You Can't Hurry Love

Chapter Twenty-Three

I've always found Winter to be the most underrated season and I've never understood why. I often hear people moaning about how they're too cold and that the nights come in too early and how basically everything is so much harder to feel motivated about during these months, but not me. I love the Winter. I love cosy evenings in with friends watching Netflix and eating pizza. I love braving the harsh weather to drink seasonal drinks in front of fireplaces in quaint little pubs in the city, but most of all, I love sitting in coffee shop windows, an inconsequential bystander hidden behind the fogged-up glass, watching love transpire on the other side. Because in Winter there is no better time to snuggle up with your loved one as you travel to where you need to be, the joy of someone else's body heat keeping you warm against the elements.

So even though Lincoln and I have found ourselves on a lone bench an hour after I first chased him down the street I didn't mind, because the cold couldn't dampen my mood today. It may have turned my bottom numb but sitting with him here and now was enough to make me forget that we were anywhere other than in a warm room, his heroic tale of vaulting over fences, galloping down the road and having to blag his way into my building enough to leave me creasing with laughter and glowing from within.

'So where were you when I phoned you earlier today? It sounded busy,' I ask him, my breath visible in front of us as I exhale.

The corner of Lincoln's lip quivers for a moment and as he stares out into the distance, a look of thoughtful confusion clouding his handsome features.

'I think I was with Jenny. Or, you know what, it could have been Rochelle.' He throws his hands into the air with a 'who knows' manner. 'I can't even remember now. There's been so many it's hard to keep track.'

I know he was only joking but if I hadn't had my hands stuffed in my coat pockets, I would have smacked him on the arm.

'Very funny!' I gripe and he nudges me on the shoulder, sending another flash of much-needed heat to course through me.

'I was in town, with my mum.'

'That's nice,' I declare, but Lincoln grimaces. 'Is it not nice?'

'Not really. I don't see her that much,' he offers, not giving much away.

'How come?'

'We don't get on.'

He stuffs his own hands into his pockets and leans back in his seat, his head falling back onto his shoulders and even though I could sense he wanted the topic to end, I can't resist myself.

'Your mum can't be any worse than mine,' I declare, thoroughly believing what I was saying. Considering the one time Lincoln had actually met her she was snogging the face off of someone he hardly has grounds to plead his case but at my words he throws himself forward, looking at me like I'd just announced I'd won the lottery but had thrown away the ticket because I didn't fancy the winnings. 'What are you on about? Your mum is amazing!'

'No, she is not!' I snort, the sheer ridiculousness of Lincoln thinking my mum was anything other than a bizarre bat was far too much for me to handle.

'She's great fun!' he exclaims as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

'Fun? Oh, that's just what every girl wants to hear! How fun her middle-aged mother is!'

'She isn't harming anyone, Dot.'

'She had her tongue down some random guy's throat. In PUBLIC! Now, if you think that isn't harmful to my sanity then you're talking absolute crap!'

I turn to stare over my left shoulder, refusing to look at him out of sheer indignation but I could feel his body shaking with silent laughter beside me. It was quite some time before he manages to compose himself and speak again, but when he does his words spark yet another bout of displeasure to seep through my veins.