Page 86 of Meant for Me
The fork stilled in his hands. Sort of like Zoey did for him. She coaxed all the best things out of Linc—what little bit of good there might be. Not that he’d been great lately about returning that favor. He frowned. What was Zoey even getting out of this arrangement with him besides a roof over her head? She was doing so much for him and Amelia…and with zero complaining. Sure, he was taking care of Zoey financially for now, but it didn’t seem fair. Didn’t seem like enough.
Across the table from him, Amelia sat, chin propped in one hand. She swiped her finger through a glob of leftover icing and licked it off. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Having fun?”
She raised one back. “Would you, if you were thirteen?”
Fair enough. He tossed her a table mint, wrapped in green and peach wrapping—the wedding colors. Which Zoey wore the best, if he were honest. Sure, Rosalyn was movie-star beautiful in whatever she wore, but Zoey…that green brought out her dark hair. Her eyes. That faint smattering of freckles across her nose, the ones that had only recently developed after so much time on his boat the past few weeks.
He cast a glance toward the photo booth—he only allowed himself one every five minutes or so—which Zoey had manned for the past half hour, helping arrange the guests as they chose props on sticks and posed for the flash.
Made him sort of want to snag her picture too, though she wouldn’t need the flash. She lit from the inside out, her joy contagious with everyone around her. She’d seemed a little…off…when he came to the bridal room before the ceremony, but whatever that was had clearly worn away. Funny how Zoey used to bug him a little, with her endless talking and energy and ideas.
And now he just wanted to be around her as much as possible. She charged him, like a solar battery. The sun.
He glanced back at Amelia. “Want to hit up the photo booth?” The words escaped his mouth before he could realize it might be a bad idea. He didn’t do pictures. Or anything in the spotlight or intentionally cringe, for that matter. And wearing fake glasses or holding a cardboard hat up to his head was definitely that.
But Amelia’s eyes lit and she sat up straight, dropping the unwrapped mint back on the table. “Yeah!”
Well, that was the first exclamation point he’d gotten out of her in a week. Make that two weeks, if he was going forpositiveexclamation. He shoved back his chair. Looked like they were doing this.
“Come on, then.” He gestured for Amelia to lead the way, her borrowed black dress swishing around her knees and making her look way older than almost fourteen.
Another stab in the gut of how much of her life he’d missed already.
Madame Paulette stood next to Zoey, wafting essential oils as she gestured to the photo booth. “So you hook your camera up to this machine here, and it prints them immediately?”
Zoey nodded. “That way, the guests have souvenirs.”
“Hey, these are good.” Madame’s jewelry clanged and she cackled. “You should come take some class pics of my young students. Their parents would pay good money for these.”
“That’d be fun.” Zoey hadn’t noticed his and Amelia’s approach yet, which provided Linc the perfect opportunity to study the way her eyes sparkled as she looked at the preview screen. The way her slim shoulders curved against the sleeves of her dress, the way her neck arched gracefully toward the camera…
Then she turned, and he was busted. He swallowed, elbowed Amelia. “Amelia wanted a picture.”
Amelia shot him a strange look, but thankfully didn’t correct him. He made a mental note to start her an allowance later.
Surprise lit Zoey’s face, but she concealed it quickly. “Sure, come on. Pick your prop.”
Amelia began pawing through the basket of costumes, pulled free a red boa.
“You should all get in there.” Madame Paulette took the camera from Zoey’s hand before anyone could protest. “Go on. You too, Muscles.”
“I’m assuming she’s talking to you,” Zoey whispered.
“Obviously, since you’re skipping pushups.”
Zoey stuck out her tongue at him before plucking a cardboard prop from the pile—a red bowtie. She handed it to him with a grin.
Why not? It was probably the lesser evil in the stack. He took it with only a mild groan, got into position beside her. Amelia stood in front of them, squatting slightly, boa draped around her neck.
“Okay, everyone. Smile now.” Madame Paulette held up the camera.
He moved the bow tie on a stick under his chin, refusing to smile despite Madame Paulette’s repeated instructions. Thankfully, no one seemed to be watching, as the band had picked up another fast song, the floor filling quickly. What prop had Zoey picked?
He glanced sideways at her, taking in the cardboard mustache she held over her lips, and couldn’t stop his grin.
Flash.
“Perfect!” Madame Paulette handed the camera back to Zoey.
