Page 94 of This is a Kissing Book

“I’m willing to try … if you concede.”

“About what?”

“That I was right about the chocolate,” I say, recalling our very first conversation on the phone during which I suggested Lindt hazelnut truffles are superior to all.

He laughs, nods, and lifts his coffee mug for me to clink as a slow, easy smile rises on his lips. “There was something about you …”

“That you hated?”

“No, Jules. Quite the opposite.”

We settle at the small dining table by the windows, the Washington Monument visible in the distance like an exclamation mark against the vivid morning sky.

I take a bite of a butter croissant infused with hazelnut chocolate spread and nearly moan, it’s so good. “Let me make sure I understand our current situation, just in case I hallucinated last night’s events. We’re in Washington, DC, chasing a theory about glass buildings that may or may not point us toward love letters that may or may not exist, written by your great-great-however-many-greats grandfather to his wife.”

“That’s an accurate summary, yes.” Linc’s mouth quirks upward. “Having second thoughts?”

“About the sanity of this whole endeavor? Absolutely. About doing it anyway?” I take a sip of coffee and meet his eyes. “Not a chance.”

His smile transforms his entire face, and I have to look away before I do something embarrassing like stare.

I pull out my phone and start researching. “Okay, so about that Crystal Palace connection. The original structure in London was a massive iron and glass building—a revolutionary feat of engineering for its time. If Lincoln and Mary did visit, or even if they just knew about it, the symbolism of placing her in a similar glass structure in the painting has some sweetly romantic connotations.”

“A transparent life together,” Linc muses. “Nothing hidden.”

I swallow a bite of eggs on a wedge of toast. “Exactly. And if the artist included specific architectural details from the proposed DC World’s Fair buildings …” I show him images on my phone. “These were never built, but the plans were widely circulated. Maybe there’s something about the location they were meant to occupy.”

“But Abraham Lincoln was long gone before those plans came to fruition.”

Biting my lip, I think this through. History can sometimes be like a tangled ball of yarn. If you find the right strand and pull, it’ll come loose. “Perhaps it was a building he’d originally wanted created during his presidency and the World’s Fair proposal architects intended to construct it in his honor.”

Linc snaps his fingers and points at me as if I’m onto something. It’s a wild hare, but at this point, we’re operating on butter, chocolate, and hope.

He pulls out his own phone. “I’m going to call someone at my old college. The athletic department had to deal with the excavation when they found those artifacts I mentioned. I still know someone there.”

He heads to the balcony to make his call, and I can’t help but wonder about his life here in DC. College years, old friends, old girlfriends. The thought makes me uncomfortable—hot, humid, and prickly. I text Oly instead, giving her an update.

Me: Still alive. In DC. Will explain later.

Oly: As in Washington, DC? Our nation’s capital?

Me: The very one.

Oly: Did NYC not meet your jet-setting expectations?

Oly: Did your mysterious billionaire boss kidnap you?

Oly: Should I call the FBI?

Oly: Also, did you wear something fabulous last night?

Oly: Send photographic evidence!

Oly: Also, are you sure he’s not secretly married or has a bunch of love children hidden away somewhere?

Oly: Why aren’t you responding?

When Linc returns from the balcony, I quickly snap a selfie of us. “It’s for Oly. She needed proof of life.”