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“I’m trusting,” Kamala said. She really was. But she was also a good judge of character. I was her best friend, after all.

“Oh, kind of like you, Asher,” Phone Guy said. “You share everything with everyone.”

Asher pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled like it was a compliment. He slid the change off the receipt and into the tip jar.

“Do you have a question for my friend?” Phone Guy said to Kamala. “He will tell you anything. Want to know his shoe size?”

He pointed to Asher, who said, “Twelve.”

“Height?”

“Six one,” Asher said.

Phone Guy lowered his brow like he didn’t quite believe him, but continued with, “Favorite childhood trauma?”

Asher opened his mouth like he was actually going to answerwhen his friend saved him with, “Never mind. Everyone knows you had a perfect childhood anyway.”

Kamala held up a Sharpie and a coffee cup. “Um…how about just a name.”

“Dale,” Phone Guy said.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Asher said. “I pay, you take the credit.”

Dale, not humoring his joke with a response, pointed at the small wooden box on the counter. “What’s that?”

“It’s a suggestion box,” Kamala said. She hated that suggestion box; most of the time it was full of pickup lines or rude comments.

“Old-school feedback,” Asher said with a nod. “Nice.” He ripped a piece of paper off the pad beside the box, wrote something down, then dropped the paper in the slot on top. Then he looked around the café. I ducked my head. His eyes didn’t even pause on me.Saved by the overgrown counter plant.He pointed toward the only booth, next to the window where someone had painted a summery scene—the ocean, a colorful umbrella, flip-flops, a striped towel.

How long has that been there?It was barely the first week of summer. Had Kamala painted it?

The guys walked to the booth and sat. The hissing of the cappuccino machine muffled the conversation across the room. I dug my car keys out of my bag, thinking maybe I’d leave after all.

“So?” Kamala asked, shifting to the side counter and leaning over it so she could talk quietly. “Sunset on the beach with your bestie? I mean, I meet all your very specific criteria for love, right?” She placed a hand under her chin like she was putting her face ondisplay. Kamala was gorgeous. She was Indian, with thick, straight black hair, dark intense eyes, a regal nose, and full lips. “Now that I think about it, I probably don’t. I haven’t read your rules lately.”

And she wouldn’t read them. Ever again. She’d already made fun of them enough, and that was before I added my post-Phillip criteria:must know a guy for six months before I consider dating him, must know for a fact that he gets along with at least one family member, and he must have one or more friends he’s known and kept since elementary school.I didn’t think those were unfair additions. They were common sense, really—the reasons Phillip definitely wasn’t boyfriend material. “Of course you meet the criteria. You’re my one and only.”

Kamala curled her lip. “That’s really…”

“Sweet?” I asked with a smirk.

“Pathetic.” The machine stopped hissing and Kamala tightened a lid on the cup. “Dale!” she called out like there were more than just two other people in the café.

Dale stood and walked over. He gave Kamala a lazy smile as he picked up the two drinks.

“Thanks,” he said, and carried them back to the table.

Now that it was quiet again, I could hear them.

“What time did she say she’d be here?” Dale asked. “Because I am so ready to win this bet and watch you make a fool of yourself at my birthday party.”

“You will not win this bet. She’s coming.” Asher looked at his phone. “Any minute now.”

“You said four, right? It’s after four. I still haven’t decided what would embarrass you more. Streaking butt naked around the yardthree times with the whole school watching or performing that dance you learned in the third grade.”

Asher took off his beanie, revealing a beautiful wavy mess of auburn hair, and put it on the table. If I had that hair, I would never cover it with a hat. My hair was stick straight and plain brown. “Neither of those would embarrass me,” he said.

Even I could tell he was bluffing. His cheeks had gone a little red and his shoulders slumped.