Page 28 of This is a Kissing Book

For the first time since L. Sullivan entered my life, he looks more human. Almost vulnerable.

“My mom’s name was Marie,” he says finally. “Marie Sullivan Andresen.”

“Ah. That’s where the Sullivan comes from.” I wonder if it was to honor her, if it’s his middle name, he’s playing “undercover boss,” or if he really doesn’t want to be associated with his father.

That hardly tracks because a guy like him would want to shout that he’s an Andresen from the rooftops for clout, to leverage the name and the connection at every opportunity. Right?

Linc tells me a bit about his mom, including how she taught him that a mighty oak tree was once a tiny acorn.

Thinking about my own mom, my voice is tender when I say, “She seemed like a special lady.”

His eyebrows lift with surprise.

I add, “I’m not being sarcastic.”

“She was. She loved books, romance stories especially. Used to say they reminded her that love is worth the risk.”

“She was right.”

He blows an exhale through his lips as if disagreeing. “She was crazy about art—in museums and nature. Whether it was a long line for a new exhibition or the first blossoms of the season, she said it was proof that beautiful things are worth waiting for.”

“Once again, I agree. Wise woman.”

This is not the cocky consultant I’ve been sparring with all these weeks. It’s like someone just switched out the painting I was studying for a completely different piece—same frame, entirely new picture.

He continues, “She was a woman of great faith. Not the preachy kind, but the lived-out kind. She helped me believe things would work out, even when they looked impossible.”

“I would’ve loved to have been able to meet her.” And I cannot imagine a woman like that married to the dreaded Andresen. Then again, grief changes people.

Linc pauses. “She would have liked you, actually. She had a thing for people who spoke their minds.”

I lean forward slightly. “Even when their ‘minds’ are telling you that you’re wrong about everything?”

“Especially then.” He almost smiles. I bet it would transform his entire, stony face.

“Is that so?”

“She used to say the most dangerous person in any room was the one who agreed with everyone.”

I nod, inspired by that insight and feeling oddly honored by the comparison to someone who clearly meant the world to Linc. For a moment, the guy I’ve told myself I hate disappears. We’re just two people talking about someone special.

He sits halfway on my desk. Before, I would’ve thought he parked himself here to prove me wrong, but now I wonder if he intends to continue this conversation. After seeing these two different sides of Linc, I’m not sure. Then again, I’ve been anything but my usual cheerful self around him.

“You give off only child energy. Am I right?” I ask.

His expression falters just slightly. “My mom had the kind of cancer that kept her from having more kids.”

My heart breaks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t⁠—”

“It’s fine.” He waves me off as if allergic to pity.

Returning to familiar ground, I tease, “Maybe that’s a good thing. The world probably only needs one of you.”

Behind Linc’s glasses, his eyes crescent with mirth. “I imagine you’re the little sister type. Am I right?”

I huff but fight a smile as I cock my head. “Are you saying I’m a brat?” The man has clearly never met my family.

“I’m saying you have ‘youngest sibling energy.’ You know—charming, says and does whatever she wants, gets away with everything, and probably had everyone wrapped around her cute little finger.”