You Can't Hurry Love

Chapter Forty-One

DECEMBER 20th

Six hours Lincoln and I had ended up waiting in the hospital last night. Six long tortuous hours sat on cold plastic benches hoping for even the measliest bit of news about Roland. It had been stressful, tiring and tedious. And, as it turns out, there is only so much small talk you can make with someone when you were both going out of your way to avoid mentioning the illicit kiss from the other night. (Or was it last night? I was in that God-awful place for so long, I didn't even know what day it was anymore.)

We'd kept all our topics of conversation on the safe side. We'd spoken about the restaurant and my article. We chatted for a while about a documentary we'd both happened to see during the week, and we'd even delved into what our plans were for Christmas day. But it was there the whole time. The kiss. Simmering away under the surface, threatening to break out if we dared to let our guard down.

It had me on edge and I could tell Lincoln had felt the same way too. He'd seemed aloof, and not in the brooding 'I only care about myself' kind of way I'd been used to either. He was reserved. Uptight. Which was why when I returned from the loo after another failed attempt of getting some answers from the overwrought receptionist, I was surprised to find him leaning in and whispering humorously in my ear, 'What do you think he's in for?'

I remember turning to him curiously and finding his crystal-clear eyes twinkling mischievously back at me, and even though it was almost eleven o'clock in the evening now and I was part-way through watching a movie with the boys, a secret smile creeps its way onto my weary face as I replay the hilarious conversation over in my mind.

'Who?'

I'd retaken my seat beside him and was trying to spot who Lincoln could have been talking about, but even though the waiting room was absolutely packed, no one in particular was standing out to me.

'Middle-aged man over by the water cooler. Looks a bit shifty, don't you think?'

I spot him almost instantly and have to hold back a snort at the way he was squirming awkwardly in his seat, only one butt-cheek balancing precariously on the edge, and as he leans forward to take off his jacket, he emits a loud bark of pain, clamping his hand to his backside and screwing his face up in protest. Clearly he was in some form of discomfort but considering he was wearing a The Man, The Legend t-shirt with an arrow pointing down to his crotch, I was struggling to sympathise.

'I guess so,' I reply with a wry smirk, suddenly finding myself unable to look away from him.

'So . . . what do you think?'

'What do I think about what?'

'What do you reckon he's in here for?' Lincoln asks eagerly and I look at him in astonishment, wondering what could have caused the sudden change in his mood.

'How in the world would I know?'

'Come on,' he urges, grinning at me wickedly. 'Take a guess!'

'God, I dunno.' I shrug. 'Er . . . maybe he's got a bad case of piles?'

'Hmm, it's a valid try.' Lincoln nods solemnly. 'But no, I think it must be more severe than that.'

'Oh, you do, do you?' I cross my arms and lean back to appraise him. 'Go on then. You tell me what you think is wrong with him then.'

'Well . . .' Lincoln moves his head closer to mine again and I can't help but smile, enjoying the playful change of pace. 'Judging by the rigid way he's sitting and the strangled gasps he makes every thirty seconds or so, I'd say he definitely has something wedged up his arse. And if my hunch is correct, I'm going to go with a jackfruit.'