Merry Christmas, Lincoln (A Take Care, Sara Christmas Novelette) by Lindy Zart Page B

into the walls and beams, making it her home as well as his—making it theirs .
    The scent of coffee waved over him, along with the wood burning in the outdoor stove. Cinnamon overlapped those smells and a glance at the black marble counter top showed Sara had baked a cake of some kind.
    His head dipped as emotion made its way through him, his eyes locking on the thick gold band on the ring finger of his left hand, appreciation immobilizing him for a short moment. Thank you, God, for everything you have given me. He didn’t add a plea not to take it away. That wasn’t how it worked. He knew that.
    He remembered how nervous he’d been when he’d asked her to be his wife; how all the insecurities, all the inward comparisons to his brother he tried to keep hidden, flared to life as he asked the most important question he’d ever put to words. There was no way to compete with someone no longer living—he knew that. And later, when he brought up the subject of their residence and how he wanted her in the only house he’d ever lived in—the house Cole had lived in as well. All of his fears had been dispelled with a sweet smile from Sara. He’d worried for no reason. He hoped he was worrying for no reason now. His heart clenched and Lincoln swallowed.
    He shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on a hook near the door. When he turned back around, he paused. Sara was in the middle of the open room, near the stairs, her long dark hair pulled up in a messy ponytail, a gray work tee shirt of his hanging almost to her knees over black leggings. Yellow paint had somehow found its way to her high cheekbone and most of his shirt. He hesitated, thinking her the most beautiful sight his unworthy eyes had ever had the fortune to gaze upon.
    Her dark eyes crinkled up at the corners as she smiled, rushing for him. “I missed you,” she said breathlessly, hooking her arms around his neck and tugging him to her.
    Warm lips brushed the side of his neck and jaw, causing his body to respond as it always did. Her scent, paint and sugar and indefinable Sara, enveloped him, centering him and telling him, finally , he was home.
    “ I wasn’t gone that long, just a few hours.”
    “ Doesn’t matter. I missed you. You know I miss you even when you’re just outside or in the other room.”
    Lincoln held her close, his hands locking her body to his. He allowed himself a perfect moment before taking a deep breath and purposely ruining it. He hated it, but he had to. Confrontations were not something Sara enjoyed—neither did he—but sometimes they were necessary.
    “I missed you too. But I’m wondering, what exactly did you miss?” he said into her ear. “Being able to shut the bathroom door in my face when I asked you what was wrong?” She stiffened, and when she tried to pull away, he tightened his hold on her. “What’s going on, Sara? And don’t tell me—“
    “ Nothing.”
    “ Nothing,” he finished.
    She pushed at his chest and he let her go, watching as she walked into the kitchen area. Grabbing a knife out of a drawer, she began to cut the cake. It looked more like she was attacking it, but he wasn’t going to comment on that. It was an apple cake. Apple cake was his favorite. She was destroying his apple cake. He sighed on the inside, knowing there had to be casualties with any war.
    “That’s not how we do things in this relationship. You know that. We don’t shut each other out when something’s bothering us. We don’t pretend everything is okay when it isn’t. We don’t hide from our problems. We talk . Or we fall apart. Talk to me ,” he pleaded.
    “ I can’t,” she softly replied.
    “ If I did something wrong, you have to tell me.”
    Her shoulders slumped. Carefully setting the knife down, Sara turned; her chocolate eyes large and sad. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
    “Have your—“ He couldn’t get the words out. Inhaling slowly, he tried again. “Have your feelings for me changed?”
    “