揑 believe he抯 been here before, so it isn抰 the first time,?Louis says cryptically.
I wait, but the man never elaborates.
My brows knit together.
揙kay, well梞aybe it抯 something for his mom.?That抯 the only rational guess I have.
揅ould be. I抦 not sure. Mr. Burns is an exceptionally private man when it comes to his personal affairs,?Louis tells me.
More like a walking vault. But since there抯 only one way to find out…
I tell Louis I抣l be back soon, climb out, and head inside the store.
There抯 an older lady in a wheelchair being pushed by a woman wearing pink scrubs. A large, older man with silvering hair behind the counter hands them a bag and they抮e on their way.
揅an I help you??he asks.
揧es. I抦 here to pick up an order for Lincoln Burns.?
揂h, Mr. Burns, sure. I抣l go grab it. One minute.?He disappears behind a door marked Employees Only and comes back holding a long box. 揢sually, it takes a little while longer to be properly fitted, but since we had the measurements on file and verified, I used those per Mr. Burns?instructions. However, if this is uncomfortable or he has any trouble walking, just let us know so we can adjust it ASAP.?
He? Fitted for what? What are we talking about?
揢mm, okay梬hat is it??I ask.
The guy stiffens and scratches his chin. 揧ou don抰 know? You抣l have to ask Mr. Emory or Mr. Burns about that, I suppose. Privacy regulations are awfully strict.?
揈mory??
He looks at me reluctantly and shrugs.
My gaze drops to the box. A sticker with a barcode stares up at me.
Emory, Wyatt, pros. is typed above the bar code. In care of Lincoln Burns is handwritten under it.
What the actual hell is going on?
So maybe Burns only pretends to be a workaholic and he抯 actually part of some bizarre art cult. I shake my head, knowing better than to get caught up in a writer brain story.
But if the box says Wyatt Emory, whatever I picked up isn抰 for Mrs. Burns, and it抯 not for Lincoln either. What抯 he doing and who抯 Wyatt?
I try to remember if I抳e ever heard that name before, if Lincoln ever slipped, but I抦 totally blanking.
I know one thing.
Burns has a cinnamon roll obsession like no other, and he needs another batch. Are the two pickups tonight related in some weird way?
I抳e got a sixth sense twitching that almost knocks me flat.
Lincoln抯 obsession with Regis rolls and the homeless must be tied to whatever抯 in this box I抦 holding. Although what a cinnamon roll has to do with a medical supply device, I can抰 even fathom.
揥here to??Louis asks once I抦 back in the car.
揝weeter Grind, please.?
My phone buzzes.
Dakota, this can抰 go on forever. You gotta talk to me at some point. We grew up in the same fucking town. Our parents are still friends. Have a heart!
Oh, no, he didn抰。
But he did.
Jesus. He抯 never going to give up and leave me alone until he runs out of dummy numbers, is he?
Were. They were friends, I send back bitterly.
Jay: Is that really how you want it?
I purse my lips. I know the worst thing I can do is keep giving him attention.
The second worst is letting his comments infiltrate my head, and I抣l be damned if I抦 letting my crappy, cheating ex have that kind of control.
My fingers fly across the screen. No梑ut you made your choice. You made it like this in front of the entire town. Don抰 put it on me, asshole.
My phone buzzes again before I抳e had time to shove it back in my purse. I don抰 even look at the message. I just roll my eyes and type a response.
Are you done? If I block your number again, are you just going to harass me from another phone? You left me high and dry. Plus you had your sidepiece the entire time. Just stop.
I flip the screen down and don抰 look at it again until it vibrates. I抦 relieved when I see Lincoln抯 name until I read the text.
Lincoln: That was a loaded message, Nevermore. Don抰 block my number and make sure you get the cinnamon rolls. I抦 on my way now.
I blink and look at the message again.
Oh, crap. Can this get more embarrassing?
The only safe thing to do is brush it off, so that抯 what I do when I send, Sorry, bossman. My bad, that wasn抰 for you. I have to ask, what抯 in this long slender box? The guy at the supply store wouldn抰 tell me. I抣l get your stupid rolls.
Lincoln: You抣l see. And make sure you do get the Regis roll even if you have to buy them off some crazy biker chick.
I snort, thankful he doesn抰 dig at me over the hate-text meant for my ex.
Dakota: Whatever. You抮e the psycho.
Lincoln: Dakota, are you okay?
I frown, wondering what he抯 getting at. The message meant for Jay?
Dakota: I抦 fine. Why?
Lincoln: You抮e slipping. First the wrong attachment, now you抮e texting the wrong person. What will you do when it抯 a client instead of me?
Ah, there it is. Any illusion that he cares about my well-being vanishes when I realize he抯 just sending me his usual BS.
Oh, please, I punch in. The only people who text me besides Eliza are my boss and moron ex-fianc?
Another minute of silence.
Another reply that leaves me floored when it finally comes, rattling my hand like a mini earthquake.
Lincoln: You抮e better off without the little shit. You can do a million times better. I抦 sorry he cheated, Dakota.
Holy hell. My throat goes tight.
Thanks, I send back. I just wish he抎 f-off and leave me alone.
When my phone pings again, I can抰 help but smile as I read.
Lincoln: Say the word and I抣l shut his yap for you. No dismemberment involved, unfortunately, but fully legal, of course.
I actually laugh. When I look up, the car slows as we pull into a familiar, cramped side street lot parallel to Sweeter Grind.
It抯 evening, not long before close, so the place isn抰 as packed as it is in the mornings. I go straight to the counter.
揅an I get half a dozen Regis rolls, please??
My phone buzzes again.
Lincoln, chill. I抣l text you as soon as I抦 back in the car.
But the vibrating barely stops.
揜egis rolls. Got it.?The barista boy behind the counter kneels down in front of the bakery case and pops back up with a tense look. 揢h…looks like we抮e out.?
Oh, God. Not this mess again.
揕et me guess…cinnamon shortage??I ask, pained.
揘ope, we just cleared out the last rolls we had about an hour ago. We could make more, but it抯 an hour until close.?
揇o it. I抳e been instructed not to leave without Regis rolls even if I acquire them at insane prices from a biker gang. How long will it take to make more??
揗aybe thirty minutes? Only thing is, you抣l have to buy them by the dozen. New rule for orders like this after two o抍lock,?he tells me.
揊ine. Hang on.?I pull my phone梟ow buzzing again, argh梠ut of my purse. 揧ou抮e sure it抣l just be half an hour??
揊or sure. Made fresh. They just have to defrost for ten minutes before I can pop them in the oven,?he says with a grin.
I have four new messages I don抰 have time to read just now.
Lincoln damn Burns, get a life. Ideally, one that doesn抰 revolve around pastries.
I抣l catch up on whatever抯 so important in a minute.
Right now, I need to know if he抯 willing to buy twice the cinnamon rolls and wait half an hour, so I text, I can only get the rolls by the dozen. It抣l be half an hour before they抮e ready. Are we good?
Sure, if you are, he replies a minute later. What抯 a Regis roll? Are you ever going to give me another chance?