Page 128 of This is a Kissing Book

“He’s wonderful, sweetheart.” She squeezes my hand. “Are things serious?”

“We haven’t really defined it,” I say, essentially repeating what I told the office girlies.

“He seems like a keeper to me. The way he looks at you …” She sighs dreamily. “Like you’re the center of his world.”

If only that were true. If only I could believe that someone like Linc would choose someone like me for more than a temporary summer romance. He dated Iva Katz, for goodness’ sake.

Despite my swirling anxieties, we have fun at the party. Linc fits in with my family better than I could have hoped, laughing at Dad’s terrible jokes and listening to Mom’s stories about her succulent garden.

“I like your family,” he tells me as we slow dance to the band’s rendition of “The Way You Look Tonight.”

“Even my brothers?”

“Even your brothers. I never had siblings.” His expression is wistful.

“Do you ever wish you did?”

“Sometimes. Especially watching you with yours. The way you all tease and joke, but would clearly go to bat for each other. It’s rare, special.”

The song ends, and he spins me once before pulling me back against his chest. For a moment, surrounded by my family’s laughter and the warm Las Vegas evening, I can almost believe this is real.

That we’re real.

But as the night winds down, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m living on borrowed time. Fall is coming. And men like Linc don’t choose women like me for the long haul.

They choose women like me for right now.

And maybe, I think as I watch him laugh at something Brian says, maybe right now is enough.

Ultimately, it’s all I have.

44

LINC

Meeting Jules’s family shifted something inside. Watching her with her brothers—the way they teased her but would clearly cage fight anyone who hurt her—made me understand what I want to be for her. Not just a summer romance or a hockey player posing as a businessman. Someone who is there for her. Someone she can rely on … and make her smile, laugh, and feel loved.

Back home, the lost Lincoln love letters sit on my nightstand, still tied with the faded ribbon. I’m guessing Jules didn’t open them. I’m now afraid to read them, afraid of what they might reveal about my family’s past, given what Jules read in my mom’s diary. But knowing she respected that they were mine to discover gives me the courage I need.

I carefully untie the ribbon and unfold the first letter.

My dearest Mary, These last weeks, the distance between us feels like a chasm, cleaving my heart in two. I know your sister and her husband disapprove of our courtship. It’s true we come from different worlds, but we have to ask what’s most important? A perfect union or one where we learn and grow and challenge each other? I believe I can provide the security you deserve and the adventures you crave. I want you to know that you are the light that guides me through every dark moment. The hope that sustains me when the weight of the world feels too heavy to bear …

The words blur as I read. These aren’t just love letters, they’re a testament to devotion that survived doubt, distance, and disapproval. Abraham Lincoln, who would become one of history’s greatest leaders, was once just a man desperately in love, fighting for the woman who believed in him.

Another notes that Lincoln recognized that Mary’s family questioned their partnership and he arranged for certain pieces of art and rare books to be gifted to them, like a reverse dowry, indicating that she was his greatest treasure, more valuable than any collection.

Interestingly, they provide a provenance record, which makes me wonder if they’re connected to the founding of Meridian.

By the time I finish all three letters, my resolve has crystallized. Jules deserves someone who pursues her the way Lincoln did for Mary. Someone who doesn’t let fear or family expectations get in the way of what matters.

First, I need to clean up the mess at Meridian. I have to confront my father. Then tell her about playing for the NHL. Hopefully, she’ll forgive me.

On Sunday morning, I wake Jules with a soft kiss on her forehead. She stirs, blinking sleepily up at me.

“Special occasion?” she mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

“Every day with you is,” I say, meaning it more than I’ve meant anything in my life.