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I stare at him, unexpected emotion clogging my throat, because god, does this man ever see me, and I have no idea what to do with that. “Okay,” is all I can manage, and when a grin spreads over his face, butterflies riot in my stomach.

I am in so, so much trouble.

“Honestly, I thought it would be harder to convince you to have lunch with me,” he says, clearing a space on his desk to line up the takeout containers.

I lean back in my chair, enjoying watching him handling this. “One thing to know about me is I am very, very serious about food.”

He gives me a look of disbelief. “I call bullshit, Mystery Girl. If you were really serious about food, you wouldn’t forget to eat lunch every day.”

“I can see how you would think that, but I really do just get sucked into work. It’s the coding. Once I get into it, it’s like an alternate universe where time and hunger don’t exist.”

He laughs, and I love the sound of it. “I know, I’m just fucking with you. It’s the same for me. When I get sucked in, nothing else exists. Coders are a weird breed.”

“We sure are. Did you order everything on the menu?” I ask, glancing over at the multitude of containers on his desk.

He shrugs, handing me chopsticks and a fork. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got some of everything. I figured the leftovers wouldn’t go to waste. You can take some of them home, and I have three brothers who are always hungry.”

Elliot reaches into the mini fridge in the corner of his office and pulls out a Diet Pepsi, handing it to me. Then he opens a drawer and takes out a travel mug and a regular ceramic mug, holding them both up. “I’ve seen you use both kinds of mugs, and I didn’t know which you liked better.”

“I wish we could be more,” I blurt out, then slap a hand over my mouth.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “It was the mugs. Like, seriously? You could have just brought one. Or none. But no, you had to go be all perfect and bring one of each, and no one I’ve ever known has cared enough to make sure I had the right mug to drink my Diet Pepsi out of, and here you are, and you barely even know me, but it’s like you know me, and fuck, El. I have no idea what to do with that.”

Elliot sets both mugs down and rounds his desk, crouching in front of me so we’re face to face.

“I wish we could be more, too. I have never wanted to be more with someone the way I want to be more with you.” A shadow crosses over his face, but it’s gone before I have a chance to ask about it.

“But if all we can have for now is lunch in my office and a mystery to solve together, you better believe I’m going to take every single minute of it until the day we can have that more.

And Mystery Girl, that day will come. I swear it will. ”

He runs a single finger over my jaw and down my throat, gliding it over my collarbone where my sweatshirt slips over my shoulder, and I let out a full body shudder.

The gleam of triumph in his eyes at getting that reaction from me is unmistakable, and I would laugh if I wasn’t suddenly struggling to take in air.

“Tell me more about the postcards,” I manage, needing to redirect my brain from the way his fingers feel against my skin.

I can tell he understands exactly what I’m doing, and I think maybe he needs the distance too because he stands and walks back around his desk that I’m noticing for the first time is very clean and really, really organized.

“You know you’re, like, freakishly organized, right? I mean, your books are in height order.” I gesture to the immaculate bookshelf up against one wall.

He chuckles, glancing around. “Yeah, force of habit. I’ve always been that way.”

I prop my chin on my hand, studying him. “I wouldn’t peg you for the hyper-organized type.”

This time he grins. “Because I’m a coder? You stereotyping me, Mystery Girl?”

I grin back because I just can’t help it. His good-natured cheer is contagious. Being around him just makes me feel so damn good. “Never. No one knows what it’s like to contain multitudes more than I do.”

“I like all your multitudes.” The smile vanishes from his face, and then we’re just staring at each other, that undeniable electricity humming between us, and I’m positive if there wasn’t currently a desk between us, his lips would be on mine. God, I really want his lips on mine.

He breaks the spell, clearing his throat and reaching into another drawer, pulling out a box and handing it to me. “I’ve read them all at this point. You can start anywhere. Any one of them will give you a good idea of what we’re dealing with.”

I choose one at random, glancing at the photo of Hyde Park before flipping it over to see the careful penmanship. Gliding my fingers over the faded words, a chill runs up my spine, and my heart thuds in my chest before I even read a single one.

My Darling Clara,

I saw this postcard in the store today, and it felt like it was meant for you and me.

Remember the day we walked in Hyde Park together?

I held your hand as we took in the view off the Serpentine Bridge and you said it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

But there is nothing in the world as beautiful as you.

I’m missing you, my love. Today and every day, my heart beats only for you.

I am, as ever, yours.

Always,

Henry

“Jesus, the love,” I murmur. “You can feel it.” I glance up at Elliot and his gaze is fixed on me, something unnamable in his eyes. “What?”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. It’s just you said pretty much exactly what Cece said when I first showed her the postcards. She said she could feel the love.”

“You can’t?” I ask, running my fingers over the words again, feeling the smooth paper under my fingers, worn from age.

“I can,” he says quietly. “I can feel it so deeply it’s almost like I wrote these myself. I can’t explain it.”

I place the postcard carefully back in the box then pop open my Diet Pepsi and pour it into the ceramic mug, taking a sip while I consider my answer.

“I think it means you were meant to find these. Or that they found you. You were meant to solve this mystery. To find Henry and figure out what happened. What broke them apart.”

He eyes me consideringly. “You’re a coder.”

I nod. “I am. Or, I’m trying to be. That’s where you come in. You know. Advisor and all.”

“I’m a coder too. We think in zeros and ones. Logic and concrete knowledge. It’s hard to square that with things like meant to be .”

I grab an eggroll and take a bite, thinking over what he said.

“I don’t always believe things are meant to be.

Preordained and all that. Sometimes really shitty things happen, and there’s no reason for them.

It’s just bad luck and bad timing. But I think, sometimes, things happen we can’t explain.

Your mom could have sent any one of your brothers to the attic on Christmas, but she asked you.

There are tons of flights a day from San Francisco to Boston, but we ended up on the same one, and we both ended up here.

Little things that show us not everything is random.

That there’s something else at work, something inexplicable.

I don’t think I have to square that with having a career that relies on logic. Two things can be true.”

Elliot’s mouth quirks up in a smile. “You’re pretty smart, you know.”

I nod, taking another bite of my egg roll. Chinese food really is the superior takeout. “No doubt about it, my friend. So, want to tell me what you’ve found out so far?”

He digs into his container of sesame chicken before answering.

“The app has been really helpful. Genesis, I mean,” he says, and I feel a little glow of pride.

“Since it connects to the databases at libraries all over the world, I’ve been able to pull census records from England in the first two decades of the nineteen hundreds as well as military service records since the postcards allude to Henry being a soldier.

It’s a lot of data, and I haven’t been through it yet, but it feels like a start. ”

I nod, taking another sip of my Diet Pepsi. “It’s not just a start; it’s an excellent start. So, what do you say, El?” I ask, enjoying the way his eyes flare every time I use his nickname. “Want to solve a mystery?”

He grins at me just as someone gives a perfunctory knock on the door, pushing it open at the same time.

The smile disappears from Elliot’s face so fast that I turn automatically and my stomach twists when I see Dean Miller standing there, his gaze bouncing between Elliot and me and lunch laid out on the desk.

“Lunch for two,” he says, the suspicious note in his voice unmistakable. “Isn’t this cozy?”