and despair. He had prayed his way back, believing that there had to be a mistake…that she had to be alive. All he had to do was find her. Then defeat had conquered him and he had stopped feeling at all. Inside, he had broken. Given up.
Yet, there she was. The minimal outside changes didn’t matter. It was the inside, the voice, the mannerisms that told him his heart could dare to beat again.
This was his wife and she was alive.
Linc pulled open the door, causing the overhead bell to jingle, and stepped inside. The smell of home cooking made the air thick and damp. Though clearly deep in conversation, most of the patrons glanced his way. Some turned back to their supper companions while others visually followed him to Lori’s table. Mia’s table. He had to remember that.
A smile stretched her lips—lips he had kissed a thousand times. “Did you have trouble finding the place?” The twinkle in her eyes told him she understood that was impossible since this was the only café on the town square open past three in the afternoon.
“I was delayed by a call.” He dragged out the chair opposite her and took a seat.
She passed him a menu. “I already know what I want. The meatloaf is awesome.”
He didn’t bother looking at the menu. “Meatloaf it is, then.”
“Good call.” She held up her glass. “Sweet tea?”
What he really needed was a fifth of bourbon. “Absolutely.”
Linc was vaguely aware that a waitress had strolled up to their table, but he couldn’t shift his focus from the eyes, the mouth he’d cherished for a few short months and then had hungered for during the better part of a decade that had felt more like an eternity.
Mia placed their orders. When the chatty waitress had moved away, Mia pulled out her notepad. “I have a couple of names for you. Jesse Steele is the best plumber anywhere around here.” She pointed to the next name she’d jotted down. “Same goes for Patrick Nunley. He’s an electrician.” She tapped the final name on her handwritten list. “I’ve worked with Jerry Brooks plenty of times. He’s the best carpenter I know. He can handle anything else you need.”
That her lips had stopped moving told him she was waiting for a response from him.
“I’ll need estimates.” He gave himself a mental kick. He needed to focus.
“I can have these guys call you,” she suggested. “Or when I’m at the house they can come by and do their estimates.”
“Either way works for me.” He wanted to get past talk of the house.
“I’ll make the calls.” She tore the page free of the pad and thrust it at him. “You can keep this, so you don’t forget the names.”
He accepted the list and studied the names written there. A knot formed in his chest. This was not her handwriting. The J’s were different. And the way she crossed her J’s. Too neat, not the sweeping strokes Lori had made.
“Here you go.” The waitress placed their orders on the table, heaping plates, then filled-to-the-rim glasses garnished with lemon wedges. “Anything else?”
Mia looked to him. Still in a daze of harsh reality, Linc shook his head.
“That’s good for now, Louise. Thanks,” Mia said.
She smiled that broad, familiar smile that was all Lori as she dismissed the waitress. The scent of buttered potatoes and richly seasoned meat turned his stomach. Linc had no appetite, despite the fact that he couldn’t remember when he’d eaten last. Fear climbed up his dry throat and coagulated. What if he was wrong?
“Mmm.” Mia closed her eyes as she savored a bite of meatloaf.
The question he’d intended to ask to shift the conversation stuck on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t manage to spit it out. Not with his throat clogged with something he couldn’t name and her making those sounds.
“You have to taste this.” She gestured to his plate. “Eat!”
He wrapped his fingers around the fork, his movements mechanical, and followed her order. Whatever kept her here and talking to him. That was all that mattered…until he knew for sure. He ate a forkful. “You’re right. The best I’ve ever tasted.” An old memory slammed into his brain. “Except maybe that little place in Encino.” He and Lori had eaten there several times because she had loved the down-home atmosphere. How had he forgotten that? “They served a pretty amazing meatloaf.” He couldn’t remember if they did or not, but they had served Southern-style cuisine.
She blinked. For one second he was certain she remembered. Then she said, “Encino? Is that where you’re from?”
Another wave of defeat slammed into him. “L.A.” He carefully placed the fork on the table. “My wife and I used to go to a little place in Encino. She loved the meatloaf.” An ache broke open his chest. There was no trace of recognition on her face or in her eyes.
“You’re married?” She looked surprised. Or was she disappointed?
He shook his head. “She died a long time ago.”
Her face fell. “I’m sorry.” She set her fork aside. “I shouldn’t have asked, but it’s unusual for a wife not to be involved with purchasing and remodeling a house. That’s why I was surprised when you mentioned a wife.” Her cheeks were a little pink. She’d always blushed like that whenever she felt she’d said the wrong thing.
“Sure.” He swallowed back the disappointment that she had a logical reason for asking if he was married. Doubt and defeat were battling it out for top billing in his brain. The handwriting was wrong…the smile was right… Could she possibly be Lori or was he kidding himself? He’d given up hope a damned long time ago. How had it taken root again so deeply and swiftly?
Ten seconds turned into twenty. She picked at her meatloaf as if she were at a loss for words. He would have the advantage now. A change of subject would be a relief. He blanked his mind of those churning emotions he hadn’t felt in so long. “Did you grow up in Blossom?”
Her gaze met his. “No. I’m from Colorado. I moved here about six years ago.”
“You have family here?” He stopped breathing.
“My aunt.” She chewed on another bite of her entrée. “My uncle visits often but he doesn’t live here.”
That was totally impossible. He bit the words back. Lori couldn’t have family here. She had no living relatives anywhere. She’d been born and raised in California. Her parents had both been Californians. She had never spoken of any other relatives. After the accident, he’d attempted to track down any distant relatives, but there were none.
“Where did you learn about plasterwork?” He couldn’t wait to hear the answer to that one. The fury that abruptly lit in his gut was irrational. He shouldn’t feel any of this.
She laughed. “That’s kind of a funny story.” She sipped her tea, then licked her lips. “My aunt wanted to repair a hole in the plaster wall of her home. A plumbing repair had left a bit of a mess. I attempted to help her.” She shrugged. “I figured it couldn’t be that hard. I made the mess worse. But I wouldn’t give up. After a while it was like I was a natural at it. Like I’d been an artisan of plaster in another life.”
Because she had been. “And you’ve been doing it ever since?”
She nodded. “When I’m not helping out at the Pet Stop.”
“Pet Stop?” He surely misunderstood her meaning.
“I help my aunt with her dog-grooming business. She’s getting up there in years and she just can’t keep up. I go over a couple of afternoons a week and lend a hand.” Her lips curled into that crooked but sexy-as-hell grin that was all Lori. “But I don’t mind. I love dogs. I’d have one of my own if I was ever home.” She shrugged. “Maybe