Page 97 of This is a Kissing Book

I stare at Linc. “You’re a goofball?”

“I prefer ‘delightfully unpredictable.’” He lengthens his spine and thrusts his shoulders back, dignified.

Taylor snorts with laughter. “Puh-lease. You once got stuck in a revolving door because you were trying to go backwards to impress a girl.”

“That was one time,” Linc protests.

“It was twice,” Taylor corrects. “Different girls, same door.”

Despite my earlier jealousy, I find myself warming to Taylor’s easy humor. “I’m having trouble reconciling this with the serious businessman I know. The guy that doesn’t have so much as a funny bone in his body.”

She laughs. “Just wait. When you least expect it, he’ll unleash his inner comedian. I would know, lucky for me, Linc introduced me to the man of my dreams.”

“You mean ‘The Grump.’”

And there I thought that word applied exclusively to him.

“The captain of my heart,” Taylor says with affection in her eyes.

“Her husband,” Linc adds quickly, and there’s something odd about his tone. “They got married last year.”

“Two years ago,” Taylor corrects, but she’s distracted now, pulling out a tablet.

“Time flies,” Linc says, gazing into the distance.

Part of me is relieved there isn’t anything romantic between these two, but the possessive little green goblin side of me suddenly, desperately wants to know about his love life—past, present, future. All of it.

“Speaking of, you’re here for a reason and it’s not to rehash our glory days. Those artifacts you asked about …”

She shows us photos and reports from the excavation. Most of it is routine—broken pottery, old coins, fragments of building materials.

“Unfortunately, most of these are in storage. Otherwise, I’d show them to you. But historians believe this was once a park, and its claim to fame was a unique glass structure.”

Linc and I exchange an excited look.

“The glass shards were particularly interesting—thicker than what would’ve been used in windows at the time. There were also traces of what might have been a foundation for a small building shaped like a gazebo.”

“That’s very interesting. Do you have any idea who made it or where the blueprints are?” Linc says vaguely.

“I could arrange something, but it would take a few days of paperwork.”

“We don’t really have a few days, but thank you,” Linc says.

“As for the engineers and builders, my best recommendation is to go to the National Library. I have some reference numbers I can text you.” She snaps her fingers. “Actually, now that I think of it, I believe the architect was the same person who created the plans for the conversion of the wooden dome of the Capitol building to an iron one. He was familiar with unique structures—metal and glass, mainly, if memory serves. I can’t recall his name at the moment, but you’ll find more information at the Lincoln Memorial. His grandson was the mastermind behind it.”

“This is great. Super helpful,” I say, thanking Taylor and feeling like these are some solid leads.

After we say goodbye to her, the car waits for us outside the Sullivan Arts building. I notice this city is filled with sleek black cars and SUVs moving around like apex predators in murky waters.

“Any relation?”

He snorts. “As a matter of fact, yes. My father gave a generous endowment.”

“In your mother’s memory?”

He nods, and I can’t help but think Frank Andresen really did love his wife. However, he just wasn’t sure how to show it.

The car Linc seems to have on standby brings us across town. In the fading light of day, the impressive facade of the Lincoln Memorial stands like a monolith of history. I feel like we’re somehow part of it, as it’s made in real time.