Meet Me on Love Lane

by Nina Bocci

  “Henry, I—” I began, but he wasn’t interested. I couldn’t blame him, either.

  “I see you’re busy, Charlotte. I just thought I’d leave this,” he began, setting the coffee down for me.

  “And this,” he said, stepping forward to set another envelope on my desk. Written on the envelope was a simple C with a small flourish at the end in the shape of a wildflower. Max’s eyes followed him and proceeded to stare at the envelope incredulously. “It was on your mailbox, but it’s windy, and I didn’t want to see it blow away.”

  Max didn’t look at the envelope again. Was that a sign that it was from him but he didn’t want Henry to know?

  “Thanks, Henry,” I said, taking the envelope and setting it on the table behind me.

  By the time I turned around, Henry was striding purposefully to the door without so much as a glance back.

  I watched him through the front windows until I couldn’t see him in the crowd anymore.

  “So,” Max said, pushing the coffee he brought for me closer, effectively in front of Henry’s cappuccino.

  Oh, Lord. Male posturing was ridiculous. Even when it was a wickedly handsome man doing it.

  “Listen, I think meeting later at the bookshop might be a mistake,” I said, shoving the hydrangea stem into the foam a bit too hard, causing it to snap in my fingers. “Damn it.”

  “It’s fine. I can stop there to grab my order before I come here.”

  “Yeah, that works. If you grab what you need and swing by here later, maybe we can go get ice cream at Viola’s? Or something else? We can even just walk around town. I’m finding that I enjoy doing that, especially when it’s unplanned and I make random turns onto streets I don’t remember.”

  “Perfect. See you about six. Sound good?” He reached out his hand to take mine. Rubbing his thumb over the nicks and cracks in my hands, he squeezed gently. “I’m looking forward to it, Charlotte.”

  As he left, he turned to wave. Much like Henry did, he disappeared into the mingling crowd. He was charming, there was no doubt. Handsome, too, smart, single, and yet … I didn’t know. I wanted temporary. Dr. Max was okay with that. Henry was not. I needed to keep reminding myself of that.

  I finished up the box arrangement just in time for the customer, who identified herself as a friend of Henry’s parents the first time I met her.

  “Charlotte, this is gorgeous. So much more than I expected,” she said, holding up the arrangement. “I know you said to trust you with the choice of planter, but this was above and beyond. The perfect shabby-chic design.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that and the business. I attached a card with my contact information as well as the store’s hours. Anything you need, we’re here,” I said, wrapping the entire design with recycled paper. She paid, and I walked her to the door.

  “You know, I just stopped into Evan’s Books and mentioned that I was coming here. Henry was the one who originally told me to come in. I usually drive over to Mount Hazel or just buy online and have them delivered. I’m glad I listened.”

  Waving her goodbye, I stood outside, enjoying the warm sun on my skin. Emma had a bench installed right below my main window. It was the perfect spot to take five minutes to collect my thoughts.

  It didn’t hurt that I could see straight across the pedestrian pathway and into the bookstore. I couldn’t tell if Henry was inside, just that the shop was open.

  Just as I was standing up to head back in to work, a troop of littles marched, literally, toward the bookstore led by a very loud Nick.

  “Hup, two, three, four. Hup, two, three, four,” they chanted, their small legs marching with high knees behind him. They were wearing uniforms, green with numbers on their backs. I couldn’t see the logo on the front.

  “That must be the Little League team Henry and Nick coach,” I said to myself, sinking back down onto the bench. I could spare another couple of minutes.

  A familiar face joined me at the bench a moment later, scaring me since I was focused on Henry’s shop.

  “Jeez! Are you trying to kill me?” I howled, clutching my shirt near my heart. “I almost jumped out of my skin.”

  Gigi was wheeled up beside me, inching her scooter closer to me. She patted my leg comfortingly and smiled. “My dear, I called your name three times. You were totally zoned out. You used to do that as a child, too. Stare off into space, or at the television, and we’d have to jolt you out of the funk. What, pray tell, has you fixated today?” She followed my line of sight toward Henry’s shop. Henry had just appeared in the front door, opening it for the kids to march in.

  “Ah, I see. I can’t say I blame you there. I’d stare, too, if I were a hundred years younger.”

  Gigi’s wide, friendly eyes twinkled, and I knew she was fighting to hide her smile. “That one is really special. To me, to everyone really. Even your dad has a soft spot for him. If you chose to spend some time with him, I’d personally be thrilled.”

  The phrase spend time with would have made me chuckle if I didn’t want to do exactly that.

  “It’s not like that. You know how things are, Gigi,” I murmured, watching as Henry turned toward my shop. The littles marched away, continuing their hup, two, three, four chanting. “Henry and I are just friends. Nothing more. He’s not interested in anything else while I’m back.”

  Back, I said. Not visiting …

  She turned as best she could, shifting so she was almost fully facing me. It felt like she wanted to see my face and judge my reaction. “Is that so?” she asked, narrowing her eyes as if that would help her see the truth through my lie. And it wasn’t a lie after all. We were friends, regardless of how I felt about the situation or hoped that it would have a different outcome.

  “And Nick?”

  What, is she going to run through every single guy in this town?

  “What? Oh, we’re just friends,” I admitted emphatically. “He’s awesome, but there are zero sparks. Less than zero.”

  “Ah, but Max,” she said, lingering a bit on his name. “He’s a good choice.”

  She didn’t say more, just kept the suggestion there and waited for me to explain. “We’re supposed to get together later.”

  “Hmm,” she said simply, turning back around. “I think young people today miss out on the simplicity of dating that we had back in my day.”

  I looked at her, smirking. “Oh yeah? Enlighten me.”

  She gave me such a side-eye, I guffawed. “If you fancied a boy or girl, you sent them a letter. Visited their parents’ house and asked if you could take them out.”

  “Sounds about right,” I said, wondering the last time anyone sent a letter of intention to another person.

  You’ve got a handful of them right inside waiting for you to open them.

  I jumped up, thinking that I hadn’t opened the letter that was left at the shop. That one was still sitting inside.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, taking my hand.

  I sank back onto the bench. “Yeah, sorry. I just remembered something. You were saying?”

  She smirked knowingly. It got wider when I saw Henry out of the corner of my eye walking from the shop over to Viola’s for an ice cream.

  “As I was saying. Now you have to sort through all the matches and the harmonies or whatever. You’re connected by a computer. It’s sort of impersonal. At least to me.”

  Gigi wasn’t wrong, but statistically dating sites were successful. “I’m not a huge fan of the sites myself, but you have to admit, sometimes letting an algorithm do the dirty work for you is helpful.”

  “Honey, the dirty work is half the fun.”

  “Gigi!” I shouted, scandalized. “You’re too much.”

  “I speak the truth. Sometimes going through the mud is the best way to find what’s important. Who’ll be there with you to pull you out. Does that make sense?”

  I nodded. “Yes, but it doesn’t help the current situation.”

  “I’m aware of that. You’ve got quite the
conundrum on your hands. The dashing and handsome Dr. Reese and the one you seem to have set your eyes on.”

  She nodded up toward where Henry was walking back, carrying a cup of ice cream, presumably for Mr. Evan, who was now waiting outside on his own bench.

  This was small-town life. This was something I could get used to.

  * * *

  BACK INSIDE, I sat on the stool and stared at the envelope. Plucking it up, I held it between my hands, just feeling it. The thin, rough linen paper was so light a breeze would take it like petals on the wind.

  You are the finest, loveliest, tenderest, and most beautiful person I have ever known and even that is an understatement.

  “Well, that certainly gets your attention,” I said to the blissfully empty work area in the back of the shop.

  “What does?” a voice asked, between the dings of the door’s bell. “I hear you’re looking for another employee,” Nick said, walking into the room carrying a cup of steaming hot coffee.

  “I must really look like hell if I’m being gifted with a third coffee today.”

  “What? Oh shit, this is my coffee. I should have brought two. I didn’t think. You’re okay. I mean, you look okay? Nice? Good? You can have this, if you want it. It’s got a stupid amount of sugar in it, though.”

  “Nick, have you ever complimented a woman before?”

  “Does ‘Nice boobs’ count?” he asked sincerely.

  I opened my mouth to respond but thought better of it. “You know what?” I smiled, grabbing the rag from my workstation to wipe my dirty hands. “Are you looking for a part-time job? I’ve seen your work. You’re hired!”

  “Ha!” he cheered, giving me a beaming smile. “I’d love to help, but you can’t afford me. I just saw Henry leaving the bookstore looking like someone ripped a page from his dictionary. Charlotte, did you hit him again?”

  I laughed in spite of myself. When it came to Henry, I would forever be known as the ball-breaker. “No, I’ll have you know that I have not touched Henry Mercer.”

  Unfortunately.

  Nick looked at me curiously. Instead of focusing on the what-ifs of Henry, I dug back into my sketches for the Fourth of July event. They were due to the planning committee at the special meeting Monday night and I still hadn’t finished.

  “These are incredible,” Nick said, sliding one of the finished designs over. “I love the use of blue alliums. It’s less traditional and really eye-catching, especially for the planters on the band shell.”

  I preened. “Thanks. It’s risky, but I was trying to go outside the box, you know? I saw photos in the town archives from past festivals so I could get a feel for what’s already been done. It was a lot of red, white, and sprayed blue roses or carnations. These are for the main thoroughfare around the pavilion,” I explained, showing him the art for it. “The flowers will be pouring out of the planters they set up on the sides. Tons of color, mixed heights to really capture the fireworks feel. It’s not like fireworks are only red, white, and blue, so this mirrors that. All bursts and pops to draw your eye to the tiny details. I hope people like this take on things. Most will, I think. I’m not sure about the gavel-wielding guy, though.”

  “Nothing will please him. Don’t even try,” he explained. “What’s that sketch?”

  “Emma said the pavilion is where everyone congregates during the day. Those,” I said, pointing to the sketch still in his hand, “are the night bloomers. Moonflowers, nicotiana, and jasmine will be scattered throughout where everyone drops their blankets. It’ll be a fully sensory experience. I think they’ll really shine with the fireworks blasting off overhead. I even added glitter sticks for Emma, so they sparkle along with the festivities.”

  “That’s a fun touch, she’ll love it.”

  “She’s been so stressed out making sure this whole thing is a success, I figured I’d give her a little something that will make her giggle,” I explained, pulling out a couple of other sheets of rejected ideas.

  It was nice to have someone to chat with who knew the field and was interested in the conversation. At least, I think he was.

  “The mayoral ball is something else entirely, I’m assuming?” he asked, looking around the scattered papers for a sign he was right.

  “Oh, I know, but I had some ideas that I had to jot down! Wait until you see these,” I said as I pulled out another sketch. “I’m helping Emma with the menu and table decor, too, which I’m thrilled with. There’s an entire flower wall for photos. Someone suggested a booth with those little stick accessories, but I thought we should go pure class all the way even if it is an outdoor festival. It’s stunning, if I do say so myself.”

  “Flower wall?” Nick said, his eyes widening. “What made you go in that direction?”

  I shrugged. “Again, risky. People associate them with wedding photos nowadays, but this isn’t anything like that. Emma said Hope Lake has traditionally favored a shade of green as its town color. I was falling asleep in here the other night and I bolted awake with a vision of a couple in front of a crawling-ivy-filled wall that was peppered with baby’s breath over its entire surface. That will be the base of the flower wall. At the top, there will be billowing waves of champagne hydrangeas, and cream gardenias in staggering lengths. The smell will be incredible.”

  “Charlotte, this is going to be a ton of work. I know you’re looking to hire more people, but do you have the time for this?”

  What else do I have going on?

  I scratched my head. Looking around at the shop, I knew I needed help. “The flower wall is the most ambitious thing here. That’ll be a lot of time in the walk-in, but I think the payoff will be tremendous. Emma said a lot of state press show up for the festival. I think they will for the mayoral ball, too, if the governor shows up. The publicity for the shop alone is worth all the extra time.”

  Nick looked confused. “That’s a bit long-term, isn’t it? The ball is in the spring …”

  I frowned. “I suppose, but it’ll be incredible exposure. Whether it’s for me professionally or the shop generically—the publicity is amazing for the town.”

  He smiled, bright and beaming. “Spoken like a true Hope Laker.”

  Remaining quiet, I let the words ruminate. Weeks ago, I would have shredded the thought. The notion that I was becoming a part of this town. And now?

  “Who knows? There are a couple of options that I’m batting around. I could always travel back and forth between New York and Hope Lake. Spend some time in both places if there was a reason for me to stay. I don’t know. I can’t think about it now; I don’t have the mental space.” I laughed when he waved his hand at my desk—or what you could see of my desk—to illustrate my point.

  “You know, Emma can’t come back here. I think she gets hives from the chaos,” I said.

  Nick laughed, tossing his coffee cup in the trash. “Doesn’t surprise me. Anyone who labels their cabinets would go crazy in here. No offense.”

  I held up a hand. “None taken. And wait, she labels her cabinets?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” Emma said, coming through the swing door and into the back room with a hand over her eyes.

  “Your eyes are closed,” Nick said plainly. “Did you know that?”

  Emma turned toward his voice, keeping her eyes covered. “Your awareness of the obvious is truly awe-inspiring, Nicholas. Thank you.”

  Nick smiled proudly. “You’re welcome.”

  I’m not sure he grasped her sarcasm.

  “I stopped in to check on the progress,” Emma said, turning toward me. “If you could kindly carry the sketches out to the safety and sanity of the shop floor, while also directing me so I don’t trip and impale myself on what are sure to be scattered florist tools, that’d be great.”

  “You’re completely ridiculous. All right, you two, I’m heading out,” Nick said, grasping her elbow and leading her out into the shop, the saloon door to my office swinging behind them. “You got that stuff, C?”

  “Ye
p!” I nodded, rolling up the plans and tucking them safely under my arm. Looking around, I saw that it really was a bit of a mess, but time was a prime commodity that I was sorely missing, and cleaning my office was last on my list of to-dos.

  In the front of the shop, Emma had cleared a space on the workstation, even managing to organize it all in neat, orderly little piles. “You’re an insatiable fiddler.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emma said matter-of-factly.

  The envelopes that were left to be stacked were piled on the metal stool. Emma’s hand was hovering near them, and it was only a matter of time before she grabbed the one from my secret admirer in her flurry to straighten up.

  “Here, let me … ,” I said, just as Nick waved at us as he walked out the front door.

  “Grab these before I could?” Emma sang knowingly, taking the envelopes that had fallen. With a triumphant grin, she held one up as a high-school-aged girl walked into the shop.

  “Hi there, have a look around. I’ll be with you in a second,” I said. I was cheerful on the outside, wilting from embarrassment on the inside.

  “Give it here, Peroni,” I said, but she’d already begun reading it aloud.

  They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.

  “You’ve been holding out on me!” She fanned herself with the letter. “Here I’m worried that you’re doom and gloom without any excitement, but it looks like I was wrong. What’s this about?” She held up the paper so I could see the typewritten message.

  It was the first time I got to read it. Like the others, it was poetic and vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I shrugged. “Not sure. A couple—okay, more than a couple—have showed up. No idea who they’re from.” I had been receiving letters steadily for the past few weeks. I opened the first couple, but after those, I never opened any of them. I think the reason I let them sit unopened was because I’m pretty sure they’re from Dr. Max, and it’s easier to not think about them than face my feelings—or lack thereof—for him.