"All these colors, this energy. This is how I imagine it feels to be in your head. Bright, complex, always moving."
The comment catches me off guard. No one has ever said anything like that to me before. Ethan certainly never bothered to imagine what went on in my mind.
When we finally remember to take our polaroid, Bash insists we don't just snap a quick proof shot. Instead, he asks another visitor to take the picture, then pulls me into his arms, one hand cradling my face.
"Make it a good one," he tells the stranger with a wink.
When he kisses me, the competitive tension I've been carrying all morning melts away. I forget about Ethan, about winning, about everything except the feeling of Bash's lips against mine, surrounded by swirling rainbow light.
The camera clicks, and the polaroid slides out. As it develops, we watch our silhouettes appear—two figures wrapped in each other's arms, surrounded by a halo of rainbow colors. It's beautiful. Real.
"This one's not for the scavenger hunt," Bash says, tucking it carefully into his jacket pocket. "This one's just for us."
I smile up at him, struck by the realization that winning suddenly doesn't seem as important as it did an hour ago. Being here, with him, experiencing this moment—that feels like the real prize.
We take a second polaroid for the hunt, then reluctantly leave the exhibition, removing our booties at the exit.
"So, what's the next clue?" Bash asks as we head toward the elevator.
I pull the sealed envelope from my pocket and tear it open.
"'Where gingerbread lives in a house of its own, and hot cider flows like a river. Bring back a treat that's shaped like a tree, and your points will be sure to deliver.'"
"The Christmas market in the square," Bash answers immediately. "They have this gingerbread house display every year, and the best hot cider in town."
I grin, competitive spirit returning, but tempered now. "See? This is why we make a good team. I know art, you know food and drink."
"Among other things," he says with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows that makes me laugh.
As we exit the museum, I spot Emily and my dad rushing toward the entrance, looking frazzled.
"Hey, slowpokes!" I call out, waving our polaroid triumphantly.
Emily sticks her tongue out at me. "Dad got us lost!"
"I did not get us lost," my father protests. "I took a scenic route."
"Through Nebraska, apparently," Emily mutters.
Bash and I laugh as we head to our car.
In this moment hand-in-hand with a ma `n who makes my heart race for reasons that have nothing to do with my competitiveness I realize I don't just want to win the scavenger hunt.
I want to win at whatever this is becoming between us.
And that thought is more terrifying than any competition.
Laughter echoes through the great room as everyone sprawls across couches and armchairs, displaying their scavenger hunt treasures. My dad's reading glasses perch on the end of his nose as he examines a checklist, while Mom passes around hot chocolate with a generous splash of Bailey's.
"Well, I've verified all the clues and tallied the points," Dad announces, looking up with the self-importance of a game show host. "And our winners, with all twelve clues completed in record time, are..."
I squeeze Bash's hand, holding my breath even though I already know we're not victorious. We'd gotten distracted at the art museum, then spent too long debating which Christmas tree cookie was aesthetically superior at the market. Those stolen moments together were worth more than winning, but my competitive side still twitches with anticipation.
"Ethan and Olivia!"
Dad hands them two small gift bags containing what I know are custom-made silver bracelets—the traditional scavenger hunt prize. Ethan pumps his fist while Olivia accepts hers with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"Congratulations," I say, summoning genuine sportsmanship from somewhere deep within me. "You guys really crushed it."
