Before I could stop myself, I ran forward. Needing to be closer to him, needing to be held.
Instead of holding me, Lincoln caught me and lifted me before placing me on the kitchen island. Then he pulled back. The lines on his face were drawn deep in shock.
“Sorry,” I choked out. “I shouldn’t have tried to hug you. I… I…” I flinched, but his horrified expression softened and twisted into something that stirred the old flutter in my stomach.
His hand curled around my neck, his fingers warm against my skin. “Oh,” he whispered. “Don’t apologize for that.” He pulled me close until my cheek pressed against his warm chest. If there was ever a place I wanted to be, it was here.
“You’re not wearing any shoes, and you tried running over a shattered mug.” His chest vibrated as he spoke. He wrapped his other arm around me in a tight hug that squeezed out the remaining air in my body.
But I could breathe.
I unfurled, lifting my face and finding a new comfort in the shape of his neck. His hand stroked gentle lines up and down my back while the other was knitted in my hair, keeping me close.
“You made pancakes?” I squeaked out, arching as his fingers sent tingles up my spine.
“I didn’t know it was your birthday, Elizabeth.” His voice was barely loud enough for me to hear as his lips grazed the tip of my ear. “I’m so sorry for running away from you. I’m sorry about your mom.”
My heart cracked open.He heard all that?
“You made pancakes,” I said again.
“According to someone I know, they’re elite.”
My heart slammed at the acknowledgment of my username, at this moment where Lincoln was my Link and I was his Lily.
We stood in silence for a few seconds as if in another world. Lincoln’s mouth pressed against the top of my head, and I wanted to tilt my face upward and catch his lips on mine.
But he leaned back, cleared his throat, and offered me a boyish smile. “I have cinnamon sugar, which, for some reason, you smell like.”
My cheeks heated.
“And maple syrup because Rose decided that was an essential.”
He grabbed the broom and swept up the last of the ceramic pieces. I looked at the pancakes. A crookedHandAwere spread across the top of two of them.
“What’s this?” I pointed at the letters.
He stood, grimacing, before turning around and emptying the shards into the bin. With a voice so deliciously bashful I nearly leaped on him again, he said, “I was in the process of writingHAPPY BIRTHDAYbut the mug had other ideas. Also, it’s not that easy to write with cinnamon sugar.”
“And you call yourself an engineer,” I teased, unable to add even a playful bite to my voice. “You could have made a stencil.”
He turned his head upward to look at the ceiling, his mouthcurling into a full smile. “I was a bit distracted by the thought of the beautiful woman I was doing it for.”
My insides melted and I worried I’d slip off the table, onto the floor, and right through the cracks.
“Can I eat it?” I asked.
He nodded and shrugged and did a weird sort of shimmy thing with his body. “Yeah, but I don’t know if it’s any good. I’ve never made pancakes before.”
I took one.
“Wait, you don’t have any toppings.” He raised the jar of syrup.
But I already had it in my mouth. I chewed it, the soft comfort of a warm pancake washing over me.
“It’s perfect.” I picked up another. “Come here.” He walked over and I opened my legs, hoping he’d step between them.
He did.
