“Sorry,” Dimple mumbled, and it sounded only half true. “But seriously, why’d you take my picture?”
“I think we may have just crossed funny off the list,” he said, referring to item number one on their scavenger hunt list. He flapped the photograph a few times, and then held it out for her to see. She looked like a turkey wearing jewelry.
At first Rishi thought Dimple might rip up the photograph. A look of abject horror passed over her face. But then her eyes crinkled and she snorted. “Okay. Point taken.” Pulling the necklaces and headband off, she looked around the store, hands on hips. “So where’s Buddha?”
“Aha. This way.” Rishi beckoned, winding his way around a few room dividers and coffee tables. When they emerged into the far corner of the store, he gestured with a flourish. “Ta-daaaa!”
He watched her face closely as she took in the nearly eight-foot-tall, gold-plated statue in the corner. Dimple’s eyes widened, and then she turned to him, grinning. Oof. It was like getting punched in the diaphragm when she turned the wattage to full on that thing. Rishi tried to smile normally in response. “Isn’t it cool?”
In response Dimple laughed and ran over to it. “Cool? This is fan-freaking-tastic! My mom would flip out. She loves Buddha statues, especially laughing Buddhas. She has, like, this whole collection in the puja room at our house.” She ran one hand over the statue’s arm. “It’s really beautiful, in a way, right?”
Rishi raised an eyebrow and pulled the camera up to take a picture. “If by ‘beautiful’ you mean ‘tacky’ . . .”
Dimple chuckled. “It’s my turn to take a picture.” She reached out and grabbed the camera he was holding in his hands, apparently forgetting that the strap was around his neck. When she yanked on it, she pulled him closer, his head automatically inclining toward hers.
Rishi froze, his eyes gazing down right into hers. They weren’t more than three inches apart. Strange things were happening in the pit of his stomach. Fun things.
? ? ?
His eyes reminded her of old apothecary bottles, deep brown, when the sunlight hit them and turned them almost amber. Dimple loved vintage things. She followed a bunch of vintage photography accounts on Instagram, and old apothecary bottles were a favorite subject. So it was a kind of magic, being here in this antiques store with a boy whose eyes were just the right shade of honey.
For about two seconds.
Dimple pulled away, coughing, and let go of the camera so it bounced back down against his firm chest. “Er, sorry. I thought, um, that—I didn’t know the strap was still around your neck.” She was having a hard time meeting his eye. And was that a tiny coating of sweat on her upper lip? Yuck. Dimple pretended to be pulling at an errant curl and swiped a hand across it.
Rishi must not be feeling the tumult of weirdness that she was. His voice was perfectly calm as he replied. “No problem. Here.” He pulled the strap gracefully from around his neck and held out the camera to her. There was a flicker of something in his eye when he looked at her, but it was gone so quickly, Dimple wondered if she’d imagined it. “It is your turn, you’re right.”
The laughing jokiness of the past few minutes was completely gone as Dimple pointed the camera at the statue and took a picture. “Thanks.” She handed the camera back to Rishi as she flapped the picture, and, wordlessly, he looped the camera back around his neck. “So,” she said, slipping the photograph into the envelope that the list had come with. “Where to next? We’ve done Buddha and funny. That leaves water, yellow, and blur.”
? ? ?
Water was easy. They were both thirsty, so they decided to be totally unimaginative and head to the café across the street for bottles of water. But they’d drunk them in the courtyard outside at a fog-wrapped wrought-iron table, the camera on the tabletop between them. That’s when Rishi had decided to begin stealth-spraying her with drops of water.
Dimple had totally thought it was the fog, somehow melting onto her. Tipping her head back, she’d looked up at the swirling mist. “Weird. I could’ve sworn I felt water drops. Does this fog just randomly turn to rain?”
“Huh. I don’t think that’s possible.” Rishi’s face had been totally impassive, his hand circled casually around the water bottle. “But maybe a bird drooled on you.”
Dimple laughed. “A bird drooled on me? What are you smoking?” But when she took another sip of her water, she felt more drops. And when she looked up, she saw a flock of birds flying by.
“Told ya,” Rishi said, still totally serious. “It’s a thing not many people know about. But birds are one of my hobbies. Some species, like Avius borealis above, drool to release scent. It helps the other birds follow them better through foggy areas.”
“The only scent around here is BS.” But Dimple’s voice lacked conviction, even to her own ears. Everything he was saying sounded totally stupid, but he was so serious. . . .
Rishi lifted an earnest hand. “Swear to God.” But there was a glint in his eye that gave him away.
“Interesting.” Dimple bit her lip to keep from smiling and then very deliberately looked down to pull out the scavenger hunt list. And when she felt the next drops of water begin to splash against her skin, she grabbed the camera and took a picture of Rishi.
She caught him red-handed, laughing surreptitiously as he flicked water at her. The picture was really cool, the drops of water catching the sun and twinkling like little diamonds. They were headed right at her, frozen in space, with a blurry Rishi grinning right behind.
Dimple held out the evidence, one eyebrow raised. “So. Bird drool, huh?”
They stared at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing.
“I had you going for a minute, admit it,” Rishi said, once he’d caught his breath.
Dimple stuck her tongue out at him. “Never.” She wouldn’t admit it to him, of course, but Rishi Patel was sort of a fun guy. She might even miss him when he left tomorrow.
? ? ?
Yellow and blur turned out to be the easiest when Rishi snapped a picture of a yellow cable car going by while they walked. “Boom. We’re all finished. And we still have”—he consulted his watch, a Gucci; she remembered reading once that when they were that expensive, they were timepieces, not watches—“seventeen minutes to go.” He handed her the picture, and she slid it into their envelope as they began to walk back toward the Spurlock building, now about three quarters of a mile away.
“Awesome.” Dimple glanced sidelong at him. The oblique late afternoon rays turned the ends of his hair a chocolate brown. “So what do your parents do?”