“What can I get you?” a voice asks. I turn and find Sudoku Boy standing right next to our table. Right. Coffee place. Where people consume beverages.

“Iced tea, please.”

He walks away without a word and I look at Ian once again. I’m itching to text Mara. Your cousin looks like a slightly jacked version of Prince Harry. Maybe you should have kept in touch?

“So.” I cross my hands and lean my elbows on the table. “What does she have on you?”

He tilts his head. “She?”

“Great-Aunt Delphina.” He blinks twice. I smile and continue, “I mean, it’s a Thursday afternoon. You’re in California for a handful of days. I’m sure you have something better to do than meet up with your long-lost cousin’s friend.”

His eyes widen for a split second. Then his expression levels back to neutral. “It’s fine.”

“Is it an embarrassing baby pic?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t mind helping out.”

“I see. A baby video, then?”

He’s silent for a moment before saying, “As I said, it’s not a problem.” He looks like he isn’t used to people pushing him, which is unsurprising. There is something subtly removed about him. Vaguely distant and intimidating. Like he’s not quite reachable. It makes me want to get closer and poke.

“A baby video of you . . . running around in the kiddie pool? Picking your nose? Rummaging around the back of your diaper?”

“I—”

Sudoku Boy drops off my iced tea in a plastic cup. Ian’s eyes follow him for a few seconds, then return to mine with an interesting mix of stoic resignation. “It was more of a toddler video,” he says cautiously, like he’s surprising even himself.

“Ah.” I grin into my tea. It’s both too sweet and too sour. With a subtle aftertaste of gross. “Do tell.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Oh, I’m positive I do.”

“It’s bad.”

“You’re really selling it to me.”

The left corner of his mouth curves upward, a small hint of amusement that’s not quite fully there yet. I have an odd stray thought: I bet his smile is lopsided. Beautiful, too. “The video was taken at a Lowe’s. With my older brother’s new camcorder, sometime in the late ’90s,” he tells me.

“At a Lowe’s? Can’t be that bad, then.”

He sighs, impassive. “I was around three or four. And they had one of those bathroom displays. The ones with model sinks and showers and vanities. And toilets, naturally.”

I press my lips together. This is going to be fun. “Naturally.”

“I don’t really remember what happened, but apparently I needed to use the restroom. And when I saw the display I was . . . inspired.”

“No way.”

“In my defense, I was very young.”

He scratches his nose, and I laugh. “Oh my God.”

“With no concept of sewage systems.”

“Right. Sure. Honest mistake.” I cannot stop laughing. “How did Great-Aunt Delphina get a copy of the video?”

“Officially: unclear. But I’m fairly sure my brother made CDs of it. Sent them to local TV stations and whatnot.” He gestures vaguely, and his forearm is dusted with freckles and pale-red hair. I want to grab his wrist, hold it in front of my eyes, study it at my leisure. Trace, smell, touch. “I haven’t spent a holiday with the Floyd side of the family in twenty years, but I’m told that the video is a source of great entertainment for all age groups at Thanksgiving.”