The Secret (Winslow Brothers 3)

She loved love, and she dedicated her life to writing about human nature, of which love is an amazingly large part. She didn’t think this holiday was corny. She didn’t think it was a marketing scheme. She thought it was a magical day to remind yourself what you were living for.

I, of course, try not to think too hard about any of that. I’m sure one day I’ll be in the position to love and be loved and pass that on to kids and grandkids and beyond. But for right now, I’m a single, twenty-six-year-old grad student, fucking the professor she TAs for just for the fun of it.

It’s not the kind of thing they put on Hallmark cards.

I hug my sister tighter. “I love you, Lydie.”

“Love you too, Rae.” She pulls back from the hug but holds me by the tops of my arms just far enough away that she can look me in the eyes. “You know you can always come to me, right? No matter what? I’ll be there for you.”

I don’t know what she thinks is going on in my life that’s that detrimental, but I don’t read too much into it. Instead, I accept the kindness of her gesture and nod. “I know. You’ve always been the best big sister.”

She leans forward and puts a kiss on my cheek just as our dad is joining us. I offer him a half smile before turning to walk to the car. I know it’s a little childish given the circumstances, but I’ve had enough experience to know that nothing I say to him will end well.

We’re like oil and water, and no effort to be thoughtful or kind ever helps that. One of us always manages to construe the other’s words, and then we’re off to the races fighting.

I really don’t want that today. Not here, under these circumstances, and not at all, really. I just want to enjoy the plan I have in place with Ty and forget the rest of it. Period.

The first thing I do as I enter the old, multistoried building on Washington Square in Greenwich Village is look at the clock behind the desk to check the time. I have a little bit of scouting to do to pick the final location, but in the meantime, Ty’s out of class, and it’s time to start the clues.

I stop in the lobby and take a seat on one of the rounded black couches, unwrapping my scarf and pulling off my gloves first and tucking them into my bag.

Once I’m unbundled and my stuff is secure, I take my phone out of my pocket and pull up the notes app where I’ve been typing my ideas for clues all morning.

After double-checking them all, I copy number one from the top and then pull up my message thread with Ty. The last text from him last night sits at the top of the screen, in all its explicit glory.

Ty: I can’t wait to fuck you until you’re fuck-drunk tomorrow. You’re going to feel me between your legs for days to come. How’s that for sweet dreams?

A shiver runs down my spine, and I paste the clue into the message, proofreading it one more time before hitting send.

Me: Finders keepers, losers weepers. Your first clue for finding me today is simple. One step, one step, one step, two, find your way to the floor with the doors that go outside of this building of NYU.

I wait not so patiently for a response as the bubbles wiggle to indicate he’s typing a message, my foot bouncing on the tile floor all the while. It’s not so much that I have an expectation of impressing him—it’s more that the anticipation of what’s to come when he finds me is almost overwhelming.

Ty: Okay, I’ve bitten, sweet little rosebud. Whatever am I to do now?

I toggle back to my notes and copy the next clue, sending it to him quickly.

Me: The first president’s park, an arch at the edge, come to the building that houses Poe and Maugham and Ellison and many books with the word hedge.

I know that one wasn’t the greatest, but after class and homework and visiting Mom’s grave, I didn’t have a ton of time to make these things happen.

Ty: Okay, please, please tell me we’re playing naughty librarian.

Me: Just follow the clue.

Ty: Fine, fine, I’m on my way.

I get up from the couch and make my way to the ninth floor, where, from my research, I know the most obscure books can be found. Spanish lit, Ross’s book on paleontology—you’ll find them on this floor.

I step off the elevator and circle the floor, scouring the shelves for the darkest, most out of traffic corner, and place my belongings on the table by the window.

My heart rate escalates, the excitement of Ty’s approach and the danger of possibly getting caught sending my blood pressure up a few notches.