Bradley froze and furrowed his brow at Rafa. “No cameraman? I was hoping to talk to him about some shots I’d like to get of the expedition.”
Rafa rolled his eyes internally. “I’ll be doing all the camerapersonwork.” He swung around the camera bag slung over his shoulder to show him. And Rafa didn’t take direction from his subjects. “Are you the project lead?”
Bradley stood taller as the start of a smile formed in the corners of his mouth. “Actually…” He paused as if realizing he was about to say something he shouldn’t before continuing, “I have a good eye for this sort of thing, that’s all.”
And Rafaespeciallydidn’t take direction from try-hardnobodies like Bradley. If the project lead had a special request, Rafa might try to accommodate it so long as it didn’t look staged, but not for this guy.
“Good thing I’ve got an eye for it, too. I’ll let you know if I ever need help.”
In other words,never.
Bradley’s eyes narrowed at him. Probably not the best idea to make enemies right away, but Rafa also didn’t care to launch this job with Dr. Quinn here setting unrealistic expectations. Things usually worked out better when Rafa didn’t tell people how to do their jobs and vice versa. Because, guaranteed, Rafa knew way more about photography thanBradthe archaeologist.
“All right, everyone,” Anissa announced loudly. “Please grab a plate and then take your seats so we can get started.”
“Later,” Rafa said, slapping his hand against Brad’s arm and heading over to the buffet.
The group formed two lines, one on either side of the buffet table, loading their plates with delicious local fare. Rafa was famished, having eaten nothing except a packet of airline snack mix on the plane in the last several hours—he was saving Miri’s M&M’s for an emergency. Or maybe for sharing with her later.
He piled up his plate, focused on the food in front of him and ignoring all the chatter of the team and their clattering plates as they worked their way down the line. Potatoes, skewers of meat, empanadas, rice alongside some dark, thick sauce…he wanted it all, despite already sensing the meat sweats coming on. But he needed to set a solid base if he was going to be getting drinks with Miri. Last thing he needed was to get hammered on an almost empty stomach.
“Jeez, Miriam. Take a little longer, would ya?” a man’s voice called out.
Miriam?
Rafa glanced up and found himself staring at the woman who seconds earlier had invaded his thoughts. Freshly showered, with her wet hair pinned in the back of her head, she wore a dark blue T-shirt that matched the color of the bra he’d lied about not having seen. And held a plate of food that rivaled his own. She made a face at the person beside her—Brad, of course—took a ladle of the brown sauce, and brought it over to her plate.
“Miri?” Rafa spoke.
She looked up and froze upon seeing him. “Rafa?” Her hand slowly turned, pouring the contents of the ladle onto the floor and missing her plate entirely.
“Watch what you’re doing!” Brad cried out, and Miri quickly returned the ladle to the metal catering pan as several others handed her napkins to help clean up. The flurry stole her gaze from him, but not without one last questioning glance.
Well, that explained things.
With Miri sufficiently distracted, Rafa moved through the rest of the buffet, his appetite suddenly diminished, and he found a spot at one of the tables. His eyes stayed on Miri the entire time, hoping she’d finish quickly and snag one of the other three seats at his table, but no such luck. Others took the seats before she had the chance, and she eventually took the last open spot on the opposite side of the rooftop—directly in his line of vision. The conversation around him continued as if he wasn’t there. However, while he kept his gaze on her, trying to get her attention, her eyes shifted everywherebutin his direction.
She was avoiding him. So that was how this was going to be?
“Where are Dr. Mejía and Dr. Matthews? I thought theywere leading this expedition?” The others at the table carried on, but Rafa couldn’t care less.
“Maybe they’re already out scouting in the field?”
“I can’t wait to meet them. Did you see their interview onGood Morning Americalast month?”
“They’re so cool.”
“Hey, you gonna eat that?”
A light tap on Rafa’s forearm tore his gaze from Miri. “What?”
“I asked if you’re going to eat that?” a slender, youngish Black man asked, pointing to one of the empanadas on Rafa’s plate. “They ran out, but they’re sooo good.”
“It’s all yours,” Rafa said, pushing his plate over to the man.
“Thanks, man. I’m Felix.”
Rafa glanced at his name tag:
