“That. Or you’re simply very kind,” he murmured, studying her face.

She shrugged and turned away. “I’m probably good on wine myself, but can I get you—”

“Daisy.”

She stilled as his fingers touched her elbow, before he let his hand fall back to his side.

“You don’t have to wait on me. Truly.”

“I know,” she said, her voice quiet. “It’s just…I meant it when I said I’m a little lonely out here by myself. It’s nice to have company.”

He held her gaze. “I owe you an apology.”

Daisy frowned. “For?”

“For pulling back. After you left, but before Katie died, I know I just sort of…quit responding to your texts.”

“Ah. I understood,” she said.

“Yeah. Yeah, see, I figured you understood. That’s the thing about you, Daisy, you seem to understand everything.”

She wrinkled her nose in puzzlement. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not a bad thing, no.” He looked away, then back again. “But it’s the reason I had to pull back.”

“Because I understood things?”

“No, because you understand me. And it’s been a long time since anyone has.”

Chapter 15

Lincoln considered himself a city man through and through, but that didn’t mean he was immune to the appeal of a crisp autumn evening that involved a beer, a big-ass man grill, and the laughter of two lovely women.

He’d always loved the high-energy hustle of life in New York, but he had to give Charlotte, North Carolina, credit…as far as vacations went, it wasn’t bad. Not by a long shot.

The company didn’t suck either.

Daisy’s best friend was impossible to dislike. A little loud, and a lot flirtatious, Whitney Silva struck him as a firecracker with a heart of gold. He admitted he wouldn’t have pinned the curvy brunette who stepped out of her red Mustang convertible in the leopard-print halter and bright orange platform sandals as Daisy Sinclair’s best friend, but it was clear they were close as sisters.

Perhaps even closer than Daisy and Emma these days, seeing as Emma was a newlywed and a plane ride away, while Whitney lived nearby and was a fellow divorcée, courtesy of her ex being “an immoral but marvelously hung bastard.”

“This might be our best Taco Tuesday yet,” Whitney said, leaning back in the chair on Daisy’s outdoor patio as she stroked Kiwi in her lap. The dog had become instantly obsessed with the woman. “We did good, Daiz.”

Daisy took a sip of her margarita and rolled her eyes. “Oh did we?”

“Hey, I cut a lime. Lincoln, baby, did you see me cut that lime?”

“I sure did. None of this would have been possible without you.”

Whitney wagged a finger up and down at him. “I like you. I knew right off I liked you when Daisy showed me your picture.”

Daisy choked a little on a bite of her homemade guacamole, and Lincoln turned, grinning as he leaned back against the back porch railing. “A picture, you say. Do tell.”

“No,” Daisy cut in. “Do not tell.”

Whitney complied with Lincoln’s request, as he’d known she would. “Well, it was a Taco Tuesday like this one—”

“A Taco Tuesday without the tacos,” he interrupted.

“Right! You get it! Anyway, Daisy here was glued to her phone, giggling like a schoolgirl with a crush—”

“Um, no. Don’t embellish. I may have smiled—”

“At him,” Whitney said.

“At his text message,” Daisy clarified through gritted teeth.

“Text messages. There were several. Weren’t there?” Whitney said, turning to Lincoln for confirmation.

His eyes were locked on Daisy’s profile, the slight embarrassed pink of her cheeks. “I suspect there were several.”

Back then, in those few blissful weeks, their text messages had numbered in the double digits. Dangerous, not because of their content, but because of the frequency. And the pleasure he derived from them.

Still, seeing the way Daisy wouldn’t meet his eyes, he saw that she’d gotten pleasure from them too. And that perhaps him cutting her out might have been harder on her than she’d ever let on.

“Anyway,” Whitney was saying, “I, of course, had to see the guy who could make my girl smile like that, so she dug up your picture from Emmy’s wedding.”

“Did I pass muster?” Lincoln asked, forcing his gaze back to the meddling Whitney.

She pursed her lips and waggled her hands. “You were okay. All in all, very unimpressive.”

He laughed, enjoying her. Enjoying himself, he realized.

“How long until you want me to put these on?” he said, tilting his head toward the steaks he had seasoned and ready to go on the state-of-the-art grill.

“Oh let’s wait a bit, take our time,” Whitney said. She tapped her red nail against her margarita glass. “Daiz, if I have another of these, can I stay over in one of your dozen spare bedrooms?”

Daisy blew a kiss at her friend and stood. “Of course you can. I’ll get us another round, and make sure the sheets are clean in your room.”

“Damn right it’s my room,” Whitney called after her.

Whitney’s smile slipped just the slightest bit when Daisy was gone, and she flicked a finger over Kiwi’s ear. “I’m always torn between hating that bastard for leaving her all alone out here, and thinking at least he was good for something, leaving this whole big mansion to her.”