Oh Lincoln.

“But I can’t leave the Katie she is now. I won’t.” His fingers squeezed hers harder as though indulging in one last lingering bit of contact before he replaced his hand on the wheel.

“Do me a favor, Wallflower,” he said after a couple moments of silence.

Anything. It was strange, how close she felt to this man she hardly knew.

“Yeah?”

He smiled and glanced over. “Change the subject? Talk to me. About anything else.”

“On it,” she said, giving a playful, obedient salute, sensing he needed the mood lightened, and fast. “So, how’s this: I just got a text from Emma saying that she and Cassidy are hosting a last-minute dinner party tonight. Just an impromptu pizza get-together before they leave for Tuscany tomorrow.”

“Am I invited?”

She grinned. “Hypothetically, I may have seen a text come through from Cassidy when I was adding my number into your phone. So yes.”

He sucked his cheeks in as he considered. “You going?”

“To my twin sister’s post-wedding get-together? I’d say I’m sort of an auto-yes.”

“We should bring the wine. Make up for ditching early last night?” he said.

“Wine I can handle. As long as nobody says the words Jack Daniel’s to me or my liver for a good month or ten.”

“What kind of wine is Em’s favorite? I can never keep the Stiletto ladies’ preference straight.”

“Anything red is safe, although she’s been on a Syrah kick lately. Why?”

“I figure wine’s my best chance of your sister not deballing me when she finds out you slept in my bed last night.”

“Don’t worry,” Daisy said as she texted her sister back, confirming that both she and Lincoln would be there. “I already told her that yes, we left together, but I didn’t violate you.”

“You say that because you didn’t see the Britney striptease.”

Daisy glanced up, eyes narrowed. “Thought you said you kept your back turned for that.”

“Ahh—”

She reached over and punched his arm. “Mathis.”

“I may have caught a glimpse before my Gentleman kicked in. In my defense, you whipped that dress over your head fast.”

She laughed as she returned to her text. “As long as I don’t find it on YouTube later.”

“Emma’s going to ask what you did all day,” Lincoln said, his smile dropping just a bit.

“Probably,” Daisy replied, sending the text and dropping her phone back in her purse. “I can’t wait to tell her about all the shopping I did.”

“Cassidy can read people like a hawk. He’ll know we spent time together. And I don’t want you to outright lie to your sister on my behalf.”

“I won’t have to lie,” Daisy said.

“Not following.”

“Well, I won’t lie to Emma, because I really will go shopping when we get back to the city. And when everyone asks if we spent time together, we can tell them yes—because you’re coming shopping with me. Hellooooo, platonic alibi, and your secret’s safe.”

“Did you just trick me into shopping with you?”

“Impressive, right?”

He let out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t know whether to hug you in admiration or strangle you in irritation.”

Daisy stiffened reflexively at his casual remark. She’d come a long way—now she was able to touch other people in affection or comfort without thinking twice. But having them hug her, no matter how platonic or well-meaning, felt…threatening.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Totally.”

The look he cut her across the car said he knew she was lying.

But his slight nod told her he understood and wouldn’t press her for answers.

And even as Daisy told herself she was relieved, she couldn’t deny that she felt a pang of something that felt an awful lot like disappointment.

Chapter 9

Lincoln was pretty sure Emma wouldn’t make good on her threat to kill him for not staying away from Daisy, but he wouldn’t put money on it.

The second he walked into Cassidy and Emma’s Upper West Side apartment, he bee-lined for the one person that would protect him from Angry Emma: Erin Elizabeth Compton, daughter of Riley and Sam Compton, and the closest thing he had to a niece.

“Come to Uncle Lincoln, sweetheart,” he said, easing the screaming baby out of his friend Grace’s arms.

Grace Malone leaned in and made a cooing, kissing noise against the baby’s face. “I’m only allowing this blatant stealing of my niece because I want a drink to drown out all that screaming. It’s like she doesn’t know how lucky she is to have all these fake aunts and uncles.”

“Not fake. Just unrelated by blood. And I’m pretty sure I’m the favorite,” Lincoln said.

Grace snorted, the sound at odds with the pretty brunette’s effortless classiness. “Really? Because I think she’s screaming louder.”

Lincoln mock-glared at his friend. Like Emma, Grace had two connections to their little circle of friends. The first because she worked at Stiletto. The second because she was happily married to Jake Malone, one of Lincoln’s friends from Oxford.

Honestly, if their group got any bigger, they’d need to start wearing name tags.

Grace blew a kiss at either him or the baby—probably the baby—before wandering over to her husband, who was holding up a bottle of red in one hand and a bottle of white in the other and wiggling his eyebrows questioningly at her.