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384 pages, Paperback
First published January 27, 2015
I stand in the lobby, flipping my phone around in my hands. I pull Lincoln's business card out of my purse. Again. I flip the card over and dial. My fingers are tingling and this terrified numbness pings throughout my body, settling in my toes. I swallow. And swallow. Blink my eyes. It's like I'm giving myself errands to run around my body so I won't—
"This is Lincoln Mallory." Vomit.
"Hey, hi. It's Anna. Anna Wyatt from the other night. From the . . . um . . . from the elevator? And the apple . . . breakfast time—"
"I'm going to stop you there, love. I know who you are even without the reminder of apple breakfast time," he says. His voice is even better than I remember it.
"I apologize for my late call," I say, still not having taken a breath now going on nine minutes.
"I assumed you were busy at your Booty Ball." Lincoln Mallory saying booty will go down in history as one of my favorite things in the world.
"You still hungry?" I ask.
"I've already eaten, but I did manage to get something for dessert."
"And what's that then?"
"It's a surprise," he says. My face flushes. "When your Booty Ball ran long—a sentence I never thought I'd say, quite frankly—I had to strike out on the field trip on my own."
"So you're holding this dessert hostage."
"You make it sound so devious."
I scan the lobby. The hotel bar. The kiss. I close my eyes.
"What's your room number?"
"I'll be right up."
"Cheers," he says.
"But just for dessert."
"I do like a woman with her priorities in order." Silence. "Anna?"
"I didn't know if you'd hung up," I say.
"But I will now."
"Sure. Okay," I say. Silence. "Hello?"
"It's never not funny, is it?"
"I mean . . . ," I say, unable to keep from laughing.
I shut the car off and take a second, the blistering heat sitting on the top of my head like I'm under a heat lamp. I am walking toward the meet and greet when the phone rings.
"Anna Wyatt," I say, knowing exactly who it is without even looking at the screen.
"This is my formal apology," Lincoln says.
"Go ahead then," I say.
"I'm sorry." I like that Lincoln doesn't elaborate or get lost in a maze of buts and excuses for why what he did was actually okay. A simple I'm sorry is the most beautiful thing in the world.
"Thank you," I say.