Page 41 of Missing Linc
“You must love her a lot.”
“I do. I do. But I just wish she didn’t have to go all across the world to ‘find herself,’” he air-quotes with one hand.
“Well, Massachusetts isn’t across the world,” I chuckle.
He rolls his eyes with a pout.
“It might as well be if I have to take a plane and a ferry to see her,” he replies, and when I stare, he clarifies. “She’s moving to Mayberry Holm.”
Ah, yes. The small island near Nantucket that Northeasterners consider a vacation island. Anyone who did, in my opinion, had never been to the beautiful beaches of Virginia or Florida, let alone those in Europe and around the world.
“You’ve been together for a long time. It’s natural to feel that way.”
“Yes, we have. She took us away when I came out to my parents and they wanted me shoved in a conversion therapy camp. She legally adopted me so that she could look after me and help me transition. She’s been my rock for all this time…”
“I bet you’ve been hers, as well.”
He nods as he pulls up in front of a house, but he doesn’t get out straight away.
“I have. I guess. I just know she’s making a mistake, but my sister can’t see it until she’s made it. It happens all the time,” he says, and I can see he’s getting worked up.
I reach across and grab his hand on the steering wheel while my other hand on his leg comes up to his waist.
“Hey,” I say. “Come here.” I pull him into my arms and caress his back trying to soothe him, but it only makes him tearful.
“Great. That’s gonna get me loads of tips,” he says, pulling away and wiping his eyes. “Not to mention how hot I must look.”
“You don’t have to worry about looking hot with me. I always think you’re hot.”
That makes him even more tearful. I don’t know why. I squeeze his hands in mine and wait for him to compose himself. He probably doesn’t know why, either.
He wipes his hands again a few minutes later and looks at himself in the rearview mirror.
“Do I look like I’ve been crying?” he asks.
He looks amazing. He looks cute, and sweet, and like the most beautiful guy in the universe. But yeah, he does look like he’s been crying.
“Why don’t I take those and give you some time to recompose,” I say.
“Oh no, no,” he starts, but I cut him off and ask him to show me which pizzas are for the house we’re at.
As I get out of the car with the pizzas in hand, I lean back down and get his attention.
“You look gorgeous, by the way. Even when you’ve been crying.”
He laughs, but he also smiles, and I’ll be damned if that doesn’t make him even more attractive. I could spend hours looking at him. Learning his face, every nook and cranny, memorizing every hair, every wrinkle, every eyelash.
But I’m too afraid telling him that will scare him off.
Or it will convince him I’m serious about him.
I walk over to the front door and deliver the first pizza. The guy tips me, and I give it to Cam when I return to the car.
He’s looking better already.
“I’m sorry you had to see me that way,” he apologizes.
“I’m not. I like being here for you,” I tell him.
