Meet Me on Love Lane

by Nina Bocci

  “Oh! Have you seen the final logo? It’s absolutely perfect. Tell your friend at the print shop thanks again for the design work. I adore it. I love that it’s not super traditional but quirky with the stem being an actual stem to spell out the word. I just hope people like it. Like this place.”

  “Me too! And are you kidding? They’re thrilled to help. Don’t forget, this is business for them, too.”

  “True, true. I’m glad you keep as much as possible in town. Let’s hope other people feel the same and want to order flowers from the new girl in town,” I said nervously, wondering if they would pay it forward.

  “They will! A couple people I spoke to are raring to go for the grand opening.”

  “Oh, that’s good. A couple is good.”

  “Charlotte, I know that you’re nervous, but you really don’t have to be. I have a feeling that it’s going to be great.”

  “How great?” I asked.

  Emma laughed, not missing a beat. “More than great.”

  “Like, superhero great.”

  I closed my eyes, ignoring the looks from the workers, and from Emma, who was still staring at me expectantly from FaceTime. When I closed them, I saw two small girls, and I knew immediately it was me and Emma. We were at school and playing tag against a few boys, but we were dressed like characters from The Justice League, the DC comic that Emma and I were obsessed with. I was Batman and Emma was Superman.

  Seeing all of us clicked something together piece by piece. I was seeing Cooper, Henry, Nick, me, and Emma.

  “Huh,” I said dreamily, opening my eyes again to the bright shop lights.

  “Huh? That’s all you got is huh?” Emma said exasperatedly. “You hardly remember anything, and you only give me a huh?”

  I laughed, not out of humor but disbelief. “Okay, calm down, Dr. Phil. It’s not like this was some magnificent discovery. It was a flash, barely a blip. Not even on the radar.”

  Yet, it didn’t feel insignificant. It wasn’t monumental by any measurable standard, but it wasn’t anything to sneeze at, either. Locations, people, the smell of the town—the strangest things were bringing back the memories. The longer I stayed here, the more I’d remember. But the question that kept nagging me was Do I want to remember?

  “Keep me posted about the flowers. I’ve got to run. Cooper has a couple of meetings that I want to sit in on.”

  I laughed. “You’re a control freak.”

  “You’re not wrong. Kisses!”

  * * *

  THE WORKMEN LEFT the shop just around dinnertime and around the same time that Max texted back.

  MAX: If the flowers are from a secret admirer, the card is never signed …

  Okay, so does that mean he sent them? Or what?

  ME: Well, whoever sent them, they’re gorgeous.

  Which they were. It wasn’t a lie. They just weren’t my taste.

  About twenty minutes later another text came through.

  MAX: I was thinking.

  ME: Sounds dangerous.

  MAX: What?

  My fear with text messaging/flirting/discussions was always that the sarcasm wouldn’t come through. Clearly, Dr. Max wasn’t as nuanced in the text game as I had hoped.

  ME: Never mind. Bad joke. What’s up?

  MAX: Notte’s has an opening next Friday

  ME: The restaurant?

  MAX: Yep, with a new section that overlooks the water. Table for two … Delicious pasta … Wine …

  MAX: Sound good?

  It did. My stomach growled at the thought of a delicious Italian meal, but a romantic meal for two overlooking the water …

  ME: What about wings and pizza at Casey’s?

  It was a quick counter, but I wasn’t sure why I rejected romantic and private for the casual and cozy.

  It took Max more than a half hour to respond. I chalked it up to being busy instead of what it might have been—a bruised ego.

  MAX: Pick you up after work?

  ME: Looking forward to it.

  As the sun faded behind the mountains in the distance, the town square lit up in a magnificent color palette of oranges and yellows. The beams danced across the light gray stone of the water fountain that sat in the center of the square, creating an effect that looked similar to a crystal chandelier with the sprinkling water winking in the sunlight.

  The stool for the workstation and the desk chair that I’d ordered for the office in the back hadn’t come in yet, so I planted myself on the floor, my legs outstretched before me, staring out at the town. The floor was cool under my bare legs. My bones felt weary. Days of harder work than I’d done in ages were catching up to me. I kicked off my sneakers, wiggling out my sore toes. I’d need to get something with more support or in a week I’d be unable to stand, let alone work all day. My old once-supportive work shoes back in Brooklyn were a mess. Certainly not worth the money to have Parker ship them.

  The last of the sun streamed into the stained glass window that was above the door, sending colors dancing around my bare legs. I closed my eyes and daydreamed, but the longer I sat there, the sleepier I got. It was getting so warm, even on the cool tile. The warmth wasn’t helping the sense of exhaustion I was feeling. My father had texted earlier that he was on duty, which meant he was stuck picking me up after his last appointment to deposit me at Gigi’s. But that wasn’t for another half hour.

  I started running through my list of everything that I needed to do:

  Finish the shop, easy enough. Not.

  Finish planning the grand opening.

  Get some sort of plan together for the Fourth of July extravaganza.

  Get a license? Maybe a scooter was easier than a car.

  The list kept going on and on in my brain, exhausting me even more. How was I going to get all of this done? Was I insane? Yes, but I had to keep focused on the fact that this was a great opportunity. If I could pull this off, it would look outstanding on my résumé for when I started applying back home again.

  Which would hopefully be soon.

  I lay back fully, staring up at the copper-tiled ceiling. One thing at a time, I thought, counting the rows of old tile. A nap wouldn’t hurt, right? It helped when I was feeling overwhelmed, and I was certainly up to my eyeballs with that.

  Just as I was about to shut my eyes again, a shadow appeared in the window.

  There were few people who could fill a space like Henry. The antireflective film on the window prevented him from seeing me wave. By the time I got up from the floor, shoes back on and out the front door, he was already jogging up the street.

  “Henry!” I called out, but it was no use. The traffic, the birds chirping good night, and his hearing issues probably made it impossible for him to realize I was calling to him.

  What were you going to say if he turned around? I thought, watching his fading form disappear around the corner and into the alley that ran behind the buildings on my side of the street.

  My phone beeped just as I stepped back into the darkened store. Pulling up the Notes app, I added a reminder to get some night-lights so when I was here late, I wasn’t wandering around in the total darkness until I could get to the light switches.

  I checked the message.

  NICK: Hey, goin’ to Casey’s with the crew. Hungry?

  ME: Starving! Meet you there!

  ME: Oh! But I need a ride to Gigi’s after.

  NICK: I got you, no worries.

  I called my father on the way out the door to let him off the hook for driving me around town. He was disappointed, but he also sounded relieved, and very tired. If he brought me to Gigi’s, he would have to stay for a bit, and he sounded as exhausted as I felt.

  “One of these days, I’d like to spend some time with my daughter. I feel like I’m seeing you less than when you lived three hours away. Why is that?”

  “What can I say, I’ve been exceptionally popular since I’ve been back? This place knows how to keep a girl busy, Dad.”

  “Well, take it easy
. I don’t want to see you running yourself ragged like you did in New York. Limits are good, and you need to take care of yourself.”

  “Yes, Dr. Dad.”

  “Funny, but I’m being serious. Make good decisions.”

  “Are we still talking about my health?”

  “Charlotte,” he chided. “I’ll see you later.”

  The walk to Casey’s was quick. Even though the entirety of Hope Lake was about the population of my street back in Brooklyn, it didn’t feel like I was missing much by not being in New York. It had so much within walking distance from work. It was kind of perfect.

  The smells of Casey’s hit me the moment the front door swung open. I popped inside, making my way toward the center of the place. I held my breath while I was looking around for Nick.

  Just as I was about to give up, the door swung open again, and in walked Henry, not Nick. I felt a flare-up of nerves. Friends, Charlotte.

  “Hey there!” I said, a bit too cheerily. I startled the couple at the next table. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  He looked confused. “Wasn’t this planned? Nick called me and said we were all coming for dinner.”

  I covered my embarrassment quickly. “Oh yeah, yeah. I just expected Nick to be here first.”

  “He’s never on time. We can sit and order, and he’ll probably arrive just in time to eat. Let’s grab a table,” he suggested.

  He guided us to an open table, his hand hovering near but never touching my back. I felt that same sense of familiarity—that burst of calm you felt when a friend was with you—but this was mixed with something else that I wasn’t willing to address yet.

  We chatted amiably about the shop; he was impressed with how much work was accomplished in such a short amount of time. We discussed the bookshop and how his being done with school gave him more availability there to run his book clubs. His explanation of genres and upcoming events made me realize how behind I was on popular fiction.

  “When I’m done at the shop one afternoon, I’ll stop in for a recommendation,” I said, and he smirked. I got the feeling Henry could chat about books all day, every day.

  “You guys ready to order?” the waitress said, sliding up to our table. I was so busy eyeballing the dimple in Henry’s cheek that I didn’t hear her approach.

  “How about you order your favorites, and I’ll help you enjoy them.”

  “Sounds good.” He looked to the waitress. “We’ll have two dozen garlic-Parmesan wings, that meatball appetizer with the mozzarella inside, and a couple of the HLBC grapefruit on draft. Oh, and Nana’s special pizza. Anything else?” he asked me, folding up the paper menu and putting it back behind the napkin container.

  “Is that enough for Nick, too?”

  “Yeah, but he’ll order more food when he gets here, I’m sure.”

  “Oh!” I shouted, waving to the waitress to come back. “Extra crispy on the wings, please. You mind?” I looked to Henry.

  “Huh, that’s how Henry always gets them,” the waitress responded before walking away to put our order in.

  Henry blushed.

  Our phones buzzed at the same time. “Nick’s not coming.”

  “Again?”

  He shrugged. “He got tied up.”

  “Does he mean literally?”

  “It’s certainly possible. If he doesn’t come home by morning, I’ll send up the red flag.” Henry chuckled. “You know, tonight is my only night off from everything. No tutoring, bookstore, or running around for Emma. I’m glad that I cut my run short to meet you here.”

  I glanced at his tattered shirt. It seemed to be a favorite of his to work out in. Flustered, I choked out, “You love to work out, huh?”

  Again, Charlotte. You are a master conversationalist.

  “Yeah I do. It helps clear my head after a busy day. It’s solitary, though.”

  The waitress had brought over our beers, frosted mugs filled to the top with sweet-smelling grapefruit beer. Henry raised a mug. I mirrored him and waited for him to make a toast.

  “To Late Bloomers,” he said, clicking his glass lightly to mine. I smiled down at my lap.

  The server brought out the food. It was way too much for just the two of us.

  “This is a lot.”

  Henry smiled. “I figure—what you don’t finish you can bring to Gigi. She loves these wings. We bring them over for her all the time.”

  “Another thing I didn’t know about her,” I said, finishing off my beer.

  “The good news is that you have a lot of time with her now,” he said, pulling a slice of pizza from the tray.

  Henry waved the waitress over to get me another beer.

  “None for you?” I asked.

  “Nope. I’m a one-and-done kind of guy.”

  “Who’s the Nana the pizza is named after?” I asked as the waitress brought me another frosted glass. I took a sip, loving the feeling of the chilled glass on my lips.

  Henry looked up curiously. “Really? You don’t know? I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me.”

  I shook my head, keeping the How would I know? snarky retort to myself. “Who?”

  “Gigi, of course.”

  My hand held the mug in midair. “My Gigi?”

  “The one and only. She’s sort of like the town Nana, so Casey, who owns the place, named her favorite pizza after her as a bit of an homage.”

  Sipping the beer, I tried pulling my heart from the pit of my stomach. “I had no idea.”

  Henry took my hand over the table, rubbing the skin lightly. “Gigi means a lot to a lot of people here. You’d be hard-pressed to find someone that doesn’t love her.”

  As I finished the second slice of Nana’s pizza, I wondered if unbuttoning my pants would have been an acceptable move. “This is a lot of food, and I am done, after this one.” I was uncomfortable, and so full of cheese and garlic, but I didn’t care. I was happy, and a bit buzzed after the grapefruit beers.

  My phone began ringing from my purse. “Oh, it’s my dad. Give me a second.”

  I excused myself, standing up to wander between the tables. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

  “I’m just making sure you don’t need that ride. I’m stopping into Casey’s to grab dinner for Max and me, and I was going to run you to Gigi’s while my order was getting done.”

  The joys of living in a town the size of a shoebox.

  “Oh, I’m at Casey’s now. I met Henry for some wings.”

  “Henry Mercer? Excellent. Glad to hear it. I’ll be there soon if you want me to drive you to Gigi’s. Or you can just stay with Henry. That works for me.”

  “Yeah, give me ten minutes to finish up.”

  I rejoined Henry at the table to find that he had already packaged up the leftovers. “You said you were done, and I figured you might be in a hurry, so I packed it,” he explained, looking sheepish.

  “Thanks, I’m in a bit of a hurry. My dad is coming, and I’m going to catch a ride with him.”

  “Oh, I would have driven you home,” he said, sounding disappointed.

  “Another night. I know Gigi has been asking where you’ve been. She mentioned needing to talk to you.”

  “I see. Um, tell Gigi I’ve been busy trying to square the summer up. I’ll be sure to stop over soon.”

  He handed me the take-out bag, his hand brushing mine. I flashed back to the pinky brushing the other night on the park bench, and my stomach filled with butterflies again.

  “I’m sure Gigi will call and thank you for saving her from eating my cooking.”

  The waitress dropped the check on the table, but Henry snatched it before I could grab it. “My treat. No arguments. I know you’re going to try, and just know that you’re going to lose.”

  I opened my mouth to argue but thought otherwise. “I’ll just simply say thank you, then.”

  “You’re more than welcome.”

  “This was fun. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

  Henry’s eyebrows raised expectantly.


  “As friends, Henry. We could make sure everyone comes next time.”

  Henry and I walked toward the front of the restaurant, just as my dad walked in.

  “Henry,” Dad cheered, clapping him on his broad shoulder.

  “Dr. Bishop,” Henry responded, holding out his hand to shake my father’s.

  “Good to see you. How’re your parents? Haven’t seen them in a bit. Tell your father we’ll have to go golfing,” Dad rambled. I dare say he might like Henry more than I did.

  Henry turned to me. “This was fun. I hope we can do it again. Maybe after the grand opening, when your life has calmed down a bit. We’ll get the whole gang back together.”

  I hazarded a glance at my dad, who was trying to look anywhere but at us. Which meant he was trying and failing to avoid listening to the conversation. “I’d like that. Sounds like fun.”

  Henry slid forward, gently gripped my bent elbow, and kissed me lightly on the cheek. My eyes closed, and I leaned in as he was backing up, making it an awkward transition.

  Middle name, thy name is awkward.

  After he left us, Dad rolled his eyes, earning a playful slap to his arm.

  “Stop it. He’s nice, and we’re adults.”

  “He is nice, and you are adults, but—”

  “Father, don’t.”

  “Don’t make me give you the talk again. I’ve got plastic anatomical models to really bring the point home,” he offered, and I had the worst flashback of my father and Gigi trying to explain the birds and the bees to me in a Manhattan hotel room when they had visited sometime around my twelfth birthday.

  “No, please and thank you. No need for the talk again. I’m still scarred from it the first time around.”

  “Suit yourself. My anatomical dummies have been improved. Someone drew happy faces on the ovaries,” he said, hiding his smile as best he could.

  “I sincerely hope you’re still using them with the happy faces.”

  “Of course I am. It’s hysterical and helps to put kids at ease when they have questions. Anyway, enough about smiling ovaries. How did this whole dinner arrangement happen? Just curious. Are you remembering your connection?”