Page 118 of This is a Kissing Book

His tone—not mocking, just genuinely surprised—makes it worse somehow. Like he can’t imagine why anyone would find him worth photographing in such an ordinary moment.

“Forget it,” I say quickly, starting to put my phone away.

But his hand covers mine, gentle but insistent. “Hey. Let me see.”

I open the photo so he can’t see Oly’s texts.

“Is that what I look like from the back?” He tucks his chin.

“That’s your takeaway?”

Eyes flirty, he says, “I could not care less about what I look like.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m far more interested in what the person taking that photo sees.”

His eyes sweep mine and my breath catches, and then he pecks me on the forehead.

I melt right there on the worn linoleum floor. Clean up needed in the dairy aisle!

After a brief tour of the town, we return to the cabin, and I make us a snack plate—my specialty.

Linc seems somewhat impressed … or he was hungry. I can’t be sure.

I browse the bookshelves and reach a section with what looks like journals.

He says, “My mother kept a journal for her whole life.” He pulls a leather-bound book from a drawer. “This is the most recent. You can read them if you want. She wrote about everything—her thoughts, her dreams, her frustrations.”

“That feels intrusive.”

“She would have liked you. She would have wanted you to know her.” He lets out a small breath. “I want you to know her.”

My pulse snags. If I’m not careful, this man is going to break my heart.

Later, while Linc naps on the porch, I curl up in his mother’s reading chair and open the journal. Marie’s handwriting is elegant and her words paint a picture of a woman deeply in love with a man who was always somewhere else.

Frank missed Linc’s birthday again. I know the Borgstrom deal is important, but sometimes I wonder if he’s so busy building his empire, he even remembers he has a family. Linc asked why Daddy wasn’t here to watch him blow out the candles. I didn’t know what to say.

Linc came home from school with a black eye today. He won’t tell me what happened, but I suspect it has something to do with Frank’s name being in the papers again. I wish we could just be a normal family.

Frank called from London. He’ll miss our anniversary dinner, but he’s sending flowers. As if roses can take the place of the man I married. Sometimes I feel like I’m raising our son alone.

By the time I close the journal, liquid fills my eyes. This beautiful, loving woman spent years waiting for crumbs of affection from a man too consumed with success to notice what he was losing.

It breaks my heart and a sudden fear strikes me. What if his son is the same? A tear escapes before I can catch it.

41

LINC

I wake from my nap to a sniffling sound and find Jules curled up in my mother’s reading chair with a pair of tears sliding down her cheeks as she closes the leather-bound journal.

“Jules? Are you okay?” I ask, concerned.

She looks up at me, not attempting to hide her sniffles.

I cross the room and press gentle kisses to her salty cheeks, tasting her sadness on my lips.