Page 65 of This is a Kissing Book

I do, but I change the lines, making them silly before shifting into a melody of familiar songs.

When my fingers go still again, we get up. I drop a generous tip into the jar on the counter for the bartender, and then we step outside into the balmy night.

25

JULES

My mom used to call me Little Miss Chatterbox when I was a kid because I asked so many questions, shared my thoughts at length, and was fascinated by my detailed dreams that I always just had to share.

I’ve since learned to keep the oddities of my sleeping brain’s imagination to myself. However, I am wide awake on this Chicago summer night and I cannot speak.

Actually, it’s almost three a.m.

With the snap of his fingers, er, the placement of them, Linc made my birthday wish come true.

No one has ever written me a song before. No one has ever looked at me the way he is looking at me right now.

“Thank you,” I finally manage, my voice embarrassingly thick with emotion.

Alone on the street, we’re wandering back the way we came, our joined hands swinging slightly between us. Though this time I’m not sure it’s for safety or security purposes.

I jiggle my hand in his and say, “Just doing this so I absorb some of your tickling the ivories skills.”

His laugh is husky. “Haven’t heard that expression in a while.”

“I’m here to amuse.”

Thankfully, the darkness hides my pink cheeks because I don’t have any excuses for that other than that I’m touched by Linc’s gesture, the words in his song, and what I think the last ones were.

“… didn’t imagine we’d spend this time, wishing she could be⁠—”

I’ve gone through the alphabet twice. Countless words rhyme with time, but perhaps it was just a close match.

Like mine.

“What do you want for your birthday?” I ask as we pause at a crosswalk. “And don’t say nothing—you can’t spontaneously write me a song and then pretend you don’t deserve something amazing in return.”

“I already got the confetti. Thanks, by the way. I’d expect nothing less from you than having to clean up a mess of colorful paper off my desk.”

I laugh. “You’re welcome. But seriously. If you could literally have anything for your birthday, what would it be?”

“Are you a genie, prepared to grant me three wishes?”

“No, just one. A belated one.”

He clicks his tongue. “Stingy.”

“But seriously, the sky is the limit.”

“Good, because I have no interest in going to space.”

“Pfft. Some billionaire you are.”

Linc chuckles. “Billionaire’s son.”

“I stand corrected.”

We pause on the sidewalk and he brushes a strand of hair away from my face, his fingers lingering against my cheek. “What do you get a man who has everything?”