Within minutes, on the way home, she’d fallen asleep.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lincoln sat in his truck outside Artisan Chocolates, staring at the carefully wrapped package on the passenger seat beside him. The small box was covered in elegant silver paper topped with a deep blue ribbon. Inside was a gift that had taken him three days and four different stores to find, a delicate Fabergé style carousel music box that doubled as a jewelry box, complete with tiny horses that moved up and down as the music played. He’d been thinking about it nonstop before he’d finally settled on what to get Imogen.
He’d been going over and over it in his head before he’d remembered out of the blue a conversation they’d had senior year of high school. They’d been sitting in his old truck after a hockey match, he’d recalled, sharing a burger and fries from the diner, and for some reason they’d started talking about Christmas gifts—specifically gifts they’d want if money were no object. Neither of them had parents that were particularly well-off, Lincoln more so than Imogen, and Lincoln hadn’t made much money helping to coach kids’ hockey. Imogen hadn’t worked during high school, her parents insisting that she needed to focus on her grades.
So they’d been fantasizing about what they’d get for Christmas if money didn’t matter. He’d still been stuck on Ugg boots, which he’d been nuts about in high school and for some reason had still never gotten a pair for himself, even though he could afford it now. Imogen had teased him about that, as she always had, before she’d told him what she’d pick if she could.
She’d told him about the merry-go-round, and how she’d seen a display of them in a store at the mall. They’d reminded her of a circus she’d been to as a kid, she’d said, and she’d thought they were beautiful, tiny works of art that were also practical, since it could be used as a jewelry box.
He had no idea if she’d ever bought one for herself. Maybe it had been one of the first things she’d gotten when she’d had adult money, or—and he hated this idea for reasons he didn’t want to examine too closely—Katie’s father had gotten her one when they’d been together. But he’d so clearly remembered her wanting it that it had seemed like the obvious gift.
Back then, he’d teased her about it, the same way she teased him about the boots. He’d said it was impractical and asked where she planned to put it in a college dorm room, where some drunken roommate would probably accidentally break it. But he’d never forgotten the wistful expression on her face when she’d described it, the way her eyes had lit up with the memory.
Now he’d found exactly what she’d described in an antique shop the next town over. It was exquisite, he had to admit, delicate and finely made, a piece of art. She would love it, he thought, probably even if she already had one—but he found himself hoping that she didn’t.
It was the perfect gift. So why was he sitting in his truck like a nervous teenager, second-guessing every aspect of his gift choice?
Lincoln drew in a breath, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He was worried it was too personal, too much ofa reference to what they’d once been to each other. Maybe she wouldn’t remember the conversation, and the gift would seem random or presumptuous. Maybe he was reading too much into this, trying too hard, and she’d be put off by it. Maybe she’d think it was creepy that he remembered so much about her.
Or maybe, he admitted to himself, he was just nervous because he wanted her to like it so badly, to see that he’d picked it out because she still meant so much to him. It felt like a declaration of how much attention he’d always paid to the things that mattered to her, how clearly he’d been listening even when they were just kids and didn’t even know who they were themselves, yet.
It was too late now, he decided. He’d gotten the gift, carefully wrapped it, and today was the day. He had to just go ahead and go through with it, and hope that the response he got was a good one.
Lincoln grabbed the package, hopped out of the truck, and headed for the chocolate shop, trying to project more confidence than he felt.
The shop was empty, the after-lunch rush clearly over. He breathed in the warm, rich scent of chocolate and looked around for Imogen. He didn’t see her immediately, but he saw the door to the back cracked open, and he decided to surprise her, heading around the counter into the back of the shop.
The back room was cold, with a large walk-in freezer directly ahead of him. In the center of the chilly room, Imogen stood at a large work table behind the counter, completely absorbed in what appeared to be the most intricate chocolate sculpture Lincoln had ever seen. It was some kind of building, he saw, and she was working on the roof, adding something with tweezers to the top of it.
She had that look of intense concentration on her face that he remembered clearly from years ago, and he was startled by thethought that she looked beautiful. Her hair was up in a messy bun, there was chocolate on her face and all over her apron, and he still thought she looked more lovely than he could remember having noticed in recent memory.
He moved closer, wanting to see more of what she was working on. She was so focused that she didn’t look up, and he didn’t realize just how close he’d gotten until she looked up and saw him suddenly, nearly jumping out of her skin.
Her hip knocked into the table, pushing it sideways, and the building tipped over. Imogen let out a shocked gasp, her eyes going wide with panic as she dropped the tweezers in her hand.
“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh—” She reached for the sculpture, batting his hands away as he tried to help. “No, don’t touch it! Oh no?—”
“Hey,” he said calmly, trying to settle her down. “It’s okay. Look, it’s not damaged at all. Well… that tiny part of the roof is a little dented.” He grimaced. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize I’d startle you. Here, let me help. Careful?—”
He thought she was going to push him away again, but Imogen took a deep breath, letting him help her adjust the table as she righted the sculpture and inspected the dent.
“You’re right,” she said after a moment. “It’s not badly damaged. I can fix that part in a few minutes. But goodness, Lincoln, if this had been completely knocked over?—”
“I’m sorry,” he said, contrite. He looked at the sculpture, his eyes widening as he took in the detail. “Imogen, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I should have announced myself when I came in.”
“It’s okay,” she said, already beginning the process of carefully gathering the scattered pieces. “Really. These things happen. Everything is fine, no harm done.”
“This is for the magazine feature, isn’t it?” He looked at the sculpture again. “Is this Santa’s workshop? You’re doing an incredible job… I can’t believe this is all chocolate.”
“It is,” Imogen confirmed. “The photo shoot is next week. I just hope it’s special enough for what they want. I think it is, but…” She shrugged with a small laugh. “You know how artists are. Always second-guessing their work.”
“This is definitely special,” Lincoln said with genuine admiration. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Thank you,” Imogen smiled. “It’s been quite a challenge, but I think it’s going to work out. I hope so anyway.”
As she finished resetting her work space, Lincoln realized he was still holding the wrapped gift, and the reason for his visit came flooding back along with a fresh wave of nervousness.
