I slide out of bed, brush my teeth, wash my face, and am bunching my hair into a ponytail as I walk downstairs to where I hear commotion. Everyone is in the kitchen, the smell of bacon wafting in the air, and Silas is at the stove with multiple pans in front of him.

My stomach growls, pleading to balance the sugar I binged last night with a supplemental meal.

“Morning, sunshine!” Lincoln greets, and a trail of hellos and mornings follows from the group. “How’d you sleep?”

His smile is bright as he stands in the kitchen, his fingers wrapped around a coffee mug, wearing the same sweats he wore last night. Gray sweats are where it’s at, ladies. Don’t think I wasn’t looking in that waist area for a sneak peek of what Lincoln has to offer.

“Good,” I reply around a yawn.

“My bed is pretty damn comfortable, eh?” He winks.

I roll my eyes. “Joke’s on you though because I’ll be demanding to sleep there every time I’m here.”

“You two will be dating soon,” Lola states with a tone of certainty. “I doubt there will be an issue with you being in his bed.”

Lincoln swiftly looks away at her statement and stops our playful conversation.

If only I could read what’s dancing through his mind.

We eat breakfast—this is the moment I realize Silas is amazing in the kitchen—and drink the mimosas Georgia whipped up.

After hanging out for a few hours, the lake house starts clearing out. Those few hours, I got a different Lincoln from last night, from the one who had greeted me this morning. Lola’s comment had changed his attitude toward me, and even though he sat at my side as we ate, he didn’t mention the kiss. Nor does he as we say good-bye.

And so, I wait for the perfect time to bring it up … along with other questions.

Chapter Eleven

Lincoln

“You two are adorable,” Grace singsongs, answering the door in an Alice in Wonderland costume.

It’s two nights after Halloween, and she’s throwing a costume party with Georgia. Since Halloween is one of the busiest nights at Twisted Fox, we all had to work, so we’re celebrating now. What I’m learning from Archer and his friends is, they like to celebrate shit and party. They’re different parties than what I’m used to.

They have kid-friendly pool parties at Maliki’s, Cohen’s best friend.

Birthday dinners for each of them.

Barbecues at Cohen’s.

They’re tight-knit, who’s bringing what food parties.

“Look at you two, all matchy-matchy,” Georgia shouts, coming into view with a mixed drink in her hand. “I am obsessed with it.”

Georgia has to be the most supportive person I’ve ever met, everyone’s biggest cheerleader. I’ve never known a friendlier soul. A sarcastic-as-fuck but kind soul.