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Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really? What did I say?”
I waited until she took a sip of her coffee, then, keeping my voice calm, I said, “Foster.”
The color drained from Erika’s face, and I noticed the slight tremor in her hand as she set the mug back on the tray. “Foster? That’s odd,” she tried to play it off, her tone unconvincing. “I don’t know a Foster.”
I kept my gaze steady, watching as she busied herself by tearing a small piece off a croissant and taking a dainty bite. It was clear she was hiding something, but I didn’t push the issue—at least not yet.
Instead, I took a deep breath and asked, “Want to do something today?”
“Can’t,” she replied quickly, the tension still evident in her voice. “I have some paperwork to finish and need to call a few clients. My phone is full of messages.”
“God forbid you take a few days off,” I teased, rolling my eyes.
“You know how it is,” she said with a weak chuckle. “I have a full schedule this week.”
“So do I,” I said, leaning back on my heels. “I have a big client coming in from Texas. He’s looking to purchase a property for when he travels.”
“Another six-figure commission for you?” she asked, her tone lightening slightly.
“If I can sell him something,” I replied with a grin.
“The life of a real estate agent,” she mused, but there was a distance in her voice, like her mind was elsewhere.
We finished breakfast and made love in the shower—my second of the day. Despite the closeness of our bodies, a sense of unease lingered between us, fueled by Erika’s reluctance to open up about Foster. I hoped she would eventually be honest with me, but I knew better than to press her now. If I did, we both knew where that would lead.
Afterward, we spent the next two hours working—me in my office and Erika at the kitchen table with her laptop. By the time I emerged just after two, I was ready for a break.
“Want some lunch?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
“I’m not really hungry,” she replied without looking up.
“You haven’t eaten much since yesterday,” I pointed out.
“I ate enough at the wedding to last me several days,” she said, her tone dismissive. “The cake was scrumptious.”
“It was,” I agreed, “but since you ate almost my entire slice, I barely got a taste.”
“I don’t eat sweets that often,” she argued, finally looking up at me.
“I know, but I wanted my cake, and you ate it for me.”
“Next time, don’t get a drink when they’re serving cake,” she said with a smirk.
“The next time we get served cake, I hope it’s at our wedding,” I said, trying to gauge her reaction.
She sighed, and the playful spark in her eyes dimmed. “That’s a long way off, if at all.”
Anger bubbled inside me, and I clenched my jaw. “Why do you keep saying that? Don’t you want to marry me?”
“You’re pushing too much, Lincoln,” she warned, her tone sharp.
There it was—my first name, spoken with a chill that cut through the warmth of the moment. “I want to marry you. I want to do everything with you for the rest of my life.”
“We have a long way to go before we’re there,” she countered, her voice strained. “I should get ready to go home. I have a lot to take care of.”
“Didn’t you just spend the past few hours dealing with clients?” I asked, the frustration creeping into my voice.
“I mean things at home,” she clarified, her tone impatient. “I need to do some cleaning and laundry.”
