Page 92 of Problematic Summer Romance

“You okay?” Paul asks when I peek inside the room where he’s working.

“Of course.Sogreat.”

He squints at me like I’m a Magritte. “What are you looking for?”

“Nothing. Why do you think—Nothing.”

“You sure? You’ve popped by this room about four times, looking increasingly distressed, so—”

Conor appears in the entrance. He’s wearing a performance shirt and taped shorts, hair damp with sweat. Clearly back from a run. I’m so happy to see him, I could kiss him.

Except thatno, I couldn’t, because he’s too chickenshit for that.

Whatever. Least of my problems.

“I was just looking for this guy,” I say, pointing at him. “I need to chat with Conor about the, ah, photo slideshow situation.”

Paul seems surprised. “Are Eli and Rue doing a slideshow?”

They’d probably rather die. “Yes, of course. And Conor and I are in charge of it, so…can we talk about the logistics?”

“Yes,” his deep voice says. “I have time right now.” This ability of his to bullshit at the drop of a hat should definitely be categorized underred flags, but I can’t say I mind.

I’d feel so at home in a Swiss gift shop.

“Should I ask you again if you are on drugs?” he says once we’re alone in the foyer.

“Honestly, I couldreallyuse a downer right now.”

He scowls. “What happened?”

“I need your help. Eli asked me to take care of Tiny today, but I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

I close my eyes. “Because I have no idea where he is.”

Chapter 29

“You have to tell him,” Conor orders after twenty minutes of additional searching for a dog who weighs more than I do and has the coat of a thousand alpacas. A dog who’s so big and bad at hiding, hecannotbe on the premises.

Fuck.

“He wandered off somewhere,” Conor continues. The heat today is thick and suffocating. Painfully humid. We’re in the lemon grove, and he’s staring at me in that severe way of his, chin tilted in. I nearly shiver. “Maybe the eruption noises scared him. Let’s ask Eli—”

“No.”

“He’s not going to be angry at you, Maya. He’s the one who let Tiny out of his room assuming he’d come to yours, and never made sure he got there.” When he sees me bite my lip, his gaze softens. He runs a hand over my curls, pushing them back frommy forehead. Have I combed my hair today? “I’ll take care of this. I don’t want you to feel bad when it’s Eli’s fault.”

“Give me one more hour.”

Conor sighs, arm dropping back to his side. “For all we know, he’s frolicking in highway traffic.”

“He wouldn’t. Tiny is not stupid.”

“Tiny is a dog.”

“Like I said—”

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