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“I did use my degree.” He licks his pop, which is extremely distracting. “You’ve got to give people a product that makes them feel like a part of the tribe. A foodie tribe, in this case.”
“More like a Japanese food addict’s tribe.” I dodge a leaflet-carrying pirate. “More importantly, how would you even turn deep-fried—not to mention breaded—chicken into an ice pop?”
“Blend it with milk first?” He shrugs. “I’m just the marketing guy. I’d leave it to the chef to figure that part out.”
We turn from St. George Street onto a small park, where Evan gives me a choice: check out some famous spots first or head to the college.
I choose to sightsee, and we swing by three places: Cathedral Basilica, the Casa Monica Hotel, and the Lightner Museum. As a result, I now have a new vision for my dream wedding: a ceremony at that cathedral with a reception in the courtyard of the museum, followed by a honeymoon at that hotel.
Yeah, right. That’s as likely as Evan being the groom.
“Ready?” Evan gestures at a gorgeous castle-like building across the street from the museum.
I nod, and we cross the street. I scan my surroundings, channeling my inner Robert Langdon… to no avail. As far as this campus goes, I don’t see any clues—just amazing photo opportunities, especially by the fountain in the courtyard.
“Can we go inside the building?” I ask.
Evan says yes, and we go in. Instantly, I feel like I’ve been magically teleported to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
“Wow.” I gape at the domed ceiling. “Maybe your grandfather was right to plant the clue here.”
Speaking of the clue… I intensely study the paintings, run my hand along the wooden rails to feel for any nicks or scratches, and pore over the patterns on the floor, trying to decipher if they have any meaning.
Nope. I still have no idea where the clue is hidden, or whether it even exists.
“I can get you farther into the building,” Evan says when I complain. “I still have connections here.”
“Yes, please.”
A tour guide takes us through the library, dining hall, and various common areas, all beautifully adorned with either mosaic floors, stained glass windows, or gorgeous chandeliers. After a few hours of searching every nook and cranny for clues and badgering our poor tour guide with a million questions, I officially give up. As a consolation prize, Evan offers to take me to a restaurant that makes everything from scratch with seasonal ingredients and local produce.
“I just don’t get it,” I say as our Maltese-looking waitress leaves our orders in front of us. “Could it be that I didn’t crack your grandpa’s code properly?”
Evan shrugs. “Maybe you need to decode the rest of the paper?”
Great idea. I pull out said paper and get to work—only to learn that the next string of numbers is a completely different location elsewhere in Florida: the Vizcaya Museum and Gardens in Miami.
Hmm. Using my phone, I learn what I can about the spot in question, but all that gets me is a desire to visit.
“We can drive down there tomorrow,” Evan says when I tell him what I’ve found. “We can stay at my friend’s house overnight.”
Overnight? It sounds tempting for all the wrong reasons.
“Let me see where else these clues point to,” I say instead, ignoring my delicious-smelling food as I continue decoding.
Aha. The next line of numbers leads to the Sunken Gardens in St. Petersburg, and the one last line corresponds to the Florida Caverns State Park in Marianna.
“How are these connected?” I ask, frowning.
Evan glances at our quickly cooling meals. “Any chance you’ll start eating soon, so I can join you?”
Oh, crap, I didn’t even notice he was being a gentleman.
I put a forkful of risotto into my mouth. “Damn. That’s really good.”
Evan reaches with his fork. “Mind if I try it?”
I flush. Somehow, his words sound sexual.
