A few minutes later, I turned onto a two-lane road just north of town. The pavement narrowed, bordered by overgrown eucalyptus, Monterey pines, and scrub that smelled sharp and dusty in the cooling air. At the end of the road, beyond a freshly painted fence, the old sign came into view.
THE STARLITE DRIVE-IN
The letters were white against deep blue, surrounded by small painted stars. Below it, the marquee read:
GRAND REOPENING JUNE 29TH
“That’s tomorrow.” Dorian leaned forward slightly. “I heard rumors this was reopening. You have no idea how many nights I spent here in high school.”
“Yeah?”
“I thought this place was closed forever.”
“Twenty or so years. I was on the committee to get it reopened.”
“What made you do that?” Dorian asked.
“I love drive-ins. And I thought Willet Cove needed it back.”
“I agree,” Dorian said. “Who owns it now?”
“You won’t believe this. The great grandson of the original owner raised his hand. He had the money for restorations. We promised community support. With the funds we raised, we can sponsor free movie nights or charge five dollars a car.”
“That’s what it was in the old days. We used to stuff six of us in my old Chevy.”
I laughed. “Those are the stories we heard over and over from the locals. Which is why I felt so passionately that we had to make it happen.”
“Nothing creates community like a local drive-in,” Dorian said. “But if it doesn’t open until tomorrow night, then how are we getting in?”
“I made special arrangements. Tonight’s the trial run for the management team. They asked a few of us to be their beta customers.”
I slowed near the ticket booth, a small white structure with blue trim. The new owner’s son greeted us and let us in through the gate and into the lot.
A gravel field sloped gently toward the huge white screen at the far end, newly repaired and painted. The old speaker posts stood in neat rows, their metal boxes restored until they gleamed. The concession stand had been revived with striped awnings, warm bulbs, and trim painted the same deep blue as the sign.
“You should have seen what it looked like when we first started the project,” I said. “Fence was broken. Weeds waist-high. The concession building’s roof had collapsed and had to be replaced.”
“It looks better than it ever did,” Dorian said. “You guys killed it.”
“We’re pretty proud. And thank you.” I backed into the spot, planning to open the back of my SUV so we could watch from there. I had blankets and pillows for us. “I thought we could watch from the back.”
“A definite upgrade from my old Chevy and a bunch of stinky guys,” Dorian said.
We got out and climbed into the back. Dorian was only an inch or two taller than me and slim. Regardless, he made the space seem small and intimate. Sitting with our backs against the seat, legs crossed, our knees only inches apart, felt like we were in a bed. I hadn’t really thought that part through. But we were here now. No backing out.
“This has got to be the best second date ever planned,” Dorian said. “Thanks for bringing me here.”
“You’re welcome. And don’t worry, I brought dinner. No bad hot dogs for us.”
From the basket, I pulled out all the food and spread it all out on the blanket. Lastly, I filled two stemless glasses with red wine, from a bottle of red I’d been saving for a special occasion.
“I hope you won’t find this date redundant,” I said. “But our picnic was so much fun, I thought we should do it again.”
“I’m more than a little excited about that chicken,” Dorian said. “My mom used to make the best.”
“This is from the deli, but it’s good. And they have good potato salad.”
“I love potato salad,” Dorian said.
