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When the meal is ready, I taste it without really tasting it, but compliment the chef nevertheless.
“So,” I say, unsure how to bring up the topic of yesterday. “The treasure hunt was sure a hoot. Right?”
Grr. That was pathetic.
But hey, Evan smiles, so that’s something. “It really was,” he says. “And if you’re not feeling too hungover, I’d like to continue. Maybe head over to Marianna?”
So that’s how he’s playing it? Avoiding the topic.
He looks at me worriedly. “Is it too soon?”
“I guess I could go,” I say. “But no drinking.”
Evan winces. “Not even if I had a gun to my head.”
“Do you think you can drive smoothly?” I ask. “A bump on the road might just make my brain explode.”
“I’ll be like that song,” he says. “A smooth operator.”
A song about a man who is good at playing women? Is Evan giving me a hint about last night?
As we eat our meal, I don’t dare ask, and he doesn’t volunteer any answers. Instead, we simply learn more about each other—and the same is true on the drive to our next treasure map destination.
I learn who Evan’s first kiss was, and he learns about Brian, the horror show that was my first boyfriend. I tell him about my friends, and he tells me about his, as well as his dad.
The whole car ride, I keep thinking that if I wanted to come clean about Reagan, this would be the perfect chance, but I can’t bring myself to do so.
“Why here?” Evan asks when we pull up to the parking lot near the entrance to the famous caverns.
“Because one of the clues was the year soda was invented,” I explain.
Evan arches an eyebrow.
I sigh. “This place has something called the Soda Straw Room.”
“Ah.”
Evan gets us a private tour to make sure we can do the sleuthing once underground. Our tour guide, with his long, shaggy hair, looks exactly like a Puli… or Reagan for that matter.
Actually, no. Reagan doesn’t look like a Puli at all. In fact, no one has bred a dog cute enough to compare with my son. If they ever do, they’ll make billions.
I’m startled out of my reverie by the tour guide’s booming tone. I glance at Evan. Once again, I feel like we’re on a date—and a nice one at that. Between the cool underground air, the drip of water, and the majestic stalactites and stalagmites, I half expect to see Tolkien dwarves just around the corner—and I love every second of it.
The problem is, when we reach the Soda Straw Room (named that on account of all the tubular stalactites), there are no clues anywhere—and we look, hard.
“Maybe you’ll want to check out some of our other famous spots?” the Puli suggests when we give up and look disappointed.
It doesn’t hurt to check, so we let him take us around as he explains what each place is called and why. The tour turns out to be awesome, of course, but again, no clues are to be found in either the Great Room, the Drapery Room, or anywhere else.
“Ready to give up?” Evan asks when the Puli takes us back to the gift shop. “Or should I book another tour?”
“No. This is Flagler College all over again. I’m starting to think you chose the wrong person to help you with the hunt.”
Evan shakes his head. “You’re doing much better than I did. Besides, we’ve got two more locations to check out.”
“Fair.” I step outside and wait for Evan to join me.
“How’s your headache?” he asks after he exits. “I’m not sure if it was the cave air, Dad’s cure, the food, or simply time, but mine is completely gone.”
