purse.
Lincoln glances over for a moment before turning his attention back to the road. “Why are you apologizing?”
“I was texting, and that’s rude on a—” I can’t bring myself to say the word and heat rises up my neck. I glance quickly at my fingernails.
“Date?” Lincoln says as if he’s not sure that’s the correct answer.
“Yeah.”
He lets out a chuckle through his nose. “Hana, this is just brunch. It’s not a big deal. It kind of seems like you’re a little freaked out, and that’s not at all what I intended when I asked you to go to the party with me.”
“I seem freaked out?” Just when I thought I was holding it all together . . .
He nods. “It’s cute. But you can text if you want to. This doesn’t have to be a big deal. I just wanted to get to know you because you seem like a cool chick.”
“You seem like a cool chick too,” I say too quickly for my words to make sense in my head. “I mean—dammit, no. I meant a cool guy.”
He glances over at me. “See? Told ya. You’re a little freaked out, and this is just brunch, Hana. No pressure, I swear.”
Our eyes meet and then we both laugh. “Okay, no pressure,” I say.
“I’m glad you called,” Lincoln says, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. He’s a good driver, cautious and confident, and although I’m not trying to make a list in my head, that gets added to it. “I mean, I would have been happy just going to a party with you, but brunch is even better.” He looks over at me, a coy quirk in his gaze. “It’s not every day a hot girl asks me on a date.”
“Excuse you?” I lift an eyebrow. “I didn’t ask you on a date.”
“Uh, yeah you did, Hana. You called me last night and asked me out. I remember it word-for-word.”
My cheeks flame and I must stay silent for too long because he leans over and nudges me on the shoulder, that cheeky smile back again. “I’m just playing with you. I asked you out first, but you asked me to go out sooner. I’ll just take that to mean you can’t stop thinking about me.”
Or I need to stop thinking about someone else , rather .
At the café, our waitress looks about a hundred years old, but she has the personality of a cheerleader. Her baby blue waitress uniform is complete with an apron and a sparkly brooch she keeps pinned by her nametag. Luckily, she doesn’t ask any awkward questions about us, and she doesn’t stay around to chat. The last thing I want is to field questions about whether or not Lincoln and I are dating to some old woman.
I order French toast and bacon, and the food is to die for. It’s probably even better than Molly’s French toast, but I’ll never tell her that. Lincoln tells me about growing up in Mixon and how he’s known all of the same people for his entire life.
“Homeschooling sounds awesome, but I probably would have died of boredom if I didn’t get to go to school.”
“It did get a little lonely,” I say, recalling my days of teaching myself with second-hand textbooks and the internet. “But I always assumed I was doing it the best possible way, learning on my own time without worrying about waking up early or dealing with teachers or bullies.”
He nods and pours more honey on top of his pancakes. “Did you play any sports as a kid?”
“Not really,” I say, shaking my head.
“Just motocross?”
“Nope.” I take a sip of orange juice. “My dad always did motocross here, but I didn’t see him a lot when I was little, and when I did, I thought dirt bikes were soooo boring.”
His eyes widen. “Seriously? Do you know how many parents won’t let their kids ride a dirt bike at all, and yet your dad owns a track? You were so freaking lucky.”
I shrug. “I’ve never ridden a dirt bike. So all I ever did was sit around the track and sweat my butt off, wishing I was home in the air conditioning.”
“That’s weird,” he says, brows narrowing. “Mr. Fisher lets Teig ride. Why didn’t he let you?
Lincoln glances over for a moment before turning his attention back to the road. “Why are you apologizing?”
“I was texting, and that’s rude on a—” I can’t bring myself to say the word and heat rises up my neck. I glance quickly at my fingernails.
“Date?” Lincoln says as if he’s not sure that’s the correct answer.
“Yeah.”
He lets out a chuckle through his nose. “Hana, this is just brunch. It’s not a big deal. It kind of seems like you’re a little freaked out, and that’s not at all what I intended when I asked you to go to the party with me.”
“I seem freaked out?” Just when I thought I was holding it all together . . .
He nods. “It’s cute. But you can text if you want to. This doesn’t have to be a big deal. I just wanted to get to know you because you seem like a cool chick.”
“You seem like a cool chick too,” I say too quickly for my words to make sense in my head. “I mean—dammit, no. I meant a cool guy.”
He glances over at me. “See? Told ya. You’re a little freaked out, and this is just brunch, Hana. No pressure, I swear.”
Our eyes meet and then we both laugh. “Okay, no pressure,” I say.
“I’m glad you called,” Lincoln says, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. He’s a good driver, cautious and confident, and although I’m not trying to make a list in my head, that gets added to it. “I mean, I would have been happy just going to a party with you, but brunch is even better.” He looks over at me, a coy quirk in his gaze. “It’s not every day a hot girl asks me on a date.”
“Excuse you?” I lift an eyebrow. “I didn’t ask you on a date.”
“Uh, yeah you did, Hana. You called me last night and asked me out. I remember it word-for-word.”
My cheeks flame and I must stay silent for too long because he leans over and nudges me on the shoulder, that cheeky smile back again. “I’m just playing with you. I asked you out first, but you asked me to go out sooner. I’ll just take that to mean you can’t stop thinking about me.”
Or I need to stop thinking about someone else , rather .
At the café, our waitress looks about a hundred years old, but she has the personality of a cheerleader. Her baby blue waitress uniform is complete with an apron and a sparkly brooch she keeps pinned by her nametag. Luckily, she doesn’t ask any awkward questions about us, and she doesn’t stay around to chat. The last thing I want is to field questions about whether or not Lincoln and I are dating to some old woman.
I order French toast and bacon, and the food is to die for. It’s probably even better than Molly’s French toast, but I’ll never tell her that. Lincoln tells me about growing up in Mixon and how he’s known all of the same people for his entire life.
“Homeschooling sounds awesome, but I probably would have died of boredom if I didn’t get to go to school.”
“It did get a little lonely,” I say, recalling my days of teaching myself with second-hand textbooks and the internet. “But I always assumed I was doing it the best possible way, learning on my own time without worrying about waking up early or dealing with teachers or bullies.”
He nods and pours more honey on top of his pancakes. “Did you play any sports as a kid?”
“Not really,” I say, shaking my head.
“Just motocross?”
“Nope.” I take a sip of orange juice. “My dad always did motocross here, but I didn’t see him a lot when I was little, and when I did, I thought dirt bikes were soooo boring.”
His eyes widen. “Seriously? Do you know how many parents won’t let their kids ride a dirt bike at all, and yet your dad owns a track? You were so freaking lucky.”
I shrug. “I’ve never ridden a dirt bike. So all I ever did was sit around the track and sweat my butt off, wishing I was home in the air conditioning.”
“That’s weird,” he says, brows narrowing. “Mr. Fisher lets Teig ride. Why didn’t he let you?
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