Page 146 of This is a Kissing Book

My vision blurs as I read the last lines again. He knows about the diploma, but he doesn’t care. He wants me anyway.

Wiping away tears, I open the second envelope. It contains a check for twenty-five thousand dollars with a Post-it note attached and the following words highlighted in gel For your father’s debt. No strings attached. Think of this as a finder’s fee or a donation to a good cause.

The contents of the third envelope bear Frank Andresen’s official letterhead. Inside is a formal letter recommending me for promotion to Senior Research Specialist, citing my Exceptional investigative skills and unwavering integrity in uncovering fraudulent activity that could have severely damaged the company’s reputation and bottom line.

I stare at the three envelopes, my heart hammering against my ribs. Linc is offering me everything I’ve been seeking—financial freedom, career advancement, and most importantly, his love.

But even more than all of that, I want him.

The endless loop of my thoughts doubles back. Realization hits me like a freight train. I don’t want to be another person in his life who takes his money or his influence. But I’m greedy for him—his attention, his voice, his laugh, and the way he makes me feel like the most interesting person in any room.

I want Linc, but mostly I want to share myself with him. To have a life together.

I knock on his office door. It’s quiet. It’s too early for him to be napping. I slowly open it, but the room is empty.

Walking to the window, I remember Linc standing in this same spot months ago, like a gargoyle with too much power. I think about how much I claimed to hate him. The irony isn’t lost on me now.

Movement below catches my eye. At ground level, a figure in jeans and a plaid shirt holds something colorful against his chest. Not flowers—something soft and plush.

A Care Bear.

It’s Linc, and he’s looking up at the building like he’s searching for something. Someone. For me.

He raises his hand in a small wave. Without thinking, I wave back as my anger blows away like the last of a storm.

My glowy Care Bear heart activated, my feet are already moving toward the elevator. I turn back at the last second, grabbing his executive badge from where it sits on his desk—the same badge he used to bypass the slow elevator.

Maybe we can have a second chance like Abraham and Mary.

50

LINC

Standing in the plaza under the Meridian office building as the sun glints off the glass windows with a rainbow-bellied Care Bear in my hands makes more than a few people do a double-take.

It’s probably not my most dignified moment as a high-profile hockey player—I’m more recognizable as my beard grows in. Not sure whether Jules will approve.—if she takes me back. Big if there. But dignity seems less important than the woman I glimpsed in the office window thirty-nine floors above me.

I’ve been here for nearly an hour, pacing the concrete like a lovesick teenager, getting curious looks from early professionals and the occasional photo from someone who recognizes me. Let them post it on social media. Let the whole world know that Abraham Lincoln Andresen is making a fool of himself for love.

The Care Bear—Cheer Bear, according to the tag—was an internet find of Herculean proportions. It cost me three times the asking price with overnight delivery service.

But if Jules misses her childhood comfort, then she’s getting a replacement.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Bīriņš: You still standing out there like a statue? Girls love grand gestures, but breakfast is getting cold.

I’m typing back when the building’s glass doors open. Jules emerges like she’s being chased, her hair flying behind her as she scans the plaza. When her eyes find mine, she stops so abruptly that a businessman nearly collides with her.

We stare at each other across twenty feet of autumn-kissed concrete. She’s wearing cropped cranberry trousers, a white blouse, and a houndstooth blazer. Even from this distance, I can see she’s been crying.

But she came down. She’s here.

Neither of us moves for a long moment, as if we’re both afraid this is a mirage that will disappear if we so much as breathe.

It’s now or never.

I take the first step, then we’re walking toward each other, closing the distance. When we meet, just inches apart, I can see the silver streaks in her gray eyes, the slight tremor on her lips.