions. Innocuous, getting-to-know-you kind of questions about favorite books and shows and music. Places in Cherry Bay I liked, and did I know there was a fairy-tale castle just down the road, hidden away?

“River Briar, right? The theater department at Bonnin uses it once a year for their annual fundraiser. The woman who owns it graduated from the university. I heard she didn’t even know her dad before she inherited the place, but her husband makes movie sets there now.”

“Can anyone visit it?” he asked.

“It’s not open to the public, to my knowledge, but they hold private weddings in addition to the charity events there, so they must let prospective clients on site. I’d bet they’d be happy to showyouaround.”

He grinned. “Me? You think?”

I tossed a piece of bell pepper at him. He caught it and munched on it.

“If I can get someone to find out about it, do you want to go with me?” he asked.

My breath faltered, lungs spasming. It would mean being seen in public with him again, risking someone who actually knew who he was taking a picture and posting it. But that was a worry for another day, so I told him the simple truth. “I’d love to see it.”

He pulled out his phone, fingers flashing over the screen before pocketing it again.

“So, you just text someone and magically get what you want?” I asked.

His brows bunched together in thought. “Not quite. The artist you saw at the gallery this morning…she’s painted thecastle. She said she works for the caterer who does their events, so I thought she might know someone who could get us a tour.”

He went back to drawing, and the silence settled down between us for so long this time I started to worry I’d said something that had offended him. Had it been the tease about him magically getting whatever he wanted?

When we sat down to the first course, and he was still lost in thought, I missed the easy laughter and the playful back-and-forth we’d had.

“I’m sorry if I offended you.”

He looked up at me, brows lifting. “What?”

“Ever since I made the dig about you getting whatever you wanted, you’ve been quiet. If I hit a nerve, I’m sorry. I don’t really think it’s true. I was just teasing. You aren’t spoiled or entitled. If I didn’t know who your dad is, I’d never assume you’d led a privileged life. You’re way too… I don’t know what the right word is. Down to earth? Empathetic?”

“I’m the one who should apologize,” he said. I’d tried putting our plates on opposite sides of the table, but he’d moved them side by side again like he had at lunch, so when he put his fork down and turned to face me, our knees collided. “You didn’t offend me at all. My brain got caught up in an idea for this series of paintings I’m working on. It’s what I was drawing.” His head tilted toward the sketchbook on the island. “I get lost in my art all the time. My sisters call it my Mr. Grouchypants state because if and when I’m pulled out of it, I usually howl like a beast. But the truth is, most of the time, a gorilla in a tutu could dance in front of me, and I wouldn’t see it. The worst sort of tunnel vision.”

The tension released from my back. “A gorilla in a tutu?”

He chuckled.

As we finished the rest of the meal, he returned to the more talkative, inquisitive man I’d seen earlier. His gaze, full and intense, was on me once more, and I felt ridiculous all over again. Needy. Silly. I didn’t know how to do casual friendships any more than relationships. Other than Shay, I hadn’t had any real friends since the ones I’d grown up with in Chicago. At first, I’d kept to myself for fear of slipping up, and then later because it had become a habit.

I hadn’t felt lonely.

I hadn’t been unhappy.

But now, having this simple, ordinary conversation with Lincoln proved I’d forgotten what life was like when you weren’t alone. After the trial, I’d told myself I’d do everything I could to experience life and find joy in every day, but I’d still been holding myself back. Mom had been right when she’d told me the same thing in the store. I was letting the Viceroys win.

As Lincoln pushed his plate away after the main course, he said, “That was incredible, Willow.”

Happiness coasted through me. Not since receiving praise from my instructors at culinary school had a compliment hit me so hard. Not even Hector’s expounding on the piece I’d brought to The Tea Spot.

“Have you ever thought about opening your own restaurant?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t want to run a business. I want to create not manage a restaurant or deal with finances and taxes and the health department. I like making meals for people I care about, but I don’t love it the way I love making pastries.”

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