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I sighed, feeling the weight of the situation. “I don’t know. You have so much to offer and you’re putting me in a bad position.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “Can you tell her I said hello?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I replied, shaking my head.
“Why? We’re friends.”
“You love her,” I pointed out.
“And I suspect she still loves me,” Michael said, his voice barely a whisper.
“You’re speculating,” I said firmly. “I don’t want to be caught in the middle.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael said, looking down. “You’re right.”
With that, he walked away, leaving me standing in the hallway, my heart racing. I quickly slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. Taking a few deep breaths, I tried to calm myself.
When I finally emerged, I moved quietly back to the living area where Lincoln was talking with his father and Talon. I sat down next to him, leaning against his solid frame as he continued discussing an ongoing project. His arm wrapped around me comfortingly, and I felt a wave of emotional exhaustion.
Lincoln glanced down at me, his brow furrowing in concern. “Would you like to go?” he asked softly, his voice just above a whisper.
“Yes, please,” I replied, my voice barely audible.
Lincoln stood up, breaking away from his conversation. He announced our departure, and I caught Michael’s eye as we said our goodbyes. He mouthed an apology, and I gave him a small, understanding nod. Promising Cathleen that we’d have lunch together again soon, Lincoln helped me into my thick black wool coat.
In the elevator, Lincoln turned to me, his expression serious. “What happened with Michael?”
“We talked about Morgan,” I said, my voice weary. “I don’t want to be in the middle of their issues.”
Lincoln’s face softened with sympathy. “I’ll talk to him. I’m sorry he approached you.”
He kissed the top of my head as the elevator doors opened in the lobby, his gesture both reassuring and tender. As we walked out of the building, I felt a mix of relief and lingering unease, hoping that the complexities of the day would soon be behind us.
“Do you mind if we sleep at my place tonight?” I asked, curling up on Lincoln’s overstuffed couch about a half-hour later.
“Any particular reason?” he inquired, looking up from his book.
“I’ve been neglecting my work. I have four showings tomorrow and need to pull listings.”
“You can easily do that here,” Lincoln said, reaching for my hand.
“I need to be home,” I replied, trying to keep my tone firm.
“Sweetheart, you can talk to me,” he said gently.
“I am talking to you,” I said, feeling frustration rise.
“Something else is bothering you.”
“I’m uncomfortable with the situation,” I admitted, feeling the weight of the conversation.
“I’ll talk to Michael,” he offered.
“I want to go home,” I repeated, more resolutely this time.
“Do you want me there?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.
“Why would you think I wouldn’t?” I asked, surprised by his question.
