What the actual hell, though? Is his mom a cinnamon roll serial killer if she doesn抰 get her fix?
揑 have no idea, but he really likes his Regis rolls,?the barista says. 揌e抯 been coming around for about a year. Do you want to try something new? The apple turnovers are good.?
I nod. 揧eah, we抣l take turnovers. Do you have any idea where he goes when he leaves??
I抦 too curious. This is a man who doesn抰 take sugar in his coffee and stashed the goods in his drawer when I brought them.
The barista shrugs. 揑 don抰 know. Sometimes he comes in with a driver, but when it抯 nice out like this, he takes off on foot. I think he was heading for the park today.?
揑s there anything between here and the park??
揂nything you抎 need six cinnamon rolls for? Not likely.?She gets into the bakery case and bags up two pastries for us.
I realize how dumb that question sounded.
I just wonder what he抯 really up to.
Does his mom hang out there? Does he feed the birds cinnamon rolls and think they deserve no less than Sweeter Grind?
Rich people can be nuts, after all.
I pay and grab the paper sack holding our baked goods, then Eliza and I take our pastries outside.
揝o what抯 the plan??she asks.
揘o clue. I say we eat our turnovers and enjoy the spring day.?
揇on抰 you want to find out what he抯 doing at the park? She said he blew through about ten minutes ago. We could catch him,?Eliza suggests.
I pause, rolling it over in my head.
揝ure, but…it doesn抰 seem like a great idea, stalking my boss at the park on the weekend. Being curious about what he does with a pile of rolls every week isn抰 the best excuse.?
揑 vote we live a little, Dakota, and my vote counts more,?she says with a grin. 揥e抣l stay back so he can抰 see us. He has a head start. He may not even be there anymore.?
揗aybe…？I hate how good she is at luring me in.
揑t抯 Saturday! And it抯 not like we have anything else to do besides enjoy the weather,?Eliza says.
揇on抰 make me regret this,?I say.
It抯 a quick ride to the park.
I抳e been to the edge of this place a few times before, this open green field with a wooded area at the back. At least what counts for wooded with a few lingering copses of trees in the city.
Once you get past the entrance and a little playing field, the open area is covered in row after row of tents, where the homeless camp out.
We stop and I scan our surroundings. None of the people on the benches or milling around the edge of the park fit Lucifer抯 description.
揘o sign of him yet. Let抯 hide the bikes and stay close to the wooded area.?I hop off my bike.
Eliza scans the encampment. 揂re you sure that抯 a good idea??
She has a point. The bikes could be jacked and sold to buy food or supplies by any bad actors in the camp. 揥e抣l stay close enough to see them.?
She nods and we move behind the trees, hiding our bikes in some brush.
揟his isn抰 the kind of park I抎 expect a dude with a fashion empire to frequent,?I say, my brows knitting together.
揥hat? You mean you抮e surprised your billionaire boss hangs out in a tent city? I mean, Seattle抯 no stranger to places like this梚t sucks and I feel for the people who live here梑ut yeah, it抯 pretty weird for Mr. Moneybags to come strolling through here. I wonder why??
Your guess is as good as mine.
We trudge on for a few more minutes before Eliza stops, grabbing my arm.
揌ey, wait, I think I see him!?She extends her arm, pointing in front of us and to the left.
揌ow do you know? You抳e never seen him.?I follow her finger with my eyes and I don抰 spot him at first.
揑抦 guessing he抯 the only person here who looks like an Instagram thirst trap? That guy fits the description梙oly mchottie.?
Sure enough.
Lincoln stands in all his sculpted glory, dressed in dark-blue jeans that accent his powerful hips and a button-down shirt with military shoulder traps. There抯 a Sweeter Grind cup pressed to his mouth.
A few seconds later, he sits on a box next to a man with an overgrown beard and a face smudged with dirt.
Lincoln pulls a cinnamon roll out of the bag and then hands the rest to the bearded guy. They both have coffees from Sweeter Grind.
The entire scene does not compute.
I think my brain crashes and reboots several times before I realize my heart stopped beating seconds ago.
I might be watching the sweetest, most unexpected thing ever.
He抯 feeding the homeless.
Guilt crashes over me in a tidal wave. Was he planning to feed a homeless guy this entire time with that roll I wouldn抰 sell him?
揇akota, is it him??
揧ep. Good eye,?I say, blinking. 揧ou抮e looking at the dude who throws fits over Regis rolls. I guess he has coffee and pastries with homeless people. I抣l never figure him out.?
揗aybe he isn抰 as big of a jerkwad as you thought??
Hmm.
Is it possible?
He did call me up yesterday to apologize. But then again, if he hadn抰 been such a nosy prick in the first place, he wouldn抰 have needed any sorries.
?I don抰 know,?I say, realizing I don抰 really know anything about him.
揟hey抮e talking about a kid,?Eliza says.
揧ou hear them from here??I look at her.
揗y grandma was deaf my whole life. I used to stay with her while my mom was at work. She taught me to read lips. The crazy beard beside him says he抎 give up his other leg and both arms to see his son again.?
揙ther leg? Does that mean he gave up one leg already??
揑 don抰 know. Can抰 tell from here, but the best I can follow, it seems like maybe he did,?she says.
I don抰 need her lip reading to process what happens next.
Lincoln drops a hand on the stranger抯 shoulder. He says something with a gentle, heartfelt expression. His head is tilted down, and Eliza can抰 read his lips.
But the other guy smiles for the first time since we抳e been here, and Lincoln doesn抰 immediately move his hand. The billionaire jackass certainly doesn抰 treat the homeless guy like an untouchable.
I抦 stunned.
Also, a little humbled.
…hadn抰 I called him entitled? Repeatedly?
But catching Lincoln Burns in this parallel reality makes it harder to hate him for his rotten behavior.
That抯 not a good thing.
It抯 like I can feel a big, jagged piece of my defenses falling down and crashing to bits.
They抮e talking again. I paw at Eliza抯 arm like a hungry puppy.
揥hat抯 he saying now??I whisper.
揃ossholio抯 asking梟o, more like begging梩he homeless guy to…come home with him? What the hell??
Yeah, I抦 lost.
Charity is one thing, but that makes zero sense.
It抯 hard enough to reconcile this scene with the self-absorbed fiend from the coffeeshop and the prying tyrant at the office. But this is beyond anything I imagined.
Everything I thought I knew about this gorgeous, bad-tempered freak is officially upended.
I don抰 need Eliza to read lips to know the homeless man isn抰 impressed by this invitation. He lurches up and shoves Lincoln away with what looks like harsh words. Then he disappears inside the tent behind them and zips it up.
I glance at Eliza. 揙uch. Was he a dick about it when he invited the guy to come stay with him??
She shakes her head slowly.
揌e wasn抰。 Not at all.?
揃ut棓
Eliza shrugs. 揑 don抰 get it either.?
With an angry look, Lincoln picks up an old coffee can beside the tent and shoves a wad of bills in it before slamming the lid back on.