He whistled, and all the animals seemed to flow in a wave to one side of the yard. Squatting down in the part of the yard they’d cleared out of, he started poking at whatever was left of the grass. “Do you know what love is, Cullie?”
She should have run for her life, but it was like being hypnotized, this compulsion to see what he was going to do next. We’re on a date! And you’re scooping poop! she wanted to scream, but screaming meant breathing, and that meant inhaling.
“Love is accepting the ugliest parts of those you love.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Also, generally, she couldn’t argue, because that too involved breathing.
He scooped up an alarmingly large lump and brought it to his nose.
“Oh my God!” Cullie jumped off the bench. Iguanas or no iguanas.
“Love is knowing your pets so well you can identify their excrement by smell alone!”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not what love is. But please don’t do that.”
He held up another vile lump, and nausea washed over Cullie like a tidal wave. “This is Maisey’s. It has a faint smell of corn. Maisey likes—”
That was it. She was running. She heard barking break out behind her, but she hadn’t taken a breath in too long, and her head was going to explode.
She ran through the house and into the front yard. By the time she was in her car, survival had kicked in. Tires screeching, she fled.
Until she pulled into the parking lot of Binji’s building, she’d had not one single thought but Run, Cullie, run!
Breathe, she told herself. It’s safe. You’re safe. There’s no smell here. You can breathe. But the moment she sucked in a breath, the smell was everywhere again, filling her nose, her brain. She needed a shower desperately. Jumping out of the car, she broke into a run.
And ran headlong into someone who appeared out of nowhere. Someone who most certainly did not share her loathing for the gym.
It was like bouncing off pure muscle. She landed on her butt on the hot blacktop, the impact jolting through her. He, of course, had caught his balance, as gym rats everywhere were wont to do.
He leaned over and gave her a hand. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.” He had an accent that sounded a little like her father’s.
She let him pull her to her feet, but there was something on her shoe, and she slipped—much like someone in this stupid rom-com she was suddenly stuck inside. True to the theme, he grabbed her elbows and steadied her.
Before she could pull away, the fresh scent of him hit her, the impact even harder than when she’d bounced off him with her entire body. It was like sunshine on a rainy day, like water in a desert, like all the bad similes in every love song ever. She almost pressed her nose into him and sucked up the smell, desperate for relief.
It took her a moment to realize he was doing the same. Well, he was sniffing in her general direction. The difference was that he wasn’t having a set-me-free-with-your-scent moment. He was having a what-the-hell-is-that-stench moment.
“What on earth is that smell?” he asked, scrunching his nose.
She pulled away, because in their olfactory exchange she’d forgotten that he was still holding her.
Crap, she’d probably stepped in something while running across the yard to make her escape.
“It smells like diarrhea from eating rotten fish.”
That did it. All the nausea that had been roiling inside Cullie rose up her throat. Running to the closest flower bed, she bent over and brought up her guts. Then went on bringing them up until she felt like someone had scraped her insides with steel wool.
The nice-smelling guy with the soothing accent was still there when she was done. Great, he’d witnessed the entire thing. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought he’d actually stroked her back as she retched. Now he magically retrieved a bottle of water from his backpack.
Tapping the cap to show her it was a fresh bottle, he twisted it open and offered it to her.
She drank. Her throat was raw from the force of her throwing up.
“Maybe we should wash that off.” He pointed at her shoe, and another wave of nausea squeezed her stomach.
“Yes, please.” Pressing her sleeve into her nose, she poured water on her shoe and imagined Gaurav Amin smelling it to decipher which dog it belonged to.
When she looked up he was smiling, because she was laughing.
“Want to share the joke?”
“You don’t want to know,” she said, then added, “Thank you. And sorry. I learned quite a lesson today.”
He gave her a curious look. “A hangover doesn’t go well with the smell of poop?”
It was barely eight in the evening. How did he figure that math? “I wish it were a hangover.”
“Words I’ve never heard anyone say.” He smiled, and an aggressive dimple sank into one cheek. It stunned her so much, she didn’t smile back.
This seemed to hit him hard. Something rippled through him then, turning him suddenly serious. “I’m sorry. I’m . . .” His eyes dipped to her collarbone, searching for something. “If you’re sick, that was really insensitive of me.”
“I’m not sick.”
He looked shaken, so she reached out and touched his hand. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, yes.” His smile was back, the wave of pain gone from his eyes. He shook his head as though reprimanding himself. “You’re the one who just emptied her guts. I should be asking you that question.”
“I’m not sick, and I haven’t been drinking. But you wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”
“There must be something in the water,” he said, mouth twisting in an oddly familiar way. Had she met him before? “I’m not having a whole lot of luck with my day either.”
“Did you go on a date with someone who made you smell dog poop?”
The laugh that spurted from him was so sudden, it sprayed her. “I’m so sorry,” he said, embarrassment suffusing his expressive face, and rushed to extract wet wipes from his backpack.
She had the odd urge to hug him. “That’s okay. You won’t believe the things I’ve encountered today.” A little spittle was nothing. But seeing him pulling out wet wipes restored her faith in humanity. And hygiene.
“Did you say your date made you smell dog poop?” His large, thickly lashed eyes widened with shock.
She put the wipes to good use, scrubbing her hands so hard they turned pink. “Yup, he can identify his dogs by the smell of their poop.” She started laughing, and he joined in.
Their laughter vibrated together, tapering off into awkwardness when they remembered they were strangers.
“You win.” He swallowed and pointed at the flower bed she’d thrown up in. “It all makes sense now. Where did you meet this specimen?”
“Long story, but I found him on Twinge.”
“Maybe use a different dating app next time?”
“Really weird that you say that. Which one do you use?”
The awkwardness was back in the way he studied her. How were they talking about dating apps like old friends?
“I’ve never used one.” He sounded offended. Oh my God, he was vain. “Never needed one.” Yup, vain as hell.