Page 691 of Not Over You

He gestured with his head to the house. “Doing this.”

“I think I kinda owe you.”

Lincoln chuckled. “Well, I think I’m going to owe you after this.” He linked our fingers together and led me toward his home.

I was afraid he was right. My stomach was completely tied up in knots as we walked up steps I’d walked up hundreds, if not thousands of times. My legs felt like they were made of concrete as I forced myself to follow Lincoln up the stairs.

He squeezed my hand. “You got this.”

I was thankful for his reassurance, but it still didn’t ease my nerves. I felt like I was walking right into the lion’s den.

Lincoln opened the screen door and led me inside. The smell of pot roast wafted over me, and my mouth watered. One thing I missed after breaking up with Lincoln was his mom’s home cooking. Everything else paled in comparison to her food.

Lincoln glanced over his shoulder at me with a smile. “See, she made pot roast. If that’s not a peace offering, I don’t know what is.”

I chuckled. “I hope you’re right.”

“Lincoln, is that you?”

Heart hammering in my chest, I squeezed Lincoln’s hand for comfort as we walked into the kitchen.

Lincoln’s mom was carrying a platter to the dining room table as we entered. Her appearance hadn’t changed much over the years; she had the same light brown hair fashioned up in a bun, although the strands had more gray streaked through them than before.

After setting the roast down, she came over to us. Lincoln released my hand to give his mom a hug, then they both looked at me.

I gulped, unsure of how to greet Lincoln’s mother. “I, uh, hi, Mrs. Bennett. Thank you for having me.”

She wiped her hands on her apron, nodding while giving me a forced smile. “It’s been a long time.”

I glanced at Lincoln, then back at his mother. They shared the same stormy eyes, but the way each looked at me was completely different. Lincoln’s were always warm and comforting, whereas his mom’s were cold and hard. “Too long,” I replied.

She cleared her throat. “Well, dinner is almost ready, so please make yourself at home.”

Once she disappeared into the kitchen, I buried my face in Lincoln’s chest and groaned. “She hates me.”

As he wrapped his arms around me, his chest rumbled with laughter. “No, she doesn’t. She just has to warm back up to you.”

He kissed the top of my head and pulled back, gripping me by my shoulders. Glancing up at him, I stuck my lip out in a pout. “It’s going to be a long night.”

Lincoln laughed again, and I couldn’t help but smile. His laugh always warmed my insides and made my stomach flip-flop. “C’mon, let’s sit down. Food makes everything better.”

We sat at the large oak dining table. Plates and silverware were already set out at four of the eight seats, and Lincoln and I chose two seats next to each other on one side of the table.

Mrs. Bennett walked back in with a serving dish in each hand. She set them down on opposite sides of the roast. “Just need the rolls,” she stated, then called out, “Jim, dinner is ready.”

She hurried back into the kitchen, and a few seconds later, Lincoln’s dad walked in. His brown eyes met mine, and he grinned. “Why hello, Liv. It’s good to see you.”

I smiled. “Good to see you too, Mr. Bennett.” Lincoln had his mother’s eyes, but all his other features came from his father.

He sat down at the head of the table, on the other side of Lincoln. Mrs. Bennett walked back in with a basket and pitcher of lemonade, then set them on the table before taking her seat next to her husband across from us.

We said grace, then everyone started serving themselves. I waited for Lincoln and his parents to fill their plates before I reached for any of the food. As I grabbed the green beans, Mrs. Bennett asked, “So, Liv, how’s life been since you left Beaufort?”

I darted my eyes up to hers as I scooped some green beans on my plate. “Fine. Definitely not the same.”

“Oh.” She started cutting her roast into small pieces. “How so?”

Lincoln cleared his throat. “Mom.”

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