A Beginner's Guide to the American West ✓

chapter forty

"I beg to differ," Klara says. "Twelve to sixteen-year-olds are the scariest. They're so loud and confident."

We all give her a look at that. Kristin scoffs. Her twin is the loudest and most confident person I've met.

Arjun traces his thumb over the back of my hand. "You know you're gonna give Flo a heart attack. It's adorable, and slightly terrifying, that she's so obsessed with the thought of us being together, but she might actually collapse when she sees that."

"It might shut her up for a while." I stretch out my arms and screw up my face in a yawn, and I lift my legs to rest my feet on Arjun's knees.

"What do I do to shut you up for a while?"

"Oh, I think you know." I give him a wink. He purses his lips. Klara screws up her nose.

"Come on, guys. Keep it in your pants. We only have twenty-four hours left together." She claps her hands and hauls herself to her feet, and she stands behind me to push my shoulder. "Time to make the most of our time here."

*

After a ten-minute walk, we end up at the Japanese tea gardens within the park and as much as I'd love to just chill by the pond and take a nap, the twins have other plans. We walk for another ten minutes to a bus stop on the north side of the park, thanks to Kristin's flawless directions, and we drag ourselves onto a bus that takes half an hour to carry us to the Palace of Fine Arts.

The route takes us via the Golden Gate Bridge viewing point, where the sky is a little greyer and a little foggier, the top of the bridge barely visible. We seem to have arrived at a good time earlier, when there was still a hint of blue. It's still hot, but it's a thick, grey heat.

I have to take a break when we make it to the palace, which looks more like some kind of old ruin set on the edge of the Presidio National Park. My ankle's playing up, twinging a little with each step because I should probably be resting it for another couple of weeks, rather than traipsing up and down San Francisco.

With a huff, I shrug off my bag, sit down on a bench, and stick out my leg. Arjun stands behind me with his hands on my shoulders, his thumbs kneading my skin in a moment of silence. I tip my head back against his stomach and close my eyes; he brushes my hair off my forehead and he leans over me to kiss the space between my eyebrows.

It feels like forever that we stay like that. It's probably only a minute or two before he steps over the bench to sit next to me, slinging his arm around my shoulders and draping his hand over my chest, and he rests his temple against mine.

"How's your ankle?" Arjun asks, breaking the silence with his soft murmur.

"It's been better." I roll it round and round, slow and steady, and wince when it starts to ache again. "It's been worse, too, but I don't think I'm quite ready for too much city stomping yet."

"Maybe you should be on bed rest."

His words may be innocent but his tone isn't; it puts a sly smile on my lips.

"You've certainly got something on your mind."

"Can you blame me?" His lips are close to my ear; I feel his stubble bristle against my jaw and my fingers move to touch my itchy skin where his prickly facial hair tickles me. Arjun rubs his chin. "I know, I need a shave."

"I kind of like it."

"You'll have to," he says with a laugh. "I think I lost my razor back in Yosemite. Unless you have one I can borrow?"

I cluck my tongue and run a hand over my hairless jaw. "Apparently my face never got the whole puberty memo," I joke. "Maybe someday I'll grow enough hair to shave but until then, I don't have a razor to be borrowed."