6

The seagulls decided the crisp fall morning warranted their melody. As they soared overhead, they each squawked out their salutations. With her face turned heavenward, Opal thanked the Lord for the storm being a blessing in disguise. With the roof torn off, rotting ceiling beams had been discovered. Thank goodness it hadn’t collapsed before that. Also, she would finally be able to act on her idea to enclose the back porch. Now the space could be used as a proper workshop. Shelves and cabinets had been added to help store all of her supplies, which freed up more floor space in the showroom. The paint crew was due soon to finish the trim work and any touch-ups, so it was time to get the workday started. She walked around the building and spotted Josie on a ladder.

Opal looked up. “Whatcha doing?”

Josie placed a piece of tile that helped form an ocean wave in the mosaic back in its rightful spot before peering down at her. “Fixing this.”

“I have a guy coming tomorrow to do that.” Opal shielded her eyes with her hand and squinted up at her friend.

“I don’t mind.” Josie plucked another piece from a bucket and iced the back of it with mortar. “Do you remember us putting this project together?”

“Yeah.” A wide grin spread across her face as she recalled the summer after graduation, when the three friends hung out fixing up the building. “We worked on it for a solid week with Sophia sitting in a lounge chair acting as supervisor.” Opal had come up with the idea of the mosaic with hopes of rekindling Josie’s passion for art, but Josie did as Josie had always done. She viewed it as helping a friend out and nothing more. Soon, Opal was going to set a plan into motion to change that, but for the time being, she had another pressing matter. “I’m worried that giving Lincoln a job was a mistake.”

“Hmm . . . I’m not sure . . .” Josie shook her head and began descending the rungs of the ladder. She set the bucket of mortar down and dusted her hands together.

“Why’s that?” Opal tucked several errant curls behind her ear.

“I think you’ve been good for him.” Josie shrugged. “He seems suited for this place.”

Opal scoffed. “He’d probably tell you differently.”

“Yeah? From what I’ve heard from the Knitting Club, he’s shown up here every day since the doctor released him last week. And every day you send him away spittin’ mad.”

“I knew those old ladies were keeping me supplied with baked goods for no good reason.” Opal’s head rolled back, looking at the blue sky.

Each day Lincoln had shown up to deliver some form of an apology. The first day was a bottle of the raspberry chai tea she loved to have as an afternoon treat. He handed it off and started hobbling toward the tents like nothing had happened. After pointing out his misassumption, she sent him on his way. The next day it was a pint of chili-infused chocolate ice cream along with a few muttered words admitting he had been a jerk. Again, she accepted the little offering and pointed him back to his Jeep.

Opal glanced at the green beaded bracelet on her wrist that was his most recent attempt at apologizing. It had been accompanied with actual words. “I’m sorry for being so mean.” She agreed before telling him to hit the road. And boy, did he sound like a snarling beast as he stomped/limped away. “Lincoln doesn’t take too kindly to being told no.”

“But he keeps coming back anyway. There’s a reason, and I think that reason is you. I really think he needs you. And this job.” Josie paused to take a breath. “What if you make him promise to be more careful with his leg? Would you allow him to come back to work?”

Opal sighed long and loud. “I had no idea how severe his injuries were. I feel so guilty for having him standing hours on end while helping around here. Look where that landed him. I just don’t think this is a good fit for him.” Each time he’d shown up to argue his case of working for her, Lincoln stood there, defeated and desperate for another chance, and her arms ached to reach out and hold him. To reassure him he was going to get through this storm in his life. And it scared the mess out of her to feel so strongly for him.

Josie bent her knees to bring Opal to eye level, looked at her like some weird something was lurking in the green depths of her irises, and twisted her lips. “Who are you? And what have you done with my Opal?”

Opal focused anywhere but on her friend’s scrutiny. “I . . . He . . . We . . . I don’t know, okay?” She waved her hands in the air, conceding defeat in the great battle of Lincoln Cole. Admitting that she liked him and wanted to be his friend was a cinch. Easy-peasy. That was her nature, after all. But seeing him sick had flipped some switch in her and had her wanting more than friendship, and each time he barked at her to leave or to hush up was a blaring reminder she couldn’t have it. Clearly the man wasn’t in a place in his life to invest in a romantic relationship, any more than she was. If she was going to keep him as a part of the business aspect of her life, Opal was going to have to be extra careful not to blur the line between work and friendship.

“Just think about it.” Josie hitched a thumb toward the two tents. “You’re going to need extra sets of hands in another day or two to get that stuff moved back into the store.”

Opal nodded but chose not to comment. Her friend seemed to read that as the conversation’s closure. She picked up the bucket and moved to another section of the fairy mural.

Opal watched Josie climb a few rungs and go to work patching a section of gold-and-orange hair before moving her attention over to the large tents. If only she could think of a way to fit Lincoln Cole into her life that would be beneficial to them both while keeping them both intact —Lincoln’s leg and her heart.

The following morning, a plan was sort of in place by the time she noticed the Jeep parking at the curb. Lincoln limped toward her, using his cane. He had his hair pulled back, giving her a direct view of his features, which were set in a scowl. His lips were already moving back to say something before she could interrupt him.

“I’m a man,” he announced abruptly, that deep voice booming around the small yard. She was about to agree wholeheartedly, a mighty handsome one at that, but he plowed on, raising his left leg slightly. “This makes me feel less of one.”

She stepped closer, shuffling the store’s floor plans into one hand so she could reach the other out to grasp his forearm. “Linc —”

“But working here . . . doing something useful in the last few weeks . . . it made me feel closer to being whole again.” He took a step back to get away from her touch, clearly not there for her pity.

She dropped her hand and fiddled with the large papers, determined not to give him any. “Good, because I need your help and don’t really have time for any more of this chitchat.”

Lincoln’s lip curled back to protest, but he paused in confusion at her words. Obviously he had been expecting her to send him away once more. “Come again?”

Opal held up the plans. “I need your help. I have more floor space now with the addition, and to be honest, the former layout wasn’t working so well. Now I have this clean slate, and I’m at a loss as to how to arrange it.”

Lincoln took the floor plans and studied them. His eyes narrowed while he looked them over. “Are the floors dry yet?”

Opal clapped her hands. “Oh yes. The crew only put a clear sealant on them so all the natural beauty can show off, and they turned out so gorgeous. I knew all that old barn wood I had in storage would come in handy someday.” She took the plans back and clutched his free hand. “Come see!”

They moved inside, where the sharp aroma of fresh paint and wood sealer met them. She already had a large table set in the middle of the space with two chairs tucked underneath. The plan was for Lincoln to sit down and figure out the puzzle of the furniture arrangements. She sat and spread the plans out. He took the seat beside her and swiped a pencil that was beginning to roll away.

“You need to place the bigger pieces around the perimeter. The first time I walked in, it was like walking into a wall . . .” He began drawing out the plan while discussing ideas with Opal. By the time the morning was gone and their stomachs were rumbling, they had a pretty good idea where all the furniture would be placed.

Opal hung up from ordering a pizza and asked for the third time, “You sure we can’t hang the chairs back on the ceiling? I thought they looked so cute up there.”

“Look, I gave in to your pizza choice. I’m not budging on the chairs.” Lincoln sat back and scanned the warehouse-size room. “Tell ya what, if it’s a light fixture, we can hang it. If it’s just a chair, we can look at retrofitting some racks on the walls to hang them. That will be a less haphazard way to approach it.”

Opal studied the pale-teal walls, imagining his idea, and found it rather pleasing. “I love it. Our chairs can be art!” She beamed and clapped her hands.

“Your chairs.” Lincoln began rolling the plans up. “This mess is all on you.”

She giggled. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to be a part of the mess. “Lincoln, you seem really good at this organizing and structuring.”

“Common sense can go a long way.” He shrugged while standing up. “Now, let’s look at the office in the back to see if we can come up with a plan for that space before the pizza gets here.”

“Lead the way, big boy.” Opal gestured for him to go first and barely contained her grin when he gave her a stern look. She waited for him to snap something back, but he just picked up his cane and began heading to the office off to the right. “You know . . . that cane really makes you so distinguished.”

“Makes me look like an old geezer.” Lincoln muttered a few more sentiments under his breath.

She watched how he maneuvered the cane like it was a part of him and found it quite attractive. Of course, a big tough guy like Lincoln Cole had not just a plain ordinary cane. The one in his grasp was glossy black with the Marine Corps emblem on the handle and pewter accents. It looked as mean as him. “No, your grouchiness does that. Seriously, I like the cane.”

“That makes one of us,” Lincoln mumbled as he stepped into the small office.

“Should you be wearing flip-flops?” Opal noticed he had to sort of do a slide-step when he was wearing them.

“I wore boots for two tours and it was like wearing lead weights on my feet, so I really don’t care if it’s good or not. I’d just as soon go barefooted.”

“I don’t mind if you go barefooted. It’s got to be better than trying to slide that left flip-flop around.” Opal pointed and it seemed to be all the permission he needed to ditch them by the door.

“You still have that L-shaped desk?”

“Which one?” She could think of at least three underneath the tents.

“The one fashioned from the metal milk crates and the boardwalk top.”

“Yes. I lucked out when snagging the planks after last year’s beachfront remodel.”

Lincoln combed his fingertips through his beard, deep in thought. Opal thought the beard made him even more distinguished, the way he kept it neatly trimmed to show off those sharp cheekbones and the long column of his neck, but she decided not to comment on that.

“What?” she asked when he remained quiet.

“The bookcase you’ve made out of the wood wine crates should go along that wall with the desk next to it.” He pointed to the left wall that had no window.

She could envision the rustic wood-and-metal pieces against the pale-teal walls. “Those two pieces will look good together. What else?”

“A small love seat or two chairs in the corner, but that’s it for in here. You had it too cluttered before.”

Before she could argue, the bell she’d replaced on the front door chimed. “Pizza!” She dashed off.

“Here. Let me pay,” Lincoln called from behind her, but she kept on skipping to the door.

“It’s a work lunch. It’s on me.” She met the young delivery guy at the door and handed over some cash. “Hello, Jamie.”

“Hey, Miss Opal.” He handed her the pizza.

“Seriously? I’m only twenty-six. I’ve not earned the old lady title yet.” She waved him off when he tried giving her some change. “Let that tip be a reminder that I’m not old.”

The young man chuckled and stuffed the money in his pocket. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Jamie!” she said in a warning.

He laughed again and darted out the door before she could smack him.

“You know us Southerners say ma’am to any female, infant or geriatric, doesn’t matter the age,” Lincoln said as he settled back at the table in the middle of the room.

“I know, but I sure don’t like those manners aimed at me.” She set the pizza down and popped open the lid, releasing a garlic-infused steam. Licking her lips, she asked, “Will you say grace?”

Lincoln shifted in his seat.

“It’s simply thanking God for this meal. You can handle it.” She waved a hand in his direction. “The pizza is gonna get cold.”

Huffing, Lincoln bowed his head. “Thank you for this food. Amen.” When his head rose again and he aimed his brown eyes at her, she returned it with a glare equal to his.

“I’m giving you another shell before you go home today.” She pulled a piece of pizza from the box and took a substantial bite, loving the crunch of the super-thin crust.

Lincoln followed suit, folding his piece in half before chowing down. “Why?” he asked around a mouthful.

“Slowly but surely, Lincoln Cole, God is going to answer a lot more prayers on your behalf.” She tipped her head sideways and held his gaze. “I can’t wait to witness what you do with them.”

He stopped chewing and stared. “That shell you left at my house was for my healing.” He chewed a few times and swallowed. “You realize my leg won’t ever be whole again, don’t ya?”

“Oh, so you found my shell?” she asked, sidestepping his comment. Truth be told, the prayer was for the healing of his soul. Not his leg.

“Yes.” Lincoln tossed his crust into the box and crossed his arms, frowning. “I’m really sorry for how I treated you that day. . . . It was beyond kind of you to take care of me in spite of that. Thank you.”

Opal swiped his discarded crust, ready to eat it, but then froze. “You apologized and thanked me in the same breath?” Her eyes rounded, causing his to narrow.

“It was two breaths; now let’s just drop it.” He reached for another slice of pizza, effectively closing their feelings-sharing segment of the day. “Now, about that back workroom . . .”

The afternoon flew by with Lincoln sketching out a plan for the workroom, suggesting they use several pieces she’d crafted. Opal thought back to the wishes she made for the selected furniture and was surprised at how fitting they were for her at that moment in time.

The milk crate desk —please bless this person with some structure.

The wine crate bookcases —please bless the owner with a rich understanding of what their next adventure should be.

The storage cabinets made from old kitchen cabinets —please let the next owner fill these shelves with what they love and understand the importance of cherishing it all.

Lincoln picked out each piece and Opal was in pure wonder over how God was using him to bless her mess. She wanted to point all this out but knew it wasn’t time yet. He wouldn’t appreciate it and she just knew there was going to be a time it would really impact him, so she kept it to herself and only offered him knowing smiles throughout the day.

That smile remained on her face until Opal got into her van to head home. It vanished as soon as she turned her key and nothing happened. “Oh no!” Frantically she looked at the time on her phone before trying to crank the engine again.

“What’s wrong?” Lincoln appeared at the driver’s-side window she had rolled down. Her windows remained open most of the time so she could enjoy the briny air that fortified her life.

“My van is dead.” She wrinkled her nose and turned the key again to show him.

“Sounds like the starter.” He leaned into the window a bit.

Opal looked at the time again. “Can you get the starter started? I’m close to being late for supper with my parents.”

“This is a vintage VW van, so that part will probably need to be ordered and replaced.” He stepped back and looked behind her van to where his Jeep was parked. Sighing, he said, “I can give you a ride.”

She perked up. “Really?”

He nodded.

“But they live a good twenty minutes inland. Surely that’s out of your way.”

“I ain’t got any plans except for eating a few sandwiches and watching a football game.”

“Oh, who’s playing tonight?” Opal did a mental check of the Monday night lineup. It was the Packers versus . . . she couldn’t remember.

Lincoln opened her door and beckoned her to get out. “You don’t strike me as the ball game–watching type.”

“Well, there you go assuming again. And let’s be clear, you really stink with your assumptions.” Opal walked over, climbed into the Jeep, and waited until Lincoln fastened his seat belt and easily cranked his vehicle. “Head west on 17. Just so you know, my dad and I scored tickets to the Super Bowl last year. Great game, even though our team lost.”

Lincoln cut her a dubious look before turning onto the main highway. “You seriously like football?”

“Love it.”

“Favorite team?”

“Hello! Panthers, of course. But my favorite quarterback is hands down Aaron Rodgers. Green Bay is holding that man’s talent back by not having a strong enough offensive line, if you ask me.”

Shaking his head, Lincoln muttered, “Opal, you are one surprisingly unique woman.”

She thought he was talking to himself more than to her, but she answered brightly anyway. “Why, thank you. Turn onto Gilbert Highway another mile or so up on the left.” She turned slightly in her seat and studied his profile. “Now, tell me your favorite team. And if you say Patriots, you can stop the Jeep right here and let me out.”

Lincoln barked in laughter. “Good thing it’s the Saints then.”

They volleyed football stats back and forth until they made it to her parents’ street.

“Linc, I have a request.”

“What?” He remained focused on the road but his frown deepened.

“How do you feel about fried chicken and collard greens?”

“I’m a country boy, so what do you think?” He glanced at her briefly.

“How about pecan pie? You like plain ole pecan pie?”

“Sure.” Lincoln tapped the top of the steering wheel, keeping time with the Lee Brice song on the radio.

“Oh, thank goodness.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I want you to join my family tonight for Thanksgiving. Well, everyone but Bubba. He’s still away at college.” She smiled warmly, hoping to sell him on staying for dinner.

“Thanksgiving is over a week away.”

“Yes, but my folks will be out of town visiting my brother and some girl he wants them to meet, and so we’re celebrating tonight. To make it up to me, Momma is making all my favorites.” Opal directed him to pull in at a gated driveway. She fished a small remote out of her purse and sent the wrought-iron gate sliding open, revealing a three-story plantation-style home just behind it.

Lincoln put the Jeep in park and squinted at Opal. “Who are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who are your parents, Opal Gilbert?” Lincoln asked her, even though it was obvious he’d already pieced that answer together.

“Daniel and Mira Gilbert,” Opal answered nonchalantly.

“Senator Daniel Gilbert is your father, the man for whom that last road we took is named.” Lincoln hitched a thumb over his shoulder.

“Yes.”

He snorted and shook his head in disbelief. “All this time I’ve been picturing a set of hippie parents living in a tent by the river, thriving on the land and each other’s love.”

Opal snickered. “You and your assumptions . . . Will you please stay?”

He looked down at himself as he scratched the side of his neck. “I don’t think I’m dressed appropriately for Thanksgiving.”

“Jeans and a Henley shirt. It’s basically what I’m wearing.” She pointed to her flare-legged jeans with several patches dressing them and her tie-dyed long-sleeved T-shirt. “No worries.”

With apparent reluctance, Lincoln put the Jeep in drive and began moving down the long driveway. “Are you adopted or something?”

“Nope.” She could say more about him assuming things again but chose not to rile him up before they even made it to the door.

Opal let herself and Lincoln in even though he whispered his protest. “This is my family home. It would be insulting to my parents if I knocked.” She glanced at his empty hand. “You forgot your cane in the Jeep.”

“I’m good.”

“Linc —”

He came to a halt, his face lighting with an idea. “I can go get it.”

And give him the chance to run? Nope. “It’s fine. We’ll be mostly sitting.” They walked through the massive foyer and around the table set in the middle that was brimming over with fall foliage and several plump arrangements of orange and yellow mums. “Hello! Your favorite daughter is home!” Opal called out as she grabbed Lincoln’s hand, even though his fingers refused to hold hers in return, and guided him to the kitchen near the back of the first floor.

“You’re our only daughter!” Her mother’s voice drifted down the hall.

They pushed through the heavy double doors and were engulfed in aromas of the holidays. Savory meats and sugary-sweet desserts perfumed the air in warmth. Opal’s mom turned from the stove, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her narrow waist, and froze. Her eyes skated between the giant man beside Opal and their entwined hands. Lincoln must have noticed because he wiggled free from her grip and put a little space between them.

“Momma, I’d like you to meet my friend Lincoln. Lincoln, this is my mom, Mira.”

Lincoln stepped forward and took her shocked mom’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Gilbert. . . . We just work together.”

“My, you’re so tall . . .” Her mom shook off the surprised look and replaced it with a friendly smile. “Welcome to our home, Lincoln. So glad you could join us. . . . Let me go get Daniel. He had a few e-mails to tend to . . .” She kept smiling and tucked a much-tamer red curl back into her neat chignon as she hurried off.

“I think I’m gonna head out,” Lincoln whispered and began to turn.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Opal grasped his upper arm. “Help me set the table.” She pulled him over to the buffet in the adjoining dining room, where the china and silverware were waiting. It was the smaller of the dining rooms and was where she and her parents always took their meals. The other fancier space down the hall was for dinner parties with officials and other public guests.

Lincoln gathered the silverware and followed behind her around the table. “You owe me after tonight.”

She released an unladylike snort. “I’ve put up with your moody behind for the last month or so. After tonight we can call us even.” She looked at him, his lips poked out far enough to trip over. “Stop pouting. We’ll watch the game later while we eat our pie. You’ll survive.”

“I’m not so sure . . . ,” Lincoln muttered under his breath just as her parents walked in.

Another round of introductions. Opal summarized Lincoln’s injury overseas and how he’d been working with her ever since the hurricane. She grew a little more comfortable when her dad commented on his military service, thanking him and then moving on quickly to talk about tonight’s game.

As soon as her parents vanished into the kitchen to grab the food, Lincoln whispered harshly, “Your folks are dressed in their Sunday best.” He flicked his shirt. “I thought you said we were dressed okay?”

Her mom wore a pale-green sheath dress that reminded Opal of mint ice cream and her dad was in an oxford shirt and chinos —basically what they wore on a daily basis. “That’s as casual as those two get. They’re misdressed, not us, so chill.” She patted the chair beside the one she was settling into. “Take a load off.”

Lincoln plopped his big form into the chair. “I don’t like you very much.”

“If you say so.” She smiled sweetly at him and winked as her parents reentered the room.

After her dad said grace, all appeared to be well until they were eating juicy fried chicken and her parents began making small talk.

Mira passed Lincoln another fluffy yeast roll and asked, “Are you permanently disabled, Lincoln?”

Lincoln studied the roll in his hand. “No, ma’am. Just not up to par enough to defend my country anymore.”

The table fell silent until Mira chose to plow on with her interrogation. “Surely you had a backup career plan. I hope you took advantage of the free education the government provided for you.” She smiled sweetly, but it didn’t have Opal fooled. Her mom was in full-on snooping mode.

Lincoln shifted in his chair beside Opal. Without looking any further than his plate, he answered, “Nothing’s free . . . but I did earn a master’s degree while serving this country.”

No one acknowledged Lincoln’s sharp retort, but Opal’s dad perked up when he mentioned the degree. “That’s great, young man. What master’s degree did you earn?”

Lincoln gave Opal a measured look, one that said she was going to pay for this, before focusing on her dad. “Astrology,” he answered with pride.

Opal’s mouth fell open but she quickly snapped it shut and muttered under her breath just so he could hear, “And you call me the hippie?”

Both her mom and dad looked stunned stupid for a few beats, which was exactly how she felt.

“Astrology,” Daniel repeated, trying out the word, and by the looks of his scrunched-up nose and twisted mouth, he didn’t find it too appealing.

Mira cleared her throat on a dainty cough. “What does one do with such a degree?”

Lincoln shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t figured that out just yet. All’s I know is that I sure do enjoy gazing up at the stars and pondering their meaning.” He took an obnoxiously large bite of his roll and garbled out, “But I’ll let you know when I do.” He nodded and smiled with his cheeks poked out from the mouthful of food.

Opal didn’t consider her parents snooty or judgmental, but they were most definitely picky when it came to their only daughter and the company she kept. Taking a moment to see Lincoln through their eyes —a scruffy war veteran with no future ambition —she understood the lack of potential they saw on the surface. Fact of the matter, their eyes were missing a major portion of Lincoln Cole, and one night wouldn’t be enough time for them to see him as clearly as she did. Although he’d certainly thrown her for a loop on the whole astrology thing.

His admission shut down the twenty questions game her parents were playing, much to Opal’s relief. After Lincoln helped her mom with the dishes, refusing her pleas to just go sit and enjoy the game, they took their pie into the den and cheered on the Packers as they took the game in overtime.

The ride home was quiet until they neared the beach. Opal couldn’t tamp down her curiosity any longer and quipped, “You majored in astrology? I didn’t realize that was a thing.”

Lincoln chuckled and shook his head. “No.”

Confused, she looked over and saw the smirk etched along his handsome face. The dashboard lights glanced off the mischievous twinkling in his eyes. “Why would you lie like that?”

“Your mother was being a little too nosy. That’s what she gets.”

Opal tsked. “That wasn’t nice.” She tried to give him a stern look when he glanced over, but it floundered when he grinned wide, looking right proud of himself. And too handsome for his own good.

The grin dropped from his face as suddenly as it had appeared. Clearing his throat, Lincoln asked, “Opal, may I ask you a question?”

Her own smile fell away when she caught the sincerity in his voice. “Sure,” she answered with caution.

Lincoln cut his eyes in her direction before returning his attention to the road. “What does one do with a degree in astrology?” he deadpanned, cracking her up.

She reached over and playfully popped him in the arm. “My house is two more up on the right, smart-aleck.” She giggled. “Seriously, what did you earn a degree in? Moodiness? Old geezer antics? Stubbornness?”

“If you must know, I have a master’s in architectural engineering.”

“For real?”

He turned in and parked beside her beach house. “For real.”

“Well, that makes sense. You were very precise on the floor plans today. Man . . . I think I should probably give you a substantial raise.”

He chuckled. “No need. I’m good there. Plenty of savings and good investments.” He opened his door, stepped out, and rounded to her door, opening it like a true Southern gentleman. “Thank you for supper tonight.”

Opal hopped down. “I feel like I owe you an apology for that.”

“No, you don’t. Your parents were just being good parents. And that meal was worth the interrogation. You probably need to let them know we are only working together. I think your mom is probably scared to death I’m gonna pull you into the hippie side of life and teach you how to read the stars.” He quietly chuckled.

“You’re not my friend?” Opal’s cheeks heated, not understanding why he fought to keep her at a distance.

Lincoln shrugged one of his big shoulders. “I suppose we could try.”

Opal rummaged around in her bag until her fingers landed on the smooth surface of a seashell. She pulled it out and pressed it into the palm of his hand.

He studied the shell underneath the streetlamp before glancing down at her. “What’s the wish this time?”

“That we succeed in our friendship.” She left him with the shell and started toward the house. “Good night, friend.”

Lincoln murmured something behind her, but she didn’t quite catch it. The Jeep didn’t pull away until she’d made it inside and had flicked on a light. Sighing, she peeped out the window and watched the taillights flash once before turning onto the road. The man was undoubtedly the most complicated friend she’d ever had.