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“Welcome to Gold Roast. What can I get you?”
“Coffee, black.” I pull out my wallet from my back pocket.
“Two-fifty.” I pull out a five and hand it to her. Once she places the change in my hand, I stick a dollar in the tip jar.
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask.
“Sure,” she says. Her name tag says Tara.
“When does Woody Finch Brewery open, do you know?”
This is easily Googleable, but I just need to say it out loud, to make it real.
She looks at me like I’m dense. “I think it’s closed for an event today. It’s Emily’s birthday.”
Her name hits me straight in the heart.
“Emily’s birthday?” Should I show up? Is that weird?
Tara cocks her head to the side, like she’s studying me. “Do you know Emily?”
I pull out another bill and stick it in the tip jar. “Kind of. Thank you for the information.”
Tara’s eyebrows knit together as she turns to pull my coffee. When she turns back, she sets the cup on the counter.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Her look is curious. I don’t immediately recall her from ten years ago, but my memory can be bad. The coffee hits my throat, dark and rich, and when I turn back, she stares at me.
I hold up my hand in a farewell.
When I get back into my car, I pull out of a parking space and go in the direction of the sign. At the end of Main Street, there’s a large field and a red barn with white trim in the distance. A paved road winds through the grass and I’m at the entrance.
Woody Finch Brewery, where dogs and their humans are welcome is scrawled across the sign directly in front of the bar. Picnic tables litter the front, and the front parking lot is empty. A few cars are parked at the rear.
I wonder if one of them is Emily’s.
I sit for a few minutes. What should I say if I see her? Will it be weird? Are they even open?
She probably doesn’t remember me. After I left for Costa Rica, I never heard from her, and my emails went unanswered.
I tried to find her once in Goldheart. It didn’t go so well.
I bet she’s married now with a couple kids and is happy.
“What are you doing?” I ask out loud. Turning off the engine, I sit, staring at the red siding. Is this a good idea? She might not remember me or want to see me. It’s her birthday, for Christ’s sake.
I stick my key back into the ignition.
“This is insane.” My car roars back to life, but my hands stay planted on the steering wheel. They don’t move; they don’t shift my car to reverse.
No, I came all this way. I need to know she’s okay. If I see her happily married, I will take it as my sign to commit to Noelle. A woman who has been more than patient with me.
“Let’s do this,” I tell myself as I switch off the engine again and open the car door. I adjust my pants and check my shirt. Shaking out my hands, I walk to the entrance.
I’m not proud, but I try to look in. The door is dark, and I can’t see much.
Before I lose my nerve, I knock. If no one answers, I might take that as a sign as well.
