<<Jennifer to Beth>> Maybe he works on the presses. Those guys are here at night.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> He’s a not a pressman. They wear blue jumpsuits, and they all have mustaches. Besides, he wasn’t talking to Emilie about work. She was laughing. And twirling that yellow ponytail of hers like a schoolgirl.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Was he laughing?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Not exactly. He was mostly just towering. And smiling.
Oh, curse you, Miniature Emilie, you petite seductress.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Does this mean we have to start calling him Emilie’s Cute Guy?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Never!
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Lucky for you, you already have an extremely tall man in your life who doesn’t have Thumbelina syndrome.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Are you trying to make me feel guilty? You don’t even like Chris.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Sorry. I get that from my mom. I just can’t resist an opportunity to make someone feel guilty. On the other hand, Chris is your boyfriend.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Come on. It’s not like I’m two-timing him.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> I think it would hurt my feelings if I found out that Mitch thought of someone at work as “My Cute Girl.”
<<Beth to Jennifer>> That’s different. Mitch works at a high school. With actual girls.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> You know what I mean.
“WHAT ARE YOU grinning about?” Doris asked, digging into her manicotti. She was thrilled when Lincoln told her he’d brought enough for them both.
“I’m not grinning,” Lincoln said. “I’m smiling. Like a normal person.”
“I think this has something to do with a girl.”
Lincoln grinned and took a bite.
“I don’t blame you. That Emilie’s a hot little number. I could tell she liked you.”
“Not Emilie,” Lincoln said with his mouth full.
“It’s not?” Doris asked. “Then who is it?”
“I don’t know,” he said, sort of honestly.
“Well, you could do a lot worse than Emilie. She’s a smart girl. And healthy. She eats a lot of carrot sticks.”
“She’s not my type,” Lincoln said, feeling gleeful. Stupidly gleeful. What did it really mean in the big scheme of things that Beth had seen him, that she’d been jealous …
It meant that the girl he thought about most and liked the best thought about him, too.
“Oh, she’s not?” Doris asked.
“She’s a little short.” Lincoln laughed.
“Well, aren’t we picky. Say, what kind of cheese does your mom put in this?”
“Romano,” Lincoln said.
“Hmm. It smells terrible, but it tastes delicious.”
THE NEXT DAY was Saturday, and Lincoln had the gym to himself. He had his choice of treadmills and men’s fitness magazines. Not that he could read right now, he couldn’t focus on anything. He couldn’t stop thinking about Beth’s message.
Beth.
She liked him.
She didn’t know him, but she liked him. She thought about him in a physical way. She thought about how much space he took up in the world.
And she was jealous. When had a girl ever been jealous over him? Not Sam, he thought, shaking his head at the thought of her, trying to shake the thought away.
Beth didn’t know him. It wasn’t real jealousy. It wasn’t real anything.
But maybe it could be. He liked her so much, and she liked him. Well, she liked the look of him, and that was a good start. There must be a way he could make something happen, arrange to be near her, try to catch her eye or meet her.
He was getting ahead of himself on the treadmill. He turned up the speed to keep from stumbling.
Beth had a boyfriend; that was a problem. But clearly theirs wasn’t a healthy relationship. (Lincoln and Justin spent more weekend nights with her boyfriend than she did.) He could walk by Beth’s desk when he knew she was there …
What if it worked? What if she liked him? Really liked him?
He couldn’t ever tell her about the e-mails. He’d have to keep that a secret. Even if they got married and had kids. Didn’t people keep secrets like that all the time? One of Lincoln’s uncles hadn’t known his wife had been married before until her funeral, when all three of her ex-husbands showed up …
Lincoln would have to tell Beth.
But he couldn’t tell her. This wouldn’t work. This was stupid.
But still …she thought about him. She was jealous.
Lincoln had so much energy left after the treadmill that he walked over to the weight room. There was no one lifting, and the attendant was reading a magazine.