“Hi . . . I’m sorry but I forgot your name. Was it Ben?”
He scowled. “Bo.”
“Oh. That’s right.” She smiled weakly. “I won’t forget it again.” That was, if she had a reason to talk to Bo anytime in the near future, which she doubted. “My name is Jennifer.”
“I didn’t forget.” She watched him study her face, drift down to her shoulders, her chest, then zero in on her cake server. “What you got there?”
“This? Oh, it’s a cake.”
“You brought over a cake?”
“It’s a thank-you cake. For John.”
His brow wrinkled. “Who?”
“Oh! I mean Lincoln. I baked a thank-you cake for Lincoln.” Yes, she had now shared that she had a cake in her hands three times.
When Bo tilted his head, like he was trying to comprehend such a thing, she rushed on. “I know. I bet he would have rather had a six pack of beer or something. And I should’ve called before I drove over here. I didn’t know he was having a party.”
Bo looked over his shoulder like this was news to him too. “Huh. I guess you could call this a party.”
When he looked back at her, she realized that the heels of her cute mules were slowly sinking into the ground. “Hey, you know what? Maybe I should deliver this later.”
“No way. Lincoln’s probably wondering what’s taking you so long.”
So long? “To do what?”
“To come up to the house. Come on.” He turned and started walking.
Her heart sinking like her heels with every step, Jennifer followed.
The closer she got to the door, the more she regretted her decision, which was saying a lot.
There now had to be at least a dozen people standing on the front porch and they were all looking at her like she was a strange creature that had just appeared from the woods. Even the other men who’d helped her unload the van looked surprised to see her.
And no wonder. She was wearing a pair of navy wool slacks, an ivory sweater, and beautiful, impractical, turquoise suede mules. In her hands was a plastic cake carrier. She looked like she was going to a church social. Not this . . . this, whatever this was.
Right as reached the front steps, one of the men tagged Bo. “What you got there?”
“Jennifer here has a gift for Lincoln.” He looked down at her hands. “It’s a cake,” he added, sounding as if it was a foreign word.
“She going in?”
Bo nodded. “Yeah. Where’s he at?”
The guy shrugged. “Ain’t no telling. But I wouldn’t bring her inside.”
“Don’t see as I’ve got a choice. I’m not going to just leave her out here.”
Yep, they were talking about her like she wasn’t standing there right in front of them all. Jennifer was starting to feel like a stray dog no one wanted around.
It was time to finish this visit and get back home where it was safe and quiet.
She cleared her throat. “Bo, since you don’t think I should leave this with you, I’m going to head on in. I’m sure my delivery won’t take but a minute.”
Bo looked appalled. “Hey, now—”
Ignoring him, she walked through the door.
And entered a whole new world.
Though the house wasn’t much to speak of on the outside—kind of an old red sprawling ranch—inside it was decorated in vintage fraternity style. Mismatched couches, scarred coffee tables, beer cans littering all manner of surfaces . . . and she was pretty sure there was more than one couple making out in the back corners.
There was also a group of men playing cards at a massive table near the kitchen. Lincoln was one of them.
As she stood there, pretty much gaping at everything in wonder, the door opened and shut behind her.
“Come on, then,” Bo said, sounding irritated. “He’s over there. Let’s get this over with.”
When he started walking, she kept by his side, though it was a bit of a challenge, given that Bo was a good six inches taller than her and she was in mules with kitten heels and holding a three-layer cake.
Those heels made little clapping noises on the wood floor.
Lincoln looked their way. And then did a double take.
After saying something under his breath, he threw his hand of cards on the table and stood up.
“Here he comes,” Bo said.
“I noticed,” Jennifer muttered.
As he came closer, Lincoln pulled out his cell phone and studied the screen with a frown. Then he shoved it into his jeans pocket.
“Jennifer, what’s wrong?” he asked.
Oh, any number of things. Starting with the fact that she was holding a chocolate cake while a couple on a nearby couch next to her seemed to be minutes from pulling off the rest of their clothes. Lord, she hoped they’d wait at least ten more minutes.
“Nothing,” she said in an almost-cheerful voice. “I brought you something.”
Lincoln glanced at his phone’s screen again before he studied her closely. “Did you call?”
She met his gaze. Noticed for about the fifteenth time that his eyes were really blue. Dark blue, like lapis.
Then the woman on the couch moaned.
Oh! She needed to get out of this room. Clearing her throat again, she attempted to find her voice. “John. I mean, Lincoln, sorry but I didn’t text or call. I guess I should have, though. Anyway, here.” She thrust her container toward him.
He took it easily enough, but he held the red Rubbermaid cake server like it had a bomb about to go off inside of it. “What is this?”
“It’s a cake, Lincoln,” Bo announced. “She made you a freaki—” He looked over at her again. “A chocolate cake.”
Lincoln was still holding the container gingerly, like it might explode. He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s a thank you present.” When he still only stared at her, she added, “You know, as a thank you for calling all the guys to help me carry all my boxes and furniture into the house last week. It was really nice of you.”
“It was no big deal.”
“Well, it was to me. You and all the guys really made my life easier.” She smiled at Bo, so he’d see that she hadn’t forgotten that he’d carried her desk inside.
Lincoln ran a hand through his coal-black hair. “No need to thank me for helping you out. I promised Ginny we’d look out for you.”
Ah. He hadn’t done the favor for her, he’d done it out of obligation to her dead grandmother. And . . . that made the awkwardness of this whole errand complete.
Swallowing the lump of embarrassment, she nodded. “Well, I think I’ll be going now. Have a good night.” Turning around, she closed her eyes. Have a good night? She wasn’t at one of her mother’s friend’s houses.
Was she ever going to learn to be less self-conscious? A little bit more composed? A little bit more like her grandmother?
She increased her pace. Kept her head down as she walked by the couple on the couch. Ignored the stares as she strode to the front door, her heels once again clicking against the hardwoods, each step echoing in the suddenly quiet room.
“Jennifer.”
She paused, mentally debating whether she wanted to turn around and face Lincoln in front of all his friends or keep walking.
She decided to get the heck out of there.
She opened the door. Felt the cool breeze bite her cheeks.
A large hand gripped the edge of the door as it swung open. “Jennifer, wait,” Lincoln said.
She could feel his breath on her neck. Goosebumps rose, not from the cold air but from his proximity.
“Yes?”
“Jennifer, turn around, babe.”
Babe? She wasn’t a fan of that word. Wasn’t a fan of being called that either.
So why did a pa
rt of her insides melt a little when she heard it from his lips?
How come she pivoted on her heels right then and there, just like she had no option?
They were barely standing eight inches apart. Close enough that she had to raise her chin to meet those blue eyes. “Um, yes, Lincoln?”
Humor lit his gaze before he visibly put his game face back on. “I’m gonna walk you out.”
It was dark. There were all sorts of men lurking around his house. She might have social issues, but she wasn’t a fool. She nodded. “Thank you.”
Taking her arm, he guided her out and pulled the door shut behind him. Almost immediately, she could hear the noise level rise inside.
The five men on the porch abruptly stopped talking and watched them.
Lincoln acted as if they weren’t even there. “Where’s your car, honey?”
She pointed to the driveway, where her reliable gray Camry still sat at the end of a long line of vehicles.
“How come you parked so far away?”
She shrugged, not wanting to admit how close she’d come to turning around.
He sighed and started down the stairs, still holding her arm in his heavy hand, like he was afraid she’d dart off without him.
They stayed silent as they walked. She was doing her best not to thank him a second time for walking her out in the dark. And John? Well, who knew what was on his mind?
When they reached her vehicle, he held out his hand. “Key?”
“Oh, there’s no need.” She patted her pocket. “It’s keyless entry.”
“You going to be okay getting home?”
She was a grown woman. It was a three-minute drive back to her grandmother’s farm. The farm that was barely a mile away. So, all in all, it was pretty silly question.
But it still made her feel cared for. “I’ll be fine.” Looking up into his eyes, she smiled softly. “Now, you have a good night, John.”
“It’s Lincoln.”
“I didn’t forget.” Unable to stop herself, she chuckled at his irritated expression before opening her door and slipping inside.
Lincoln stepped away, but she knew he watched as she turned around and slowly drove back onto the main road.
She’d been the one who’d delivered a thank-you cake, but she had the strangest feeling that Lincoln Bennett had given her something too.
She just wasn’t sure what it was.
Acknowledgments
When you write a series based on a town you no longer live in, feature a ballroom dance teacher when you don’t know how to ballroom dance, and have a number of police officer and social worker characters even though you have no background in law enforcement or social work . . . well, you can imagine the amount of help an author has to have! I’ve been blessed beyond measure to have so many people give me their time to answer innumerable pesky questions.
First, thank you to Alex Napier for answering many, many questions about his work as a cop in a number of Cincinnati-area police departments. I’m also grateful to a longtime reader and friend, Marilyn Ridgway, for long ago telling me about her work as a child advocate in the court system. I’m also grateful to dance instructor Yvette de la Torre for her continued dance lessons—this time, helping me fumble through the cha cha. Yvette, you’re a gem!
A big thanks also goes out to Lynne Stroup, my first reader extraordinaire, who always helps get manuscripts in shape for the editorial team at Blackstone.
Once again, I’m beyond thankful to the team at Blackstone Publishing for taking my stories and turning them into beautiful books to be proud of. Thanks especially to my editor, Ember Hood, who always seems to find the right things to say; to acquisition editor Vikki Warner, who is always beyond kind and encouraging; and to the marketing and publicity teams, especially Hannah Ohlmann. I also must mention Alenka Linaschke who designed the book’s cover and helped bring the Dance with Me studio to life.
No acknowledgment letter would be complete without mentioning my agent Nicole Resciniti—who is everything an author could ask for—and my wonderful readers, both new and longstanding. Finally, I’m so grateful to have a relationship with the Lord. He’s blessed me with the ability to write and the security of knowing that I’ll never have to write a book alone. I’m always so grateful for that gift.
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