19. Lulu

19

LULU

Leo and I return to the museum, the leaderboard clearly on our side. As we walk toward the exhibit, I set my hand on his arm. I’ve always been a toucher, but Leo seems to like it, and honestly, I like touching him. It’s comforting and familiar, but also unexpected, and in a good way. Glancing around, I say, “I love this place. My mom used to take me here all the time as a kid. Well, she took me everywhere. But this was one of our regular haunts.”

“I remember you telling me that.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, we’ve talked about everything over the years, it seems. All those late-night conversations.”

“I loved our late-night conversations. Does that mean we have nothing new to say?”

He shakes his head. “It all feels new. Keep telling me stuff. What was your favorite part?”

I want to tell him stuff. Because it doesn’t feel like we’re playing the same record. It feels like we’ve tuned in to a familiar song, but on a whole new frequency.

As I reflect on his question, a memory flashes before me, bright and colorful. “The jewels. They had a display once of crown jewels. I loved them all, and I wanted to be a queen.”

He chuckles. “Not a princess?”

“No way! I had much higher aspirations. Screw that whole damsel-in-distress, rescue-me stuff. I wanted to rule.”

He shakes his head, amused. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Suits me, doesn’t it?” I ask, laughing.

“To a T.”

“And you? What did you like to do as a kid? Where did your parents take you? I seem to recall you showing me a photo of you and your brothers in front of the Liberty Bell.”

“Naturally, we pretended we cracked it. And yeah, growing up in Philly, it was all history, Founding Fathers, and the Declaration of Independence. Our parents always took us to those historic sites. It was more fun than I expected, but I think it also gave me a healthy appreciation for the past.”

I pause when he says that, taking a peek into his dark-brown eyes, searching for something. Something that worries me. The past. “Do you have that? A healthy appreciation for the past?”

“Yes.” His answer is swift and certain, bursting with meaning.

I don’t know if he means the historical past, our past, or something else. Maybe his own past with Tripp. But when we reach the exhibit hall and my eyes land on a golden painting, I stop wondering about the days that came before because I’m transfixed by what’s in front of me, visiting from its regular home in Vienna. Gustav Klimt’s most famous work: The Kiss . The colors and the mosaic-like assembly of shades of jewels are mesmerizing.

The look on the woman’s face draws me in as the man kisses her cheek. Her beauty is haunting. Her want is palpable. My arms seem to reach forward of their own accord. “Want.”

He laughs. “For you, Lulu, I’ll get it. I’ll buy you a Klimt.”

I shake my head, whispering reverently, “No. I want that kiss.”

He turns to me, his brow knitted, his voice curious and a little unsure. “You do?”

“I want that. I feel so greedy, but yes, I do. I want that . I want a kiss like that.” I’m taking a dangerous step here. I’m toying with something terribly risky. But this admission feels so necessary. This painting is doing things to me. Things that only chocolate has done. It stirs up so much longing.

“Have you had a kiss like that?” He looks as if it pains him to ask the question.

I want to answer, but I don’t want to besmirch Tripp’s memory, even though I’m not his widow. I’m his ex-wife. I left him because he loved his mistress more than me. But I don’t want to compare his kisses. They’re over.

An invisible thread pulls me closer to Leo. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if I’ve had it.”

His eyes hold mine, never wavering. I don’t know what’s happening with us. But I want this moment, wholly. I want it to unfurl like a red carpet. I’m eager to find out where it leads.

I want to be like Leonardo from 1820—to make a mark on history. On my history. And I want Leo, circa 2019.

I move even closer, not caring about the people at the museum admiring the painting. They are a static haze to me. Leo’s as clear as the art. “I want that kiss.”

“Then you should have it.” His voice is gravelly, rough. It’s strewn with hidden meaning, and I can read the clues.

We both want whatever this strange new thing is that’s brewing between us.

We want it, even if we’re afraid of it.

An inexorable pull tugs us closer together, like a magnet seeking its opposite. “That painting. Maybe it’s kismet.”

“You think so?” Another step.

“Maybe it’s poetry.”

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “You and your poetry.”

“What about you? What do you want?”

He licks his lips. “The same.”

In front of the Klimt, in front of the crowd, Leo lifts his hand, curls it around the back of my head, and brings me close.

My breath stutters. Electricity shoots through my body. My feet barely touch the ground as he lowers his head and brushes a chaste kiss.

On my cheek.

That’s not fair.

That’s not what I want.

But even so, my body tingles all over. All from a kiss on my cheek.

And that kiss makes me want his lips.

I raise my face, cup his jaw, and make the chaste kiss not so chaste, after all.

He takes the baton and runs with it.

He kisses me tenderly, brushing his mouth over mine in a gentle exploration, like he’s been dying to get to know my lips, but like he can take his time with them too.

Like he can take all the time in the world.

His kiss is full of longing as his lips sweep over mine, visiting the corners, traveling across the bow of them. Visiting everywhere.

I’m buzzing, my entire body humming like the start of a song—a song that’ll build in seconds. As he takes his time,

the desire in me roars well past the speed limit. I break with desire.

It snaps me in two, and the hungry, ravenous half of me wins. My hand is on his face, so I bring him closer and crush my lips to his. I devour his mouth, taking him like he’s mine, like he belongs to me.

He groans roughly, and it sounds both painful and intoxicating. I’m intoxicated as he deepens the kiss, his lips searching mine, finding me. Finding a new us. The kiss is his again as he draws me tight and consumes me.

We kiss like we’re discovering a new land. Like we’re leaving our mark on this moment. And we are. Because this is the record I want from today.

I don’t need photographic proof to know it happened.

My mind is taking snapshots for me to look at later.

A new tour group shuffles into the room, and we break the kiss, looking at each other like wow .

But we also need to leave. We exit the museum through the gift shop, where Leo buys me a postcard of The Kiss then signs it.

Leo 2019. The Met. Klimt Exhibit.

In my mind, I add one more line.

First kiss .

Along with Ginny and Noah, we return to the starting place for the hunt, where the Heavenly Four, as we’ve dubbed ourselves, are in first place on the first day.

Then we’re back at the office, working on chocolate and business deals.

As I leave for my shop, ready to dive into my recipes for the afternoon, I spot Leo heading into a meeting.

He doesn’t see me.

He doesn’t even look like he’s here.

He’s somewhere else, and I know that look.

He’s lost in the past.

And I want both to know what he’s thinking of and to erase our whole history.