Emma swung around and stared. Nisha Banerjee, dressed in a high-neck black dress and snakeskin heels, stood by a huge photograph of a mostly naked man. Her father was next to her, glancing around with a blank look on his face.

“Oh my God,” Emma whispered. Just then, Nisha turned and stared right at her and Ethan. A chicken satay skewer dangled from her fingers, forgotten.

“Come on.” Before she could think, Emma grabbed Ethan’s hand and pulled him through the crowd. She ditched her champagne flute in a big trash barrel and wound around the guests, nearly upending a waitress’s tray of cheese puffs. A man in a blue ruffled suit and a teal cowboy hat sneered at them over his martini, as though they were two children escaping the scene of a schoolyard scuffle. But Mr. Tuxedo opened the double doors for them placidly, as though he saw people fleeing from art openings all the time. They scurried down the stairs into the twinkling Tucson night.

Only when Emma had safely reached the street did she turn around to see if Nisha had followed them. There was no one at the entrance.

Ethan straightened his jacket and wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. All of a sudden, Emma burst into giggles. Ethan chuckled, too.

After a moment, she grew serious. “Nisha definitely saw us.” Emma flopped on a green city bench and heaved a sigh.

“Who cares?” Ethan asked. He sat down, too.

“I care,” Emma answered. “She’ll tell my parents I snuck out.”

“Are you sure that’s all that’s bothering you?” Ethan glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “You wouldn’t mind if she saw us . . . together?”

Emma’s stomach flipped over. “No, of course not. Would you?”

Ethan stared at her without blinking. “What do you think?”

Jazz music drifted out from the party. Across the street, a stray cat darted between the tires of a parked car. Ethan moved a little closer so that their legs touched. Emma wanted so badly to kiss him, but her body trembled with nerves.

“Ethan . . .” She turned away.

Ethan laid his hands in his lap. “Okay, am I misinterpreting things?” He sounded both sheepish and annoyed. “Because sometimes it seems like you really want to . . . you know. But then you always pull back.”

“It’s . . . complicated,” Emma said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“How?”

Emma bit her fingernail. She’d always wanted a serious boyfriend. Back in Vegas, she’d even named a star in the sky the Boyfriend Star, hoping it was a sign that she’d finally meet the person with whom she was meant to be. But now she was torn.