Page 112 of The Lineman

She let me eat in peace for a few minutes before she set down her spoon, folded her hands under her chin, and gave me a long, knowing look.

“You miss him, don’t you?”

I didn’t even pretend not to know who she meant. “Yeah.”

She nodded, her expression soft. “A good man will do that to you.”

I dragged a hand through my hair. “I know it’s stupid. We haven’t been together that long. I mean, we’re not eventogethertogether. You know? I shouldn’t—”

Her spoon came down on my knuckles before I could finish.

“Don’t sayshouldn’tto me,” she scolded. “You feel what you feel, lad. There’s no right or wrong to it.”

I sighed while rubbing my now-sore knuckles. “I just . . . I didn’t think I’d care this much. Certainly not this fast.”

She nodded again, taking a sip of her tea. “That’s because he’s worth it.”

I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. “Yeah. I think he is.”

Before she could say anything else, my phone buzzed.

I grabbed it, my pulse picking up as Elliot’s name flashed on the screen.

Pole Dude: Where are you?

I frowned. He wasn’t much for small talk, and he definitely wasn’t the kind of guy to text just to chat. Still, this was terse, even for him.

Me: Having dinner with Mrs. H. You okay?

A pause. Then—

Pole Dude: Yeah. Just checking.

I stared at the message, something about it making my gut twist.

Just checking.

That was weird.

“What’s that face for?” Mrs. H asked, peering over her teacup.

I shook my head. “It was Elliot. He just—”

Before I could finish, there was a knock on the door.

My stomach dropped.

I shoved back from the table, my heart hammering as I hurried down the hall. I barely hesitated before yanking the door open—Mrs. H’s door. She trailed behind, keeping a safe distance in the hallway.

And there he was.

Standing there, on the porch, looking wrecked.

His duffel bag was slung over his shoulder, his boots were badly scuffed, and his skin was burned and dried out from too many days working in the Florida sun. His hair was mussed like he’d been running his hands through it, and his clothes were wrinkled, like he’d driven straight here without stopping.

God, he looked good.

Before I could think, I reached for him.

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