Page 30 of Something Like Fate

“Tel, you don’t give yourself enough credit. You have abs now.” I poke him in the stomach to prove my point. It’s so hard, I might as well have poked metal.

He quirks his brow. “When did you see my abs?”

On at least four occasions since this trip started. But who’s counting? “Every time you lift your shirt to take something out of your money belt.” His cheeks turn a dark shade of crimson. “Don’t be ashamed. You worked hard for them. They deserve to be seen and fawned over by the world.”

Teller both doesn’t know how to take a compliment and isn’t used to them. So he just ignores it entirely. “It doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know how to talk to women.”

“You’re talking to me right now.”

“Okay, but you’re not—” He stops himself.

“A woman? Wow. Thanks.” I’m half teasing, but I can’t help but feel a twinge in my chest.

“That’s not what I meant. What I was going to say is, I’m comfortable with you because I know you. I don’t do well striking up conversations with strangers.”

“I was a stranger when we first met.”

“And how did my first impression go over?” he asks, a brief smile playing across his lips.

I snort, recalling how uptight he was. “But we survived, terrible first impressions aside. It’s really not that hard. Practice with me.” I extend my hand theatrically and try to make my voice soft and dainty like Riley’s. “Hi, I’m Riley. What’s your name again?”

He looks horrified by my improv but goes along with it. “Teller.”

“That’s a unique name.”

“I’m named after the OB that delivered me,” he explains. “My mom was in labor for fifty hours before having an emergency C-section. So when the nurse asked what my name was, she said the first name she could think of in her delirium. Dr. Teller.” He follows that up with awkward eye contact and total silence. Smooth, Tel. Before I can call him out, he waves a dismissive hand. “Okay, no more. This is too weird.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s only weird if you make it weird. Just don’t bring up your birth story. Nothing about germs. Talk about the present. Something about travel. Italy. Ask what she’s most excited about seeing. There’s endless possibilities. You’ll be vibing in no time,” I say enthusiastically, tamping down the tiniest budding kernel that feels suspiciously like jealousy. But it can’t be. Jealousy. If anything, I want Teller to have this moment with Riley. He needs a distraction from Sophie.

He tugs at the collar of his shirt, panning around at his surroundings. “Okay. Fine. But if I humiliate myself, you owe me dinner.”

“Deal.”

Reluctantly, he makes his way over to Riley. Over the chatter of passersby, he says, “Hot out here, huh?” At least he’s trying. I’m proud of him—until he adds, “I’m basically dripping sweat.”

Oh, sweet summer child, Teller.

It’s not like I’m some expert flirt. But I know that talking about sweating isn’t exactly a great conversation starter. He knows it, too, because he starts sweating even more.

“Me too! I seriously need a shower,” Riley says, surprisingly not grossed out. She’s smiling, and Teller’s shoulders relax.

It’s strange, seeing Teller flirt. Successfully. On some level, I knew he had game. He was in a long-term relationship. But after so manyyears of him only having eyes for Sophie, charming a total stranger in front of me is foreign territory. Suddenly feeling like a creep for eavesdropping, I distract myself by kicking back with Lionel. He offers me half his croissant, and suddenly I’m divulging my life story, excluding the whole soulmate thing. Instead, I give him a sanitized version about how I’m on the hunt for rom-com-worthy love. He hangs on my every word.

“I’ve already met the love of my life,” he tells me, mouth softening in a slight upturn, his dark eyes lighting up at the mere thought of him. “His name is Paul. We met in the most romantic way. Definitely rom-com material.”

“Do tell!”

“We were both at CVS. I was buying a jumbo bottle of Pepto-Bismol, and he was looking for Magnums,” he says, and we both descend into laughter.

“He was supposed to come on this trip with me, but he ditched to spend the summer in New York doing a fancy publishing internship. Would have been nice to have him with me, you know, in case anyone gives me any trouble.”

My brow shoots up. “Trouble?”

“In case you didn’t notice, I’m Black. Traveling alone in a foreign country can be, well, you know.” He pauses and swallows. “I don’t always know how I’m going to be perceived when I go places.”

I dip my chin, empathizing with him. “Ugh, I’m sorry you have to deal with that.”

He shrugs. “So far, everyone seems friendly here. But you never know. Ignorance can happen anywhere. Like, I once went to Germany, and the bellhop at my hotel kept calling me Will because he somehow decided I looked like Will Smith.”

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