“Just tell me.”
I dip back onto my heels. “A parade. Or a procession or something. The bridge is blocked off.”
“Of course it is,” she says.
I search the area, and my gaze lands on a little shop with souvenir displays under a canopy. “Can you let the others know we’ll be late while I grab an umbrella over there?”
“I’d love to, Austin. I really would. But you may remember how my phone got stolen recently?”
I pull cash out of my phone case and hand the phone to her, wishing I got to see her reaction when she sees my lockscreen is the photo of us at the Prague meet-and-greet. “Right. Use that. Passcode is 111111.” I jog over to the closest souvenir shop and grab a cheap umbrella. “How much?”
“Eleven euros,” the shop owner responds.
He’s absolutely scamming me, but I don’t even care right now. I hand him a twenty and run back to Mia, who’s poring over the map app.
“I’d like to speak with the city planners,” she says. “How can there be so many bridges, yet we have to walk an extra ten minutes when this particular one happens to be closed?” She hands me the phone, and I switch her for the umbrella.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to mess things up.”
She shakes her head. “I know. You were trying to help, and I appreciate it.”
“I got outrun by a teenager.”
She wrinkles her nose and uses the umbrella to shield us. “Probably the wind resistance from that thick shirt. And hey, on the bright side, I’m seeing more of Venice than I expected. As long as we make it for dessert and fireworks, I’m good.”
I put out my pinky. “I promise we’ll make it for dessert and fireworks.”
She meets my gaze for a second, then hooks her pinky around mine.
The rhythm of rain on the umbrella quickens significantly, and we share a look that saysjust our luck. But I promised Mia dessert and fireworks, and I’m a man of my word.
“This way,” I say, and we shuffle out of the crowd, Mia holding the umbrella high enough not to put anyone’s eye out.
Even once the crowds lighten up, we’re shoulder to shoulder to stay under the protection of the umbrella. I consider wrapping my arm around Mia’s waist—to conserve space, you know?—but I don’t. I value my life too much.
We reach a short bridge over one of the smaller canals we’ve seen. On the other side, a few people take shelter under a colonnade, and I guide us toward them.
“Let’s see if the rain dies down,” I say.
She hesitates. She’s skeptical, which I get. This doesn’t look like rain that’s considering lightening up. But I’ve seen this sort of thing pass in a matter of minutes, leading to clear skies and a rainbow.
I duck out from under the umbrella, which isn’t necessary now that we’re under a covered walkway, and walk over to the two guys chatting with each other in quick Italian. They’re both wearing black and white striped shirts and flat-brim straw hats. Gondoliers, which means they probably speak decent English.
“Excuse me,” I say, and they both turn toward me. “Does the rain usually last long?” I point to the downpour a few feet away.
They both shake their heads.
One holds up five fingers. “Five minutes.”
“Great, thanks.” I hurry to Mia and report on the new forecast.
“What does the weather app say?” she asks.
“What?” I say loudly, pointing to my ears. “I can’t hear you over the 30% chance of rain.”
She laughs reluctantly.
“We’ll just wait a few minutes,” I say. “Don’t worry. You’ll have your dessert and fireworks.”
