Page 67 of The Girlfriend Zone

I laugh. “Yeah, I think I’m good with it. That is, if you can keep up with me on this cache.”

Her mouth drops open. “It’s on.”

We reach the park as the sun dips lower, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. Together, we check the clue—something aboutmaking it rain.

“It’s a water-related hint,” I say as we walk past the playground, searching for something that might be a cache but finding nothing. Then we venture near the clubhouse and around a sculpture made from an old slide, but we come up empty. “Maybe a hose? A sprinkler system?” I ask.

Leighton squints at a water fountain attached to the clubhouse, then dashes over to it, but shakes her head after a quick inspection. “Nothing here.”

We venture toward the gardens and stop in front of a small one full of native plants. Leighton huffs, stomping her foot. “Where is it? We’ve been looking for twenty minutes, and this isn’t even a big park.”

Then I spot a silver watering can nestled near the plants. Something clicks in my head. “This is a low-water garden, right?” I ask.

“Yeah. Part of the sustainability mission,” she says.

“You don’t need much to make it rain here. Maybe you don’t need much water at all.” I nod toward the can.

Her eyes sparkle. “Let’s see,” she says, grabbing my wrist and tugging me toward it. And yeah, that’s really nice—her hand on my arm. Like an unexpected bonus of this so-called friendship thing.

We crouch down, and I reach inside. It’s dry, andtucked inside it is a small plastic tube and a pen. I pull out both and show her.

She squints at it. “A test tube is the treasure? Or a pen?”

I don’t think so. “Open it,” I say, handing her the tiny tube.

Taking it, she uncaps it and pulls out a tiny rolled-up notebook. Her brow lifts, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. “That’s it? Just a notebook?”

“That’s all it is,” I tell her. “This one is a log-only cache. Just a record that you were here. Cool, right?”

Her brow lifts. “Tell me why that’s fun to you.”

“Because not everything is about the thing. Sometimes it’s about the journey. About the satisfaction of reaching the goal,” I say.

“And the goal was…?”

“To spend time with…my friend.” I open the notebook, take the pen, and think carefully about what to write. Then it hits me. I jot it down and show her:I am a thief, and today I stole a moment.

She takes the pen and scribbles her own words beneath mine:The moment was the treasure.

I flash back to our treasure hunt a year ago when we found the locket—a treasure for a treasure. She’s harkening back to that, and, well, I always am.

We’re crouched close, our heads nearly touching, sharing the same air, the same quiet thrill of discovery. It’s just us and the evening light, and the memories of our one day together between us.

A memory that’s getting a reboot. It’s no longer just our past. It’s our new present. I could lean in, hold her face, catch her lips in a kiss. The pull is so intense, it’s hardto resist. Sometimes, I wonder why I’m so drawn to her. Other times, I know. Deeply.

Because she’s fearless. Because she’s here with me, treasure hunting, saying yes. She’s stealing moments too—moments off the clock, moments that aren’t planned or predictable. Moments that are just…exploring the city I’ve come to love.

As we crouch there, the evening light softening around us, I reach out toward her ankle, brushing my finger against the silver bracelet. I trace the cool metal and her soft skin, her eyes flickering with sparks of desire—sparks that mirror my own. “Maybe now?”

“It’s already on me,” she teases.

“A technicality.”

She nibbles on the corner of her lips, her gaze drifting to a nearby bench. She rises and makes her way over to it. “Then take off the technicality.”

I’m there so fast. Bending, reaching, then fiddling. I have steady hands. I could take this off quickly.

But I don’t.

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