Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
As I exit the car, there’s a tiny dark cloud over my head, and a voice whispering: What if someone sees you? How are you going to explain this?
I talk back to that voice. This is friendship. We’re behaving like friends.
I believe it. Mostly. But when Leighton comes back downstairs in a hoodie and white sneakers, looking effortlessly cute, I’m not thinking friendly thoughts.
This is just a casual outing, I remind myself. Nothing more. But with her looking at me like she’s glad I asked her to hang out, smiling that way like this is what she wanted tonight too…friendship feels like a line I’m barely toeing.
At least I’m not acting on my non-friendly thoughts though. There’s that, and I’ll hold onto that little detail so damn hard.
She gestures to the sidewalk. “All right, what have you got?”
“One of the guys from my geocache club mentioned there’s a cool cache at the nearby park.”
She holds up a hand, blinking. “Wait. Did you just say geocache club?”
“Yes,” I say tentatively.
She snickers. “That’s adorable.”
I scoff. “It’s not adorable.”
She scoffs back at me. “No, Miles. That’s literally the definition of adorable. The big, bad hockey player hanging out with a geocache club.”
“One, we don’t hang out. We cache,” I point out, but that only makes her snort-laugh harder. “And two, thank you—I’ll take big and bad in that compliment sandwich.”
“It wasn’t a sandwich. There’s nothing wrong with adorable,” she says.
I set a hand on her back. “Enough with the adorable. I’m not adorable.”
“You hunt for urban treasure with a group of other hobbyists. Just accept your adorableness.”
I heave an over-the-top sigh. “Let’s go, Shutterbug,” I say, checking my geocaching app. “If you say adorable again, I might have to spank you.”
She wiggles her brows and for a second, or several, I’m a little lost in the intoxicating image I walked right into. Judging from her eager expression she is too. But then she seems to shake it off.
“Okay. Let’s check out that park. It’s pretty cool. The clubhouse has a living roof,” she says as we walk along her quiet block—a little alley tucked away from Hayes Valley’s main drag. Trees line the street, shading colorful building after colorful building—some pastel yellow, some baby pink, some mint green. “Solar heating, too, and parts of the playground are made from recycled pieces of an old playground.”
I shoot her a curious look. “How do you know all that?”
“I took photos when they revamped it last year,” she says.
“The park hired you?”
She smirks. “Don’t act so surprised.”
“I’m not. I’m kind of amazed, actually. You’re only twenty-four, and you’ve photographed so much already.”
She stops, turning those sharp blue eyes on me. “Are you good with having a friend ten years younger?”
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 about making 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, and tucked 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.”