Page 59 of This is a Kissing Book

His lips curve into a devastating smile, the one that makes my knees wobbly and unable to function. “That was to leave you wanting more.”

I blink at him, still trying to catch my breath. But then reason returns and my brain comes up with an obvious excuse to explain the mental malfunction I just had—there is no world in which Linc Andresen would actually want to kiss me.

Piecing it together, I tap the air with my finger. “Very convincing … camouflage. Smart to let the guards think we were just two people making out in the alcove. Nothing to see here. Move along, please. Don’t tarry. We’re consenting adults. But if anyone from Meridian HR asks, we’re not boss and employee. Nope. Never saw this guy before. It was a lark, I tell you! A lark!” I cannot make my mouth stop babbling.

“For the record, I never hated you, Jules,” he whispers, his voice rough.

“Sure. Right. You betcha.” The words come out stilted because my brain is still stuck on how close we just came to crossing a line that we could never uncross.

I scramble, desperate to get my footing because I feel like I’m floating. “Okay, it’s fair to say that we’ve gone from enemies to friends. But no further. That’s the plan. Right?”

Even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. We’ve already gone further. That almost-kiss changed everything.

“Are you entertaining that tropical resort work fling scenario?” he teases.

“No, Abraham! Nothing of the sort.”

But it has certainly crossed my mind. More than crossed—it has a flight booked and the bags are packed.

That night, I lie awake staring at the ceiling, my thoughts volleying between the almost kiss and the painting we discovered. Every time I close my eyes, I can almost feel Linc’s lips on mine, can remember the way his rough hand felt against my cheek.

But when I’m not reliving every second of what could have happened, I’m studying the crude cell phone images we managed to take before the security guards appeared. Something about the painting nags at me, beyond just its unexpected presence.

I swipe through the photos on my phone, zooming in on different sections, trying to identify what’s bothering me. The brushwork, the colors, the signature in the corner … it’s a low-quality blur.

And then it hits me.

I sit up in bed, heart racing with an entirely different kind of excitement.

What if there’s another painting?

I grab my laptop, suddenly wide awake and ready to do research. Somewhere in the back of my mind, beyond the mystery and the thrill of discovery, one thought keeps circling back: Linc and I almost kissed.

Sure, it was to throw off the guards. But despite all my protests about staying professional, about being just friends, about it being a convenient decoy, I really, really want to kiss for real.

23

LINC

When I get to the office, I find a manila envelope on my desk. Stamped across the front is the word Confidential.

My pulse kicks up and I wonder if this has anything to do with the discrepancies Jules found. I open the metal tab and then turn it upside down to release the contents, but instead of documents or say, photographs, confetti sprinkles into my hand. Most of them are little shards of colorful paper, but a few shiny metallic pieces read Happy Birthday.

Only one person on the planet would do this.

Jules must’ve taken note that I was turning twenty-nine when she looked at my license.

After I clean it up, I’m back at my desk, wishing I’d spent a little more time paying attention during class while in the business program at college. Who am I kidding? I lived for hockey. Still do. I don’t regret placing my focus there, rather than learning how to review quarterly reports.

But it doesn’t help that my brain keeps replaying last night frame by frame.

Jules pressed against the gallery wall.

The way her breath caught when I was so close to kissing her.

How she smelled like cherry lip balm and trouble.

I asked her to trust me. She did. Even when everything in her posture suggested that trusting people doesn’t come easily to her.