As a true southern woman, her favorite saying is, “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.” I close my eyes and try to hear her voice saying that right now but it won’t come to me, and I so desperately need to hear her right now.
Rolling over, I grab my phone from my purse sitting beside the bed. I dial her number, hoping it’s not too early to call.
“Hello, Buttercup.” My mother’s voice is soft and sweet, with a lovely Carolina lilt.
“Hi, Mom. Did I wake you?”
“You did, but I can’t think of a lovelier way to wake up. How are you doing, sweetheart?”
Just her voice infuses me with peace. “I’m fine.” I hesitate, not wanting to dump on her.
“No, you’re not. I can hear it in your voice. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
And that’s all it takes. I pour everything out, starting from when Marc picked up the engagement ring until Linc woke me up a few minutes ago.
“Oh, honey. You have a lot on your plate right now, don’t you?”
“That’s an understatement. I lost out on a huge career opportunity all because I let my anger get the best of me. Now I’m stuck having to follow this frustrating man around. And I’m feeling guilty for what I did on top of everything.”
“Well, I’m going to give you mom advice now. When—”
“Don’t give me the lemonade speech, Mom.”
She laughs on the other end and just that sound makes me smile like a mega-watt bulb. “I wasn’t going to say that, smart butt. I was going to say that when things happen that we don’t expect, and when situations seem crazy and out of control, sometimes you need to just sit back and enjoy the experience. Some of life’s greatest lessons will come from those times.”
Seriously? I want to roll my eyes at such simple guidance but could I really gain something from this experience? It’s not anything I would have ever thought on my own but my mother’s sage wisdom is always something I take to heart.
“Maybe you’re right, Mom. And thanks for listening to me. You always seem to know just what to say to motivate me.”
“You don’t need my help with motivation, honey. You just sometimes need a little perspective.”
We chat for a few more minutes but before we hang up, my mom sours my mood just a little.
“Have you talked to your dad?”
“No. Why?”
“He’s called here. Said he’s been trying to reach you for a few weeks. He’s just worried.”
I mentally roll my eyes. My dad worried? Puh-leeze. The only one my dad worries about is himself.
“I’ve been busy,” I say.
I can hear her sigh on the other end. She knows there is no hope of getting me to warm to my father. “Ever...just remember, he’s your father. The only one you’ve got.”
I answer her sigh with one of my own. I’ve heard that line from her a million times. And she’s heard what I’m getting ready to say. “Mom, just let this one be, okay? Dad lost his right to worry about me when he abandoned us.”
“Okay, sweetie. I’ll let it go. Now you go hit the ground running and show that Linc Caldwell what you’re made of.”
After I hang up with my mom, I jump out of bed and pull on a robe. She’s made me feel infinitely better about my situation. I need to treat this like the job it’s supposed to be. It’s my personal belief that Linc will probably end up ultimately being the player I think him to be, but I won’t know until I get a chance to observe him.
I briefly think about running a brush through my hair but I could care less what I look like. I’m not trying to impress Linc. He’s the one that needs to impress me. I don’t have time to put my contacts in so I reach into my purse and put on my glasses. Might as well nerd it up all the way.
I find him in the kitchen, working a juicer. With my glasses on, I can see him much clearer which only amps up the aforementioned sex appeal. He’s wearing a pair of black workout shorts and a gray t-shirt. It’s hard not to notice how the t-shirt pulls tight across the broad expanse of his shoulders. His muscles writhe under the cotton material as he adds apples and what looks like spinach to the machine.
Gross!
“Please tell me you have coffee,” I say.
He looks over his shoulder at me briefly, and then just inclines his head to the coffee pot on the counter. “Cups are above the pot.”
I walk over to the cupboard and open it up. The cups are on the third shelf up and I stand on my tip-toes to reach one. I can just barely brush my fingertips across the edge of a cup, but only succeed in pushing it further out of my reach. Before I can even ask for help, Linc is at my back, reaching over me to grab the cup.
Involuntarily, my body goes tense from his nearness. He’s not touching me in anyway, but I can feel his entire body just inches from mine. And the prickling awareness I have of him does not bode well. I had been trying hard not to think of his insane attractiveness since I wrote the article, and now I’m suddenly hyper-aware of him.
He hands me the cup and murmurs near my ear, “Here you go, shrimp.”
The shrimp comment is his way of teasing me, but the nearness of his lips to my ear makes me shiver slightly. I mutter a grumpy thanks because I’m pissed over how my body reacts to this man. Linc doesn’t respond but goes back to his juicer. Sipping on my coffee, I watch him add more spinach and apples. When he finally has a full glass of green, slimy liquid, he picks it up and hands it to me.