Page 14 of Meant for Me
“That shouldn’t be reason enough to deny a claim.” Linc tilted his head. “I’m sure that kind of oversight happens all the time.”
She stared at her cell phone. “Apparently it’s important.”
“You’d only had that dumb fryer for a few weeks. Isn’t there a grace period?”
“Maybe, but since they’re chalking the fryer up to the source of the fire, then it gets complicated.” Zoey closed her eyes, bracing herself. “Is this my fault?”
“Did you start the fire?”
Her eyes flew open. “Of course not.”
“Then of course not.” He took another sip. Ah, caffeine. Usually got to drink it in silence, but oh well.
“They said it could be another few weeks, maybe longer.” She pulled on a strand of her dark hair. “This is getting more serious than I realized. I have no job. No income. All my stuff is in storage…” Then she abruptly stopped, drew a tight breath. Her smile returned. “But it’s not that deep, right? I’ll figure it out.”
Oh brother. He set his mug by the sink and crossed the floor toward her, taking her by both arms.
She looked up, startled. He rarely touched her. Sure, he’d held her as her business burned. And numerous times she’d slapped him in the arm after a joke, or hopped on his back or tried to drown him in the bay by jumping on his head, but he very rarely initiated physical contact.
The feel of her slim, toned arms under his hands reminded him why. He ignored that, for now, held tighter. “You’re already figuring it out. Like you keep saying—everything is going to be fine.”
Weird, him assuringher. He didn’t like this role-swapping, but she’d saved him enough times over the years from the pit—wouldn’t hurt him to return the favor for five minutes. Not that he really knew how.
Should he hug her? When was the last time he’d hugged anyone? Besides Delia Boudreaux, maybe, when he ventured into church last.
Before he could decide, Zoey launched toward him, wrapping her arms around his torso and holding tight. Her warm body pressed against his, and she looked up at him, relief and gratitude swimming in her blue eyes. Her pink lips eased into a smile. “Thank you.”
He stilled, gazed down at her, taking in the way she stared back at him like he was some kind of hero, absorbing the smell of her fresh shampoo, noting the heat of her arms and—nope. Definitely shouldn’t hug her.
Linc pried free, stepped back toward the coffee. “Here. Drink this.” He poured a mug, handed it to her so fast a few drops sloshed over the side onto the floor.
He grabbed a towel from the counter and swiped the spill with his foot, ignoring the bewildered look on Zoey’s face as she took a slow sip of the brew. She’d be really shocked if she knew what had danced through his mind while she’d held him like that.
Had he made a mistake? He leaned against the counter, folded his arms over his stomach. Good grief, his heart thudded like he’d already done his morning workout. Blame it on the coffee, maybe. Then his gaze registered the Folgers container.
Decaf.
Well shoot. He scowled. He needed somewhere to put this adrenaline, or he’d do somethingreallyfoolish. Like give in to another hug. “Forgot one more house rule.”
“What’s that?” Zoey sipped her coffee, eyes closed, relishing the brew, as if everything was, once again, all sunshine and roses.
“Ten pushups every morning before breakfast.”
She blinked at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I never joke about fitness.” He dropped to the kitchen floor. Better crank out a quick twenty. Sure, he’d found a way to keep her off his boat and away from Boiling Bayou.
But he was pretty sure that with inviting Zoey to stay there, he’d just jumped straight from a sinking ship into a churning sea.
four
“It’s like I’ve never baked a day in my life.” Zoey drummed her finger on the table she shared with Rosalyn Dupree, the aroma of fresh ground coffee beans wafting from the front of Chug a Mug. The coffee shop was hopping for a Tuesday afternoon, and judging by the scowl fixed firmly on Miley’s face as she worked the milk frother behind the counter, the brew would be extra good today. “I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong with all these failed recipes.”
“Have you asked Elisa to help?” Rosalyn leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her torso. She wore designer workout gear, her long blond hair tied up in a top-knot—per usual after she taught the noon aerial class at Madame Paulette’s ballet studio.
“No, she’s got enough going on with the wedding planning right now.” Zoey shook her head. “I don’t want to bother anyone.”
She hadn’t told Elisa specifically where she was staying yet, either—also on purpose. Her friend would have way too many questions, or worse yet, try to convince Zoey to come back to the Blue Pirogue. Which obviously wasn’t good for her and Noah, and Zoey was tired of feeling selfish for being so needy.
