Page 87 of Something Like Fate

It’s better this way because I have a soulmate. Caleb. That’s the thing about being a Zhao woman. Everyone you might like or even love is temporary until The One comes along. And Teller isn’t someone I could ever classify as “temporary.” Losing him would be absolutely devastating, which is why it’s crucial we stay friends.

As good as it felt to be with him, it’s not worth losing him. Nothing is.

That’s why I’ve adopted a new strategy—Get Through the Next Few Days. What does that entail? Basically, avoid him as much as possible without ignoring him or making things worse. That means not getting too close, no prolonged eye contact, absolutely no alone time, and certainly no touching. Not even a hug. Italy is far too romantic for any potential slipups.

Luckily, the Amalfi Coast makes for an easy distraction.

The four of us spend the next morning weaving back and forth along the winding pathways, exploring the town center. While Dad and Mei check out a museum, Teller follows me dutifully as I dip in and out of various boutiques, riffling through racks of linens and vibrant resort wear. We explore the labyrinth of alleyways and endless staircases, most of which offer views of the Crayola buildings along the sea. We scour jewelry shops and souvenir shops lined with novelty T-shirts, refrigerator magnets, and tea towels. We even stumble into a ceramicsstudio, where we find pottery and decorative pieces made of colorful glass mosaics. Teller buys an intricately patterned plate for his mom.

On the way to meet up with Dad and Mei, we duck into one more store at the end of a narrow alley. Its whitewashed walls cascade with bougainvillea. There’s an array of beachwear that’s neither of our styles, but we pretend to look with interest so as not to offend the watchful store clerk.

She spies Teller eyeing a floor-length zebra-print muumuu and swoops in like a bat out of hell, her floral poncho swishing with every step. “I’ll get you a dressing room for that,” she declares.

Teller stiffens. “Oh, um, no thank you. I’m just browsing.”

“I really think you ought to try it on. It’s one of those polarizing pieces. Some people can pull it off, some people can’t,” she says.

“No, really—I—”

“You wouldn’t want to get home and find it doesn’t fit,” she argues.

He shoots me a look that saysPlease extract me from this situation,so I sidle up next to him. “We’ll both try one on,” I say cheerfully, pointing to the bold orange-and-pink muumuu next to it.

“I hate you so much,” Teller mouths as the clerk whisks them to the changing rooms.

I figured she was just having a bit of fun, but when Teller emerges in the zebra muumuu, the clerk quite literally gasps. “Oh my word. It was made for you,” she says, dead serious.

She actually has a point. Teller looks good. Though I think it has less to do with the zebra muumuu and more to do with his adorably handsome face. Why did it take me so long to notice?

“Yeah, Tel. It wasmadefor you,” I say, twirling and posing like a pageant girl. I have to admit, the muumuu is comfortable as heck. I think I need it. Teller shoots me daggers, and I shimmy into the changing room to hide my silent fit of laughter.

“I can’t believe I got pressured into buying an animal-print muumuu,” Teller mutters as we exit the store. After minutes of the clerklisting all the ways it flatters his coloring, his eyes, his hair, his “sexy” figure, he got overwhelmed and caved.

“Oh, come on, we reached a new level in our friendship—friendship muumuus!” I say, far too enthusiastically. I really don’t know how to act around him anymore.

“I’m not talking to you for the rest of the trip,” he grumbles, eyeing his bag like it’s filled with angry wasps.

We’re just approaching the restaurant when I hear “Lo!”

My body zings at the sound. It’s too familiar.

“Lo!” I hear again, so I spin around.

Rucksack on his back, sun-kissed curls blowing in the coastal breeze. Caleb is standing right in front of me.

“Caleb?” I manage.

He gives me a warm smile and scoops me into his arms. I’m taken aback. This is a far cry from his look of utter terror the last time we saw each other.

What is he doing here? And why is he acting like he didn’t just vanish from Florence without notice?

“How ... How are you here?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but a lanky redheaded guy in one of those low-cut, neon bro–tank tops interrupts. One look and I can see he and Caleb are friends. He has that same hippie-surfer vibe.

Either his friend doesn’t register the tension between us or he’s ignoring it.

“Nice to meet you, Lo,” he says, extending his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Freddie.”Heard a lot about me? That I’m a crazy person?

---