I cover his hand with my own, a sharp pang piercing my chest. He lost his father when he was seventeen. His mother is all he’s ever had; it would kill him if he lost her, too. “Please let me know what I can do to help. I had no idea she was sick. I…I haven’t seen Gwynn in a while. I should go visit.”
He smiles again, but this time it’s weak, sad. “She’d love that,” he says. “She misses you and Caroline.”
I miss you, too.
He doesn’t say the words out loud but he doesn’t have to. Those eyes of his tell me more than I care to know. We’ve always had a way of communicating without speaking.
A smile.
A touch.
A look.
He knows me in ways no man does. Or ever will. There’s a heavy amount of comfort in that but there’s also an incredible amount of guilt.
I stand, eager to put some distance between us. “What can I get you to drink?”
He clears his throat. “Sweet tea.”
“Comin’ right up.”
I feel his eyes on me as I move through the tables. I cash out one of my customers and refill a few glasses before eventually pouring his glass of tea.
My skin prickles all over as I approach. “Have you decided what you want yet?” I pull my order pad from the pocket of my apron.
Linc pins me with his sharp, unforgiving eyes. “Yeah, I know what I want, Sylvie.”
“What’ll it be?” I ask, my voice just as shaky as my hands.
“You.”
Past
I’ll never forget the day we met. Linc walked into Mrs. Martin’s fifth grade classroom with a big smile on his face, so confident and sure of himself, wearing a pair of square-toed cowboy boots and a button-down plaid shirt.
“Class, this is Lincoln Matthews.”
“Linc,” he corrects.
Mrs. Martin gives him a warm smile. “Linc. Welcome him to the class, everyone.”
We all give our obligatory welcome as Mrs. Martin points to the empty desk next to mine. “You can follow along with Sylvie today until we can get you a textbook assigned.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He slides into the vacant desk closest to mine, pulling a notebook from his backpack. I turn my attention back to Mrs. Martin as she continues her lesson. I don’t want to look at him, but my stupid eyes keep shifting to the left.
“Hey,” he whispers, scooting so close the tops of our desks are now touching.
“Hey.”
“I’m Linc.”
“I know.”
“And you’re Sylvie.”
My eyes shoot to his. “Figure that out on your own, did ya?”
