Daisy buckled the other shoe and stood up. “Drive? New Yorkers do that?”

He gave a faint smile. “Not most. But I keep a car.”

For what?

She didn’t know much about New York neighborhoods, but he’d told her last night before her whiskey-haze that his apartment in Chelsea was an easy subway ride uptown to his office on the Upper West Side. What did he need a car for?

Not her business. That’s what.

Daisy picked up her pink clutch and dropped her cell inside. “Don’t be silly. You’ve done plenty; I’ll take a cab, let you get to your appointment.”

He winced as though the reminder of his day’s plans was painful. Yep, something was definitely up with him today.

Then he seemed to shake it off, walking toward her, grabbing keys off the small console table, and opening the front door.

The dog raced over, panting wildly, but Lincoln nudged it gently away from the open door with his foot. “Sorry, Ki. Not this time.” He looked at Daisy. “I’ll drive you. Make up for my guilt for all but shoving you out the door with no food. Garage is downstairs, I can have you to the Starbucks in Times Square in under ten minutes, and it’s a short walk from there to your hotel.”

She glanced at his profile. “All right. Thank you.”

He glanced down at her, looking surprised. “I was prepared for a fight.”

“That’s because you don’t know Southern girls,” she said, exaggerating her drawl. “We don’t mind being pampered now and then.”

“I’m sure you deserve it, Wallflower,” he said distractedly.

Wallflower.

She was Wallflower, while all the other women he talked to were love. The word rolled off his tongue so casually. With Emma and her friends, with those girls in the bar last night. Love meant nothing to him, obviously. A throwaway term of endearment he used the way other people might use hon or babe or doll.

It shouldn’t bother her. It didn’t bother her. And yet for some reason, she felt a little tickle of resentment that she was somehow held apart from the other women, as though she wasn’t even worth the effort of flirting.

Then again, maybe that wasn’t all bad. Maybe it was good that she was different. Not different in the sense that she wanted him to see her in a romantic light, but in that she wanted him to let his guard down around her.

She wanted him to know that he didn’t have to be that guy with her.

Oh dear. Definitely overthinking this.

They said nothing as they took the elevator down to the garage level of his apartment building, but it was a comfortable silence. She got the sense that his quiet had more to do with whatever was going on in his own head than it did awkwardness over the fact that they’d known each other for less than forty-eight hours and she’d just spent the night at his place.

Lincoln held open the passenger door of his silver Audi for her, and she deftly managed to get into the car without flashing him. Not that he was even trying to sneak a look.

She glanced around the car as he climbed behind the wheel. “This car is spotless. Either you get it detailed regularly, or you don’t drive it often.”

“Last Sunday of the month, every month,” he said, shoving the key into the ignition.

She glanced at his tense profile. “That’s…precise.”

He turned and smiled at her. “Wallflower. Any chance we can reinstate that rule we had last night? The whole no questions/no prying thing?”

Daisy winced. “Of course. Of course. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, as he put the car into reverse and drove out of the gated garage. “I’m unaccustomed to Sunday morning guests, and I’ll confess to not being at my best.”

“I understand,” she said, meaning it. “I’m the same. It’s like ninety-five percent of the time, I’m completely committed to being everything that everyone wants me to be—needs me to be. But then there’s that five percent that’s just for me. My time to regroup, to center, and be me. And if someone intrudes upon that precious five percent…”

She curled her hands into claws and made a little pouncing motion.

Lincoln glanced over at her as he stopped at a traffic light, his expression speculative.

She squirmed in her seat. “Too much? Sorry.”

Daisy glanced down at her hands, wondering what the heck she was doing. She’d never been prone to oversharing. At least not these days. Once, she’d been the chattering extroverted type who’d never thought twice about what she said, because everything had been so simple.

Now she rarely revealed her innermost thoughts, even to Emma, and yet here she was spilling her guts to a guy she barely knew.

“Marriott, right? There’s a Starbucks that’s close, if you still want that breakfast sandwich.”

“Actually, I think I’m good on food. Headache’s gone, but queasy’s coming in. Straight to the hotel would be great.”

It was a lie. She was actually feeling pretty darn good, all things considered, but she didn’t want to deal with all the people in Starbucks right now. She wanted to be alone.

Lincoln pulled up outside the hotel and Daisy reached for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride. And for…well, last night, but in the nonpervy way.”

He laughed. “Anytime. When do you fly out?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Lincoln nodded, and Daisy was dismayed to realize that she was hesitating—waiting to see if he’d suggest seeing her before she left, after his appointment was over.