“I’m so sorry,” she said, her gaze locked on the tie. “I just…habit. I used to—”

Lincoln’s hands came up, resting gently on her elbows, wanting to settle her. “No complaints here, Wallflower. You did it better than I could do myself.”

She let out a little laugh. “You haven’t even seen it yet.”

“No, but I’ve seen the way you do everything else. You’re a perfectionist.”

“I didn’t used to be.”

It was a strange response. Most people were either Type A or they weren’t. Either rigid or not. One didn’t learn to be a perfectionist.

Did one?

He ordered himself to release her and step back, but his hands didn’t move. Very slowly, her gaze traveled upward from the knot of his tie, and the second her warm brown eyes locked with his, he felt a surge of want so fierce it nearly took his breath away.

Let her go. Let. Her. Go.

Instead his hands tugged her closer, his head dipping down.

Daisy gasped and pulled back.

He released her, although it seemed to take a split second longer than it should for his fingers to obey his brain.

Shit. Damn it.

Lincoln turned away, pretending to check her handiwork in the mirror, while really trying to disguise the fact that the lower half of his body was absurdly aware of her.

Focus on the tie, focus on the tie…

As expected, it was perfect, although he lifted his own hand to loosen it just slightly. He wasn’t, after all, at work. Not really.

“Come with me tonight,” he said again, keeping his voice casual, his eyes locked on his own reflection. “We’ll have dinner after I talk to your friends.”

Daisy said nothing, and he glanced over, saw her biting her lip. She wanted to. He could see it in the way her eyes lit then shadowed.

“I can’t.”

Can’t or won’t?

“Wallflower—”

“The nickname really doesn’t fit,” she interrupted. “You saw me once when I happened to be near a wall, but that doesn’t mean I’m the type to cower in the corner.”

“Wait, what? I never said—”

“I’m not afraid,” she said, a little desperately. “Not of putting myself out there.”

But the way she turned on her heel and all but ran from the room made a liar out of her. She was afraid of something. Someone?

The realization made Lincoln angrier than he’d been in a long, long time.

Chapter 17

“So at what point do I get to learn where I’m headed?” Lincoln asked.

“Soon,” Daisy said, lifting a finger to point. “Take a right up here.”

“That’s into a parking lot.”

“It is? You sure you’re not CIA? Those are some keen observational skills.”

“You sure you didn’t have sarcasm piped straight through the umbilical cord? Because your twin has the same smart mouth.”

She gave him a cheeky smile, relieved that their weird interaction last night hadn’t affected, well…them.

Daisy wasn’t sure what had come over her. One minute she’d been seeing if he needed anything before heading out for the night, the next she’d been tying his tie in the most wifely of all gestures.

It had been humiliating. It had also been highly alarming how right it felt. The thought of then going to dinner with him, sitting across the table as though they were…what, a couple?

Because friends didn’t tie each other’s ties.

But then he’d made it even more confusing. For a second she’d thought he’d wanted to pull her closer. Kiss her.

The thought of it had kept her up half the night, torn between panic that it had almost happened and regret that it hadn’t.

She’d settled on hope. Hope that they could still be easy around each other.

And luckily, this morning when he’d come over to the main house to sweet-talk her into making breakfast (which, of course, she’d already planned on), things had felt back to normal. There were no weird undercurrents, no tension.

She’d asked him how his “date” had gone, he’d said great, and that had been the end of it. And even if maybe she’d wanted to know just a few more details, wanted to know if any of the women had intrigued him, Daisy hadn’t asked. And he hadn’t volunteered.

She was determined they get back to normal, as though last night never happened. It was important to her that she be the friend he needed right now.

“Um, tell me we’re not in a Walmart parking lot,” he said.

“Damn, wrong about the CIA thing. Yes, Lincoln, this is a Walmart parking lot. Grab the first spot you see.”

“This is madness,” he murmured.

“You should see it on a Saturday. Ooh, there. Guy just loaded the lawn chair into the pickup, he’s about to pull out.”

Lincoln turned on his blinker and waited for the spot. “Holy crap, that’s a lot of toilet paper,” he said, watching in awe as a family of four pushed a stuffed cart toward their car.

She glanced over. “Eh. Average.”

“No. That’s a shit-ton of toilet paper, pun intended.”

“That’s why people come here,” she said. “Stuff’s cheap, especially when you buy it in bulk.”

“That’s great. But as a family unit of one with a temporary houseguest, what are we doing here?” he asked, pulling into the spot vacated by the blue pickup.