His eyes softened just a fraction, though the storm still burned behind them. “You’re right. I should’ve told you. But you need to listen now. You’re not safe here alone. Not at the shop. Not anywhere without me close.”
The words that used to make me bristle no longer sounded controlling. They sounded like truth. The kind you didn’t argue with.
I sank onto the stool behind the counter. “He was right here. At my door.”
Lincoln crouched in front of me until we were eye level. His hand covered mine, solid and warm, anchoring me to something real when everything inside me felt ready to shatter.
“I’ll make him regret it.” His voice dropped low, steady as a vow. “But you have to let me handle it my way.”
I stared at him. The conviction in his eyes left no room for doubt. For the first time, his protectiveness didn’t feel like a cage. It felt like shelter.
Maybe I was finally starting to believe what he’d said all along. I wasn’t safe alone. But with him, perhaps I could be. I nodded, and I didn’t really care what he did.
Lincoln straightened slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. For a moment, he stayed there, one big hand still covering mine, thumb brushing the side of my palm like he was making sure I was real. The weight of his gaze held me still. Then his voice dropped, low and certain.
“Get your bag. We’re leaving.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’re not working here all day, not with this.” He flicked a look at the note on the counter. His jaw flexed hard, the muscle ticking beneath his skin. “I should’ve done this the first time.”
“I can’t just leave.”
“Yes, you can.” He stood, and it felt like the room shrank around him. “Shut the register. Lock the back. I’ll handle the front. You can call Ty, Clay, and Michelle and tell them they’ll still be paid, but until this is over, you’re closed.”
It wasn’t a request.
Typically, that tone would’ve made me bristle. I would’ve told him I didn’t need a babysitter, that I could take care of myself. But the paper sitting on the counter said otherwise. The air in the shop felt wrong, as if it still held a trace of the person who’d slipped that note inside. I didn’t argue.
I closed out the till with trembling fingers, the sound of the coins and the click of the register too loud in the quiet. I slid the cash into the safe and grabbed my bag from under the counter. The familiar motions steadied me just enough to keep breathing.
Lincoln moved through the shop like a man on a mission. His boots were silent against the floor, every movement controlled, his eyes sweeping over the windows and the front door as if he expected someone to appear. When he came back to me, his jaw was set tight, but his expression softened slightly when his gaze met mine.
“Ready?”
I nodded. “Yeah.” My voice barely made it past my throat.
He reached up, flipped the sign to closed, and locked the door with a sharp click. The bell above it jingled softly, an innocent sound that made my chest ache. He slid the deadbolt home and rested a hand against the door for a second, shoulders tense, as if he didn’t trust even the lock to hold. Then he turned, motioned for me to move ahead of him, and guided me outside with a gentle hand at the small of my back.
The street was nearly empty. The air had cooled, the light shifting to that soft blue that came right before evening. The wind carried the faint scent of smoke from the diner down theblock. Usually, I loved this time of day, when Main Street slowed and everything felt safe again. But now every shadow seemed to watch. Every sound made me jump.
Lincoln’s truck was parked out front. He opened the passenger door for me, waited until I climbed in, then went around to his side. The cab smelled like leather, coffee, and him. He didn’t start the engine right away. His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white against the worn leather.
“I should’ve told you,” he said finally, his voice rough. “I thought I could stop it before it touched you. I was wrong.”
I looked at him, at the tightness around his mouth, at the furrow between his brows that deepened when he was fighting something he couldn’t control. “You were trying to protect me.”
“That’s no excuse for keeping you in the dark.” His tone carried frustration, but it wasn’t directed at me. It sat heavy in the air, a mix of guilt and anger that seemed to hollow him out.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The only sound was the faint tick of the cooling engine and the distant rumble of traffic. Then I reached over and laid my hand on his arm. His skin was warm under my palm, the muscle tight as coiled wire, but he eased slightly under my touch.
“Let’s just go home,” I whispered.
He nodded once, his jaw still tight. “Yeah. Home.”
The drive back to the ranch was quiet. The sun had dipped behind the hills, leaving streaks of gold and purple across the horizon. The rhythmic hum of the tires on the pavement filled the silence. I watched the landscape roll by through the window, every fence post and field blurring together, my reflection faint against the glass. My pulse finally began to slow, though the knot in my stomach didn’t ease.
When we turned onto the long gravel drive, the porch light was already on. The glow cut through the twilight, a single warmpromise against the dark. For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe.
