Page 96 of This is a Kissing Book

“It means you’re officially on assignment. Research for the company.”

“Linc, I can’t let you⁠—”

Stealing a chip from my sandwich basket, he says, “Let me handle this part, please.”

I nod, agreeing, hoping I don’t regret this later.

34

JULES

We arrive at Linc’s old college campus in the late afternoon, and I expect him to want to show me around, point out his old dorm or favorite study spots, and tell me candid stories of all his shenanigans. Instead, he heads directly toward the athletic facilities with a single-minded purpose.

“Not interested in a nostalgic campus tour?” I ask, slightly out of breath from trying to match his long stride.

He lifts and drops a shoulder with a non-committal shrug. “Right now, we need to focus on the excavation site.”

The track field stretches out before us, a green bullseye surrounded by black rings in the afternoon sunshine. It’s hard to imagine that somewhere beneath our feet there were once artifacts that could unlock a piece of American history.

Linc pulls out his phone. “I’ll text Taylor that we’re here.”

I gather this is the friend who might be able to help us get more information about what was found. But I cannot stop the deluge of questions that have nothing to do with our research. Who is this friend? Are they male? Female? Another ex-girlfriend who’ll look at me like I’m punching above my weight? The jealousy that fizzes inside catches me off guard. I have no claim on Linc. No right to feel possessive.

But logic seems to have declined the invitation to enter into this debate.

His phone pings. “Good news. She can meet us in a few minutes.”

She. Of course.

“Anyone I should know about?” I try to keep my tone casual.

“Just someone who might have access to the excavation records.”

A few minutes later, a woman approaches us from across the field. She’s pretty in an effortless, academic way—shoulder-length auburn hair, a timeless outfit, and the kind of warm, welcoming smile that makes it so I can’t instantly hate her—not that I would. I only mean she’s not Iva.

They embrace, and Linc seems genuinely happy to see her—like they’re long-lost lovers. Did they once send each other romantic pieces of correspondence like Abraham Lincoln and Mary Todd?

Her voice carries to me in greeting, startling me from my jealous stupor. “It’s nice to meet you, Juliana. Linc has been a stranger for far too long. I can’t believe you’re back on campus. It’s been what, three years?”

“Something like that,” he mutters.

I try my best manners. “It’s very nice to meet you, too.”

“Taylor is a historian,” Linc explains.

A his-torian, as in do these two have a personal history? The little green monster in me hisses.

Linc says, “Taylor loved it so much here that after graduation, she just couldn’t leave.”

“I was gone for two years, got my master’s, returned for my doctorate, and then, yes, I was compelled to stay.” The last part is loaded with meaning.

He holds up his hands. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, no?” Turning to me, she says, “Linc and I dated briefly freshman year⁠—”

Her words turn fuzzy, ones I’m not sure I want to hear, but the greedy part of me needs the truth.

She shakes her head. “This guy was way too much of a goofball for me.”