Page 14 of The Amazing Date

I kick my run into overdrive, the heels of my sneakers kicking me in the butt. A pleasant look of surprise crosses Roberto’s face when I pull up next to him. “Let’s kick some ass,” I shout and push past him.

“Oh, it’s on.” His laughter brings a smile to my face as we fly past a fading pair of blonde heads. We arrive at the puzzle board seconds behind the twin rockers. I recognize the design.

“It’s a slide puzzle. They used something similar in season eight. There are sixteen slots, fifteen filled with the design. We have to move…” My hands are on my hips as I attempt to catch my breath. I fail to notice Roberto stepping up to me, invading my space, his finger landing across my lip.

“Shh, I know what a slide puzzle is. Every five-year-old on the planet knows how a slide puzzle works. What are we building?”

I push away his hand. “Don’t touch me. I’m sorry for trying to educate you. Some of us actually studied the materials.”

He takes a step back from the table and turns his back to me. “So, this is how it’s going to be.” He takes yet another small step back, away from the table, and I feel my pressure rising.

“What the hell are you doing? Take a look and help me solve this.” Sweat drips from my forehead as I begin to push puzzle pieces around the board. I glance over, and two of the teams have yet to even reach their boards.

He turns, his hands on his hips, but he doesn’t approach the table. “See how that works? You ask for help, and I provide it.”

I shake my head. I won’t let him get into my head. Not this early in the race. I push the pieces around, looking for sharp edges indicating end pieces. Gabby and I practiced slide puzzles the first month of our research. “Are you going just stand there?”

“Stop moving pieces.” His stern voice causes me to stop.

“I give you five seconds, and don’t you ever yell at me…”

He ignores my comment and steps around me. “I got it.”

The old black couple, who looks as if they are on a Sunday stroll, arrives at the table next to us. The older man pokes his head at our board. “What do we have here?” he asks. I notice a slight accent, not sure of its origin. With salt-and-pepper hair, a thin frame, and a satisfied smile on his face, the man must be in his early sixties and appears happy to just be out of the house.

Roberto points at the board. “It’s the Marriott, the courtyard fountain from the reception last night.”

I take another look at the pieces. Him saying it makes it easy to see. “How the hell…” I start.

“Artist, remember?” he says and steps to one side of the table, the pieces flying. “Sometimes the fastest move is to do nothing and observe.”

I ignore his new age nonsense, his words sounding much like Zion’s back in the office.

He nods to the far side of the table. “Can you work that side?”

His voice carries a softness that wasn’t there a moment ago. I step to the table and push pieces around, the foundation quickly taking shape. I lean over the table. “You didn’t have to tell them.” I quirk my neck toward the old couple working next to us. They are humming to one another, making quick work of the design. The wife is African American with honey-brown skin, silver-gray hair pulled back in a bun, and a permanent warm smile on her face. “This is a competition, after all. There is some life-changing money on the line.”

He doesn’t look up from the board. We are down to one troublesome piece. “He asked.”

I wait to see if there’s more to his response, but there’s not. “Do you mind?” It took a minute, but the research of how to move one piece on a slide puzzle from one point on the board to another without disturbing the rest of the design returns. “Get ready to run.”

Four slides later, we are finished.

“Finish the first challenge first, check.” He mocks my obsession with checklists. “I shouldn’t have ever doubted you’d come prepared.”

“Shut up and run.”

We don’t jog back at the breakneck pace of our arrival but with a steadier gait. The other teams are still working on the puzzle, and with our running ability, no one is going to catch us. We reach the backpacks, and I hear Gabby holler in the distance. “Go Checklists. Go get that money.”

I laugh, surprised to be enjoying the moment. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. I scoop up the clue and notice the size of Roberto’s bag. “What the hell do you have in there, the goddamn kitchen sink?” His black backpack is easily the largest of all the packs on the ground. I shake my head. “Never mind, I’ll declutter it at our next stop. And you were supposed to pick a color other than black or navy blue. Those are the most common colors and could make you pause for up to five seconds to make sure you’ve grabbed the right bag. Every second counts.”

He snatches the clue from my hand. “Then why are we wasting them berating me.” He rips the clue open, then glances at me before handing it to me. “LAX, let’s go. We’re flying to San Francisco.”

I shift the bag over my shoulder and attempt to read the full clue as we make our way to the parked SUVs.

“Sweet.” Roberto’s voice snaps me out to the row of Honda CRVs. “Do you have a preference in car color, or am I allowed to pick?”

I lift the trunk of the white one. “Red gets noticed by the police if we speed. Besides that, the only rule is to grab the one closest to the exit.” I toss my backpack in and hop in the driver’s seat. I reread the instructions as he closes the trunk and slips into the shotgun seat. “There are only two flights we can take. Only three seats have been reserved on the first Delta flight. The remaining teams need to take the second flight, which leaves forty-five minutes behind the first one. Let’s go.”

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