“Oh my God,” I say and point my phone at him, recording without missing a beat. “Oh my God.”

“How do I get it off me?” Emmitt asks, his entire face turning red. “How—”

The frog ribbits.

I laugh again, the sound so loud it startles even me.

“Samina,” he says, but there’s a reluctant smile on his face now, too, as if he didn’t intend for it. “Please help me.”

Another giggle escapes me, but I oblige, moving forward until I’m in front of him. “Only because you said please.”

I lean onto my tiptoes, wrapping my fingers around the frog. It’s slimy in my grip, and I kind of want to gag, but I imagine it would feel much worse if it was sitting in my hair. “Got it,” I say, and abruptly realize how close my face is to Emmitt’s.

He stares at me, his eyes warm, and I’m immobilized, my breath caught in my throat.

Emmitt’s gaze drops to my mouth, and for a delirious moment, I sway closer. He catches me by the waist, his hand warm through the flimsy fabric of my T-shirt.

“Love,” he says quietly, and it almost seems like he’s going to lean in—

The frog ribbits again.

We both jump apart, and the frog wriggles in my grip. I release my hold on it, and it hops away, croaking as it goes.

I laugh nervously, willing my face not to warm. I don’t think it’s working. “Hopefully no more frogs jump on you.”

“Yeah,” Emmitt says faintly, but his cheeks are also bright with color. Whether it’s leftover from before or new because of the...incident, I can only guess. “Hopefully.”

An awkward silence ensues.

I turn around, walking toward the arch instead, wondering what the hell I’m even doing. Why was I just about to kiss Emmitt? Why was I about to let Emmitt kiss me? Have I dropped into an alternate universe?

Behind me, Emmitt resumes taking photographs, his camera whirring loudly in the quiet.

“Oh my God, are you Emmitt Ramos?” a shrill voice says.

I blink and slowly turn around again. A girl with platinum-blond hair is looking up at Emmitt with wide eyes, her fingers tight around the iced drink in her hand.

Not too far from us, a family of four—with the same platinum blond hair—watches on curiously.

Emmitt sighs, lowering his camera. “Yes. But I’m not taking any pictures at this time.”

For some reason, my eyes narrow into slits. It seems I’m not the only person he says that to.

The girl doesn’t look bothered. “That’s okay. It’s an honor just to meet you.” She grins, reaching up to twirl a strand of her hair around her finger. “You’re even more handsome in person.”

Emmitt offers her a smile—one I can clearly read as fake—and says, “Thanks, love.”

Love?