Page 77 of Safety Net
"Of course not." I looked up at him, trying to see if he really believed otherwise.
"Figure it was a very gentle way of telling me to fuck off." Lincoln chuckled. "Which was fair."
"Every time you texted, I thought for ages about a decent response. And then, when I finally sent it, you'd reply in no more than a couple of minutes, and I'd go into my spiral again. And I started wondering when you would figure it all out. See that I wasn't some mysterious girl but a theatre geek who couldn't order her food in person or make a phone call."
"So, it wasn't how much I wanted you then?" His gaze was questioning, shadowed with a hint of relief.
I shook my head. "No, it was never because of anything you did."
"If it's any consolation, I happen to think you're very mysterious, theatre geek and all," Lincoln said. "But that's not why I'd wait forever and a day to get a text back."
He reached up to cup my cheek, thumb tenderly painting circles on my skin.
"I'd wait till the sun burned out for a simple response because you are one of the most genuine people I've met. You think your quiet's a flaw when all I see is a person who doesn't put on a mask to entertain people. So many people make noise, but you, Celeste, know how to build something in the silence."
I didn't know what to say, so I just held my hand on the back of his and turned to kiss his palm. Having my greatest weakness seen as a strength was like being permitted to look myself in a different light. To claim that light as my own.
He kissed my forehead and then asked, "After you?"
I nodded, taking the lead the rest of the way to his bedroom. As soon as I walked in, his scent enveloped me: a faded spicy cologne and fresh laundry. The smell triggered a sense of calm; its familiarity was a reminder that I was exactly where I wanted to be.
Lincoln's bed faced the opposite side of the window that looked out onto the backyard. He had a nice view of the thick, green forest behind their house and a glimpse of the old bell tower in the heart of Mendell's campus.
The floor was clean, home to a few overlapping earth-toned carpets that were cotton-like soft between my bare toes.
Weathered paperbacks with cracked spines, waterlogged notebooks, red yarn, and fountain pens overrun Lincoln's desk.
"Wow, these are…" I ran my fingers over his collections of notebooks, all of which seemed stuffed to the brim, bending in ways only a constant companion could.
"I fall asleep at the desk a lot and tend to knock over my water," he explained.
"You write a lot."
Lincoln scratched the back of his head with a sheepish smile. "It's a way to continue talking without completely irritating everyone around me. Plus, I'm a sucker for a good journal, and empty pages make me sad. I get through one a month."
I hummed, impressed. "And here I am thinking I'd done my big one, finishing the one I've been using since middle school last year."
I stopped in front of a corkboard above his desk. It had a million and one red strings pinned across it like a map of highways across the U.S. "What's this?"
"It's another hobby." He joined my side. "For this event, I'm obsessed over in a way that may be worrisome, weird, or valid. I haven't decided on which."
He started fidgeting with some of the notes on his desk, shoving things into drawers and tossing other items into piles that would minimize their presence. The shy side of Lincoln came out when he felt safe and comfortable. I loved we were opposite in that way. I'm honored I'm the person he can be shy around.
"What's the event?" I asked, too curious about what made him this bashful.
"It's a murder mystery dinner," he said. "Sickeningly exclusive. They only have two a year and offer ten spots each time. It's hosted at a bed and breakfast. They pick customers through raffles."
I raised a brow. "That's intense. You think it's worth it?"
"I know it is," Lincoln said without missing a beat. His voice returned to its typical upbeat cadence. "They release all the info of the story online so people who weren't lucky enough to go could play along. This is their upcoming story. I'm trying to solve it…"
I studied the print-out photos, scribbled words on blue sticky notes, and endless strings of yarn held up by black push pins.
Lincoln cleared his throat. "This… isn't exactly a winner in the foreplay department."
"Says who?"
He chuckled, a little shocked at my challenge. "Just a feeling."
