She knew there really was nothing to do other than wait for Imogen and Lincoln to work things out on their own. She and Vanessa had done enough—too much, really—and now it was up to the two of them to decide if what they’d felt was real.
That didn’t make not worrying over having spilled the beans any easier, though.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lincoln pulled his gear bag over his shoulder and stepped out of the ice rink into the crisp December evening. The cold air hit his face immediately, in sharp contrast to the warmth he’d worked up smoothing the ice after practices, but he welcomed the frigid bite against his skin. It helped clear his head, which had been occupied all day by the sleigh ride he and Imogen had gone on the night before.
The memory of sitting next to Imogen in that sleigh, sharing his coat and talking about their high school memories, had been playing on repeat in his mind all day. The way she’d felt nestled against his side, the sound of her laugh, the moment when they’d looked at each other and he’d been absolutely certain that she was thinking the same thing he was—that maybe there was a second chance for them after all, and it was worth the risk.
He’d been debating all day whether or not to reach out to her. During a lull in the afternoon, around lunchtime, he’d sent her a quick ‘Good morning’ text, asking her how her day was. He’d checked his phone a few times since then, but there hadn’t been any response. And that wasn’t really like Imogen. She was good at responding to texts, even if it was just to let him know that she was super busy and would chat with him later.
He paused on the sidewalk outside the rink, surrounded by the cheerful twinkle of Christmas lights that adorned every nearby business and lined the bare branches of the maple trees that bordered the town square. The festive atmosphere should have lifted his spirits, but it just reminded him of the way the night before had felt like a Christmas movie, and now everything felt more like dreary January after the holidays were over, even though they were still in full swing all around him.
Maybe she was just busy with the shop, he told himself. She was going to be slammed with the holiday traffic, especially with the magazine photoshoot coming up tomorrow. She was probably rushing around, making sure everything was perfect for the photographer, and just hadn’t had time to check her messages.
Or, he worried, maybe she was having second thoughts about their conversation last night. Maybe in the clear light of day, without the romantic ambiance of snow and moonlight and horse-drawn sleighs, she was wishing that she hadn’t been quite so open with him about how she felt about their past, or as nostalgic. Maybe she was wishing she’d kept all that to herself, rather than open the door to something she wanted to leave firmly in the past.
Lincoln pulled out his phone, staring at the screen for a long moment before making a decision. He would call her. Just to check in and make sure everything was all right. If she was busy, she wouldn’t answer, and he’d know to give her space. But if something was wrong…
His pulse quickened as he found her name, and he pressed the call button before he could lose his nerve.
The phone rang once, twice, three times before going to her familiar voicemail.
“Hi, you’ve reached Imogen at Artisan Chocolates. I’m either helping a customer or busy creating something delicious. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible!”
Lincoln waited for the beep, then hesitated, unsure what kind of message to leave. “Hi Imogen, it’s Lincoln. I was just… well, I was thinking about last night and wanted to see how you were doing. I hadn’t heard from you, so I wanted to make sure you were all right. Give me a call when you get a chance, if you’d like. Hope you’re having a good day.”
At that point, he knew that was it. Either she’d respond or she wouldn’t, but he couldn’t keep bothering her. She might be busy, or she might be avoiding him, and the knot in his stomach tightened at how real the latter possibility seemed.
As he walked toward his truck, Lincoln replayed every moment of their sleigh ride, searching for anything that he’d missed that might make it seem as if Imogen had been anything other than happy to be spending time with him. But he couldn’t find one. She’d seemed happy and nostalgic and comfortable reminiscing with him, once they’d loosened up a little. Andshe’dbeen the one to diffuse the tension in the first place. He didn’t think she’d been making up how much she’d ended up enjoying the evening.
But it was very possible that she was having regrets. That she’d looked at their situation in the cold light of day: former high school sweethearts, all grown up now, with responsibilities of their own and her with a child to take care of, and decided it wasn’t worth the possible damage that trying to rekindle things might cause. Especially when they lived in a small town where everyone knew everyone else’s business.
He didn’t particularly feel like going home and worrying about it all evening, but he didn’t have much else to do. The situation was strange, and Imogen had never ignored his messages for so long before, but there wasn’t anything else hecould do about it. Especially with her photoshoot the next day, he couldn’t make some grand romantic gesture. And he didn’t want her to feel pressured anyway.
If something was going to happen, he wanted to be sure it was genuine. That she really wanted to try again.
Finally, he put the truck in gear and headed home, telling himself that he was being ridiculous. One unreturned text and one missed phone call didn’t mean anything. Imogen had a business to run and a daughter to take care of and a big magazine feature to prepare for. She had plenty of legitimate reasons to be busy and distracted.
But as he pulled into his driveway, Lincoln couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted since the night before, and not necessarily in a good direction.
Imogen stood in her bedroom doorway, looking at the chaos she’d created with growing dismay. What had started as an attempt to choose an outfit for tomorrow’s magazine photoshoot had somehow devolved into a complete explosion of her wardrobe. There were blouses, sweaters, jeans, slacks, and dresses draped over every possible surface, from her bed to her desk to her reading chair. Jeans and a sweater felt too casual, the dresses all felt too stuffy, slacks and a blouse felt too stern. She wanted to look like what they expected of her—an artsy small town shop owner, but she also wanted to look like someone to respect, someone who mattered. She didn’t want to look pretentious, but she also didn’t want to look like a charity case.
She wanted to come off as deserving of the feature. And she was too overwhelmed with the events of last night and the day to really focus on what she thought would come off best.
Katie was downstairs watching a Christmas movie, blissfully unaware of her mother’s crisis, and Imogen was glad that she at least had a little privacy to fall apart in peace. Because after weeks of stress, she felt like she was on the verge of finally crumpling.
She sank onto the edge of her bed, pushing aside a pile of scarves and tights, and buried her face in her hands. She couldn’t focus on picking an outfit because she couldn’t stop thinking about Mabel’s accidental confession. The fact that she’d confessed it had been bad enough, but then Imogen’s thoughts inevitably circled around to the fact that it had beenaccidental, and Mabel and Vanessa had planned to just always keep it a secret. She didn’t know which was worse. She couldn’t stop thinking about the moment when she’d realized that the magical evening she’d shared with Lincoln had been orchestrated by their well-meaning friends.
She’d suspected it too. Vanessa hadn’t been very good at faking the whole ‘sleigh-ride surprise’ shtick. It hadn’t made sense, and she felt embarrassed now for having gone along with it, and worse yet, actually gotten caught up in it. If Lincoln knew, he’d probably be just as embarrassed and awkward as she felt about it all. He’d texted her and called her, probably wondering why she was avoiding him—but it also could be because he’d found out too, and he wanted to apologize for ever getting mixed up in anything as ridiculous as making her think that he still had real feelings for her.
She groaned softly and flopped backward onto the bed. Part of her felt like a complete fool for falling for such an obvious setup even the slightest bit. She’d believed the Secret Santa, nonsense, and now she couldn’t see how she hadn’t seen through it. And another part of her felt hurt that her friends thought she was so hopeless in the romance department that she needed their intervention to find someone.
The nighthadbeen wonderful. But she would have wanted it to happen organically. Now it just felt contrived, and she had no idea if Lincoln thought she was hopelessly stupid for getting caught up in it all.
She didn’t know how to trust her feelings now. Had the evening actually felt like they’d reconnected more deeply than they had before, or had they just been primed by the romance their friends had contrived? Had Lincoln actually seemed like he wanted to kiss her, or had he felt coerced into making the night something it wasn’t because their friends had put so much work into it?
They’d both let go of their relationship a long time ago. They’d both moved on. She’d never expected it to ever be anything again, and now she felt more confused than she had since they’d split up, without really wanting to, fifteen years ago.
