Page 84 of People We Meet on Vacation

He arches an eyebrow but gets into the passenger seat. I open my GPS and enter the first address on the list for the “self-guided architecture tour of Palm Springs.”

“It’s... a hotel,” Alex says, confused, when we pull up to the funky angular building with its flagstone siding and orange-outlined sign.

“The Del Marcos Hotel,” I say.

“Is there... a steel dinosaur inside?” he asks.

I frown. “I don’t think so. But this whole neighborhood, the Tennis Club neighborhood, is supposed to be full of all these ridiculously amazing buildings.”

“Ah,” he says, like that’s all he can muster in the way of enthusiasm.

My stomach drops as I punch in the next address. We drive around for two hours, stop for a cheap dinner (which we drag out for another hour because Cold Air), and when we return to the car,Alex cuts me off at the driver’s-side door. “Poppy,” he says pleadingly.

“Alex,” I say.

“You can drive if you want,” he says, “but I’m getting a little carsick, and I don’t know if I can take seeing any more strangers’ mansions today.”

“But you love architecture,” I say pathetically.

His brow furrows, his eyes narrow. “I... what?”

“In New Orleans,” I say, “you just walked around pointing at, like, windows the whole time. I thought you loved this kind of thing.”

“Pointing at windows?”

I throw my arms out to my sides. “I don’t know! You just, like... fuckinglovedlooking at buildings!”

He lets out a fatigued laugh. “I believe you,” he says. “Maybe I do love architecture. I don’t know. I’m just... really tired and hot.”

I scramble to get my phone out of my purse. There’s still no word from Nikolai. We cannot go back to that apartment. “What about the air museum?”

When I look up, he’s studying me, head tilted and eyes still narrow. He runs a hapless hand through his hair and glances away for a second, sets his hand on his hip. “It’s, like, seven o’clock, Poppy,” he says. “I don’t think it’s going to be open.”

I sigh, deflating. “You’re right.” I cross back to the passenger seat and flop down, feeling defeated as Alex starts the car.

Fifteen miles down the road, we get a flat tire.

“Oh, god,” I groan as Alex pulls off to the side of the road.

“There’s probably a spare,” he says.

“And you know how to put that on?” I say.

“Yes. I know how to put that on.”

“Mr. Homeowner,” I say, trying to sound playful. Turns out Itoo am deeply grumpy and that’s how my voice portrays me. Alex ignores the comment and gets out of the car.

“Do you need help?” I ask.

“Might need you to shine a light,” he says. “It’s starting to get dark.”

I follow him to the back of the car. He pops the hatch door, moves some of the mats around, and swears. “No spare.”

“This car aspires to destroy our lives,” I say, and kick the side of the car. “Shit, I’m going to have to buy this girl a new tire, aren’t I?”

Alex sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “We’ll split it.”

“No, that’s not what I was... I wasn’t saying that.”

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