Meet Me on Love Lane

by Nina Bocci

  “Nothing like being super vague, Peroni.”

  “I’ll explain, but I need you to have the full effect when I do. All the bells and whistles.”

  Some unknown emotion was niggling at me. Something between elation at the what-if and trepidation.

  Whatever it was, I pushed it down and followed her through the doors of the great stone building.

  Inside was a wide, cavernous hallway that had sectioned-off quarters with large windowed walls lining the main walkway.

  “This whole lower floor was a bank—upstairs were offices and storage—up until about ten years ago, when the bank pulled the branch out and left it abandoned. The town recently got to buy the building when the market was good, and we were hoping that we could rent it out or even sell it once it was renovated. So now we have businesses that want to lease the space to open stores and even a restaurant out of the lower level. We found a company to design and manage loft-style apartments upstairs that will all be for rent.”

  Emma really did have vision.

  I looked around, marveling at the building’s interior. The ceilings were copper tiled, and while they weren’t shiny any longer, they still had a gorgeous patina that drew your eye upward. A massive crystal chandelier hung in the center of the space almost like a disco ball over a dance floor. The sunlight reflected off the crystals, sending a rainbow across the floor.

  “It reminds me of the shopping areas in Grand Central. Have you been?” I asked, walking up to the first newly remodeled storefront on the right. It, like its mirror on the other side of the building, looked out onto the square. The one I’d entered was still empty, but you could see that with only a little bit of work, it would be ready for whatever they had planned for the space.

  The other empty space across the short hall had a sign on it that read COMING SOON in big red letters on the white plastic board.

  “What’s going in here?” I said, crossing over the threshold and setting off the jingly doorbell.

  “This is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Here it comes.

  “Hit me.”

  She smiled, giving me a playful tap on the arm. “So you’re here for the summer and need a job, right? Well, what if I told you that this”—she motioned around the empty shop—“could be your job?”

  I looked at her skeptically. “What exactly is this?”

  “It was supposed to be a flower shop, but our resident florist is having second thoughts about starting over again in a new space, especially one this big.”

  My brain stopped processing when she said florist. “You have a florist?”

  She nodded. “Lucille. She used to work at the grocery store doing the floristry work there. It’s nothing fancy, a bouquet when you’re in the doghouse. Something to congratulate your kid at a job well done at school. You know, small things. Nothing on a grand scale. Anything like that we might need, we have to go to Mount Hazel, Barreton, or online.”

  “And she, what, retired? You’re trying to get her back in the saddle?” I asked, attempting to keep the excitement out of my voice. It was difficult, because I was already thinking about what this space could be.

  “She was never really working in the first place. It was a side gig that she did to keep herself busy once her husband died. This came up as an opportunity, and she jumped on it because the grocery store decided to do away with the small flower department they had. She had money, and this was supposed to be her project. Now, honestly, I think the minutiae of running a business is more than she wants to handle at her age. She realized coming in, arranging, and doing the business side was just too much for her,” Emma explained, walking deeper into the shop.

  The setup of the room was making sense now. The blue tape would be where the coolers would sit. The marble top was a quick workstation or for taking orders. As I wandered, pieces fell into place where things should, or could, go.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, following behind me as I perused the space.

  “The setup is not totally functional as is. I can see what she was originally thinking, but it’s all so compact, probably because she based it on the small location she’s used to.”

  “That’s likely a yes. By the end of the meeting with the contractor, she was zoned out. At this point, she’s thinking about ponying up the money and only being a silent partner. I won’t be shocked if in a couple of months she tries to just sell it outright.”

  “Must be nice,” I mumbled.

  “How would you want to see it set up?” she asked, tapping her pen on her small notebook.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Is this a test?”

  She laughed. “I’m genuinely curious to know what you’d do here.”

  “I’m imagining coolers along this wall. The counter here is for orders?”

  She nodded. “A Square or whatever financial system here,” she added, placing her hand on the edge of the table.

  And with that I went off, explaining how I would organize the entire space to maximize storage. I was rambling, but Emma didn’t seem to care or notice. She was feverishly typing away on her phone. Looking over her shoulder, I saw that she was taking notes.

  “What else?” she asked.

  “See who her wholesalers are. I’m not sure if we can get the same ones out of Jersey like we did in New York. But it’s not that much farther.”

  “Noted.”

  “Wait, wait. You can’t just go with what I’m suggesting. You need to talk to this woman or whoever’s going to run this for her, get their opinion. You’ve got to see what her vision is for the place. I could be way off here.”

  “I know her, she won’t care. Trust me, she’s only interested in managing the business side and hopefully turning a profit. She doesn’t care about details,” Emma insisted, pulling out a notepad from her purse. “I’m leaving notes for the guys. They’ll be here tomorrow to start putting things together. What else are you thinking?”

  “Emma, slow down. What exactly is it that you think I’m doing here?”

  “Running the flower shop, of course.”

  Six little words that made my head spin while my heart skipped a beat. “What?”

  “You heard me. We need someone to run this, and fast. She hasn’t even named it, and it’s supposed to open in two weeks. This train is on the track and pulling into the station whether there’s someone professional at the helm or not. I’m a firm believer that without someone professional, it’ll go to hell. You’re here for the summer, and once you go back to New York we can find someone to take over. You’ll get paid—well—and with you living with Gigi, it’ll all go to whatever you plan on spending it on or saving it. I feel like this is a no-brainer.”

  “Of course you do, because you’ve had longer than three point eight seconds to think about it!”

  I was shouting, but in reality, I knew she was right. This was an easy answer, but my brain wouldn’t let my mouth respond. A simple yes, and I would be set for the next couple of months.

  “I get that, I do, and I know I’m hella pushy, but I sort of need an answer right now, because if it’s not you, I’ve got to find someone else,” she said honestly, looking nervous as she paced. “You came at the perfect time. I know Hope Lake isn’t your long-term goal, but this would be great short-term, right?”

  I nodded.

  “I believe in providence and people being in the right place at the right time. I believe you came here now for a reason. Why after twenty years you choose now to show up?”

  “Because I got fired and needed to regroup?” I answered, not intending it to come out as snarky as it sounded.

  “Yes, but you’ve never felt the need to come back here before when things got sticky.”

  “Okay, so let’s say there’s some type of cosmic intervention that sent me here now. You think it’s because you suddenly need a florist? Why?”

  She smiled. “Ask me when I found out about this falling through?”

  The answer popped i
nto my head before I even asked, “When?”

  “I got the message as I was driving to the police station to drop off the goodies to Duncan. The day I saw you pulled over. Charlotte, you can’t deny the timing is crazy, right? I believe you’re here—”

  “For this reason,” I finished for her.

  “Among others. I think Gigi has a lot to do with it. And your dad. All the reasons stack up to be pretty convincing, at least in my book.”

  “This is nuts, you know that, right? I mean, things like this don’t just happen.”

  “Maybe they do. Who really knows?” She shrugged. “Maybe your coming here was part of some grand design.”

  I paced, contemplating whether this was a smart move. “What if you’re wrong?” A hundred scenarios—all ending badly—popped into my head.

  “Then I’m wrong and you work in a job doing what you love for a couple of months, earn some cash, and go back with a solid reference to help you find something else in New York. All this without a psycho boss riding you all the time.”

  “Be my own boss?” I liked the sound of that. I scratched at the nagging itch on my chest. Something still wasn’t sitting right. I couldn’t place it. “Could it be that simple?”

  Emma shrugged again. “Don’t overthink it. What’s your gut instinct?”

  I didn’t have to even think about it.

  “To do it.”

  Emma fought back a smile. It was tough, I saw the struggle, but I think she was trying not to gloat, and I appreciated that.

  “I should totally not just say yes. I should want to talk it over with Gigi and my dad.”

  “And yet …”

  I smiled.

  She clapped excitedly. “YES!” she shouted, and this time, the beaming smile broke through.

  “Emma, this is for the summer. Don’t get your hopes up.”

  Using her finger, she crossed her heart. “I promise.”

  And yet, somehow, I didn’t believe her.

  8

  Emma left about a half hour later, leaving me in the shop to collect my thoughts and gather up any other ideas I had for what to do with the space. You know, if you decide to take the leap, she said as she was leaving. Not to mention I had to list, in detail, everything I’d need for the shop, prices included, so we could float it past Lucille. We tried calling her, but it went straight to voice mail. She did text a minute later saying what my budget was, though—much more than I expected, by the way—and that she just wanted a list with costs. She was grateful that I was possibly willing to help her out. She just had two rules.

  I was in charge of the labor and the creative side of the shop.

  She would handle the finances and the business side of things, leaving me to be creative and build the business as best as I possibly could.

  All this for the same salary I was making in New York.

  Every cynical part of my body was making sure I was not letting myself get excited, but this honestly seemed like a sweet deal that only a lunatic would pass up. Either way, I ticked off the negatives while I toured the shop for the tenth time in a half hour.

  What happens when you fail? That sounds an awful lot like my mother’s voice.

  When you fail, you’ve ruined someone’s business. Again, my mother.

  What if this makes you want to stay in Hope Lake? Guess who?

  Even with those thoughts running through my head, I imagined myself there. Taking orders, creating beautiful arrangements, planning parties with Emma … even if it was only for a little while.

  This was what I had wanted for so long, and here it was on a silver platter for me.

  Granted, it wasn’t where I wanted but it was what I wanted. Couldn’t I just focus on the positives? For once? A shop of my own that put me in charge and not having to deal with irate bosses who had a ton of money but had zero design talent.

  In my head, the aesthetics of the shop were already coming together. That would be the fun part. I sent Lucille all my thoughts and ideas via text and she confirmed, insisting that she trusted Emma and then, by default, me. She started forwarding emails, bills of lading, receipts, and business contacts she already had set up. It really wouldn’t take more than two weeks or so to get the majority of it lined up, considering she had given me one hell of a head start. With Emma’s help and Lucille’s checkbook, this could be the sweetest summertime gig I had in, well, ever.

  I made sure the door had closed behind me before turning back toward the ice-cream shop, Viola’s. It was charming in that small-town adorable sort of way. White clapboard across the front, with a large window highlighting a couple of the wrought-iron bistro tables inside that matched the ones that Henry had been moving earlier.

  I looked around for him, but he was nowhere to be found. “Too bad,” I said to myself, walking down the center pathway that joined the north and south sections of the town square. It looked like how a movie would envision a small town. I imagined this place in all four seasons. In the fall it would be bursting with colors stretching throughout the woods. In the winter, it must look like a snow globe, with swirling snow that danced through town.

  Spring would bring new beginnings, with flowers billowing over colorful, widemouthed planters that dotted every corner. And I could tell already this place must be pure satisfaction in the summer.

  In a bit of a la-la-land scenario, I found myself daydreaming, and I ended up at the bookstore that was directly across from where my shop—the shop—would be.

  Evan’s Books was another delightfully quaint building with just the right amount of old meets new. It had a brick-front facade and two massive rectangular windows highlighting the dark wood shelving that stood like sentries in the shop. The large, ornate brass door had a glass center with stunning intricate leaded trim work that drew your eye to its artistry. An iron bench sat out front just beneath the left window with two wine-barrel planters spilling over with potato vines and spike plants.

  It was when I bent over to scoop some wayward soil back into the planter that I noticed who was inside.

  There, in the center of a crop of little kids, was Henry. At least, I assumed it was him. From the neck down, he was dressed the same. Distressed jeans hugging him in all the right places and the super-fitted navy T-shirt. But now he wore a large red dog head.

  You could hear the children laughing even from outside. Hearty giggles every time he stomped over to the colorful carpet they were sitting on and “barked.”

  A horn sounded from behind me, and I turned. Someone was waving at the older man next door at the dry cleaner. I hadn’t noticed him before. By the time I turned back, things had gone belly-up. Henry, large and decidedly not in charge, had been tackled to the ground by the kids. I chose that moment to push the surprisingly heavy door open. A chime sounded through the store. In unison, the children called out, “Welcome to Evan’s Books!”

  “Thank you,” I responded, and if I wasn’t watching Henry being tackled and jumped on, I would have missed his body tensing up at the sound of my voice.

  An elderly man appeared seemingly from thin air. I was so focused on Henry with the children, I hadn’t seen him enter from the back of the store. He moved slowly with a cane in one hand and a notebook in the other. In a weary British accent, he called, “Come on, little friends, it’s time for pickup, your parents are all in the parking lot out back. Let’s stop treating poor Mr. Henry like a trampoline. You’ll see him next week.”

  There was a resounding chorus of boos, but like little soldiers, they stood and lined up. Each one gave Henry either a fist bump, a high five, or a hug around his long legs before they marched off after the older man. At the mouth of the other room, they called out, “Bye, Mr. Henry!”

  With the children in the back, the store was blissfully empty and quiet. Henry didn’t move for a few seconds, instead choosing to sit with his back to me. After a few moments, he began stacking the books that were strewn across the carpet. The oddest part was, he kept the big red dog head on.

/>   “Hi there,” I said, entering farther into the store. I descended the step to join him in the sunken lounge area. “We’ve seen each other around a couple of times …” I kicked you in the balls was implied along with an I’m sorry, I hoped. “Anyway, I saw you through the window and thought I’d see how you’re doing.”

  His shoulders shook slightly—I hoped with light laughter. Maybe he found this as ridiculous and awkward as I did. When did I become incapable of conversation with a man? There was something about him, though. We hadn’t yet had a conversation, but I felt a familiarity with him. Maybe it was what Emma had said, that we had a history. But why can’t I remember it?

  With a gracefulness I didn’t expect from someone so large, he rocked back on his feet and sprung up with ease. The movement caught me off guard, and I stumbled back.

  With a whip-fast movement, Henry reached out and grabbed me, keeping me from falling backward onto the hardwood. His arm wrapped around my back, his large hand resting against my rib cage. I was leaning back dramatically, my hands gripped around his shoulders while he was holding me steady. It would have been a wonderfully romantic gesture had it not been for the enormous red dog head.

  “Thanks,” I said breathlessly. I wanted to slap myself for being woozy over a simple gesture of kindness. It was such a rare commodity of late that I was grasping at any morsel offered.

  “Henry, it’s good to see you. You know, upright,” I said awkwardly as he straightened up, helping me to become steady on my feet.

  He nodded, but then tapped the red dog head. “Currently, I’m Clifford.” His voice was deep, muffled through the costumed head.

  Without warning, he popped the dog head from his own, setting it aside on one of the tables. His hair was matted, sweaty from being encased in the ridiculous thing, but it didn’t matter in the least. He was knee-buckling handsome in a classical patrician sense, with a strong, angular face. His hair was rich chestnut brown that curled a bit around his ears.