Back to thinking about her again. For someone I’ve met twice for less than thirty minutes combined, she’s occupying a lot of my thoughts.
I take a left once I reach the main sidewalk, and I’m immediately struck by the beauty. The houses nearby have lots of flowers already planted, and the small front lawns are a bright green. Then again, I’m coming from a very late winter in theNortheast, where everything is white and gray. Maybe that’s why the color is a shock to my senses.
There’s a diner to the right and several townhomes that appear to be actual residences. I wonder if they’re lived in year-round or used as rentals once the busy season hits. Each one is unique, with different siding, colors, and roofing, all adding to the charming nature of the town.
As I walk farther down, though, it seems like this part hasn’t been updated. Not quite abandoned, but limping along with peeling paint and various holes in the exteriors.
Once I pass through, I recognize the area across the road—the marina. It looks fairly nice, with a brand-new sign on the side of the building. Beyond it stretches out the sea.
I keep walking and find myself in front of a shop with reflective glass, showing my reflection instead of what’s inside. I glance up at the small sign, which is hard to see even standing below it.
Harbor and Hand? No, Harbor is below the other word. What did Avery say when she picked me up? Something about a harbor place I could visit her.
I’m not sure what makes me reach out for the handle and pull it open.
The smell of coffee hits me full force, and I glance around to see that this is a coffee shop. There are a few booths and tables spread throughout, but I never would’ve guessed it was a coffee shop from the outside.
There’s someone in front of me at the counter. Behind him, I see Avery. Her focus is on the man in front of her.
“Earl, I know you said you wanted an iced coffee. Remember, I gave you one yesterday, and I saw your face when you took a drink of it. Blueberry isn’t your thing,” she says.
The man’s shoulders slump. “Well, I wanted to have something in common with Laura Lynn.”
Avery gives him a warm smile. “I think Laura Lynn would like you even if you didn’t like iced coffee.”
“But I don’t know how to talk to her,” Earl says.
“What do you mean?” Avery leans against the counter as if she has all the time in the world. Then again, this place is surprisingly empty for this early in the morning. I know there are more people in this town because I’ve seen a bunch walking around this morning.
“I don’t know how to get her talking,” the man says, pulling me back to the present.
“Earl, I’ve never known you to have trouble with words—and I’ve only been here for a few months. Just go have fun and find anything to talk about. Even if you have to start with the weather.”
“I thought talking about the weather was a bad thing for relationships.”
“Well, talking about anything is better than staring at each other awkwardly, don’t you think?”
I want to step around and see his expression, but I wait. I’m surprised by how invested I am in this conversation. Zero responsibility is turning me into a nosy neighbor.
“If you need to, Earl, you can practice with me. How about I help the customer behind you, and then we’ll run through a couple of scenarios?”
It’s like he grows two inches as his shoulders straighten. “That would be great, Ms. Avery. Thank you.”
He steps to the side, and Avery looks up at me. A small flicker of surprise crosses her features. I don’t know why that interests me, but suddenly I want to see that look again.
“Good morning, Max. It seems we keep running into one another. How are Brock and Chloe treating you?” Avery asks, her tone polite but layered with something that makes me curious.
“Another great night. I’ve slept better than I have in years, so I can’t complain.”
She gives me a bright smile. “That’s good. Chloe finally convinced Brock to buy all new mattresses a few weeks ago. She’s been after him to do it since they got married last year.”
“Oh, they haven’t been together very long?” I ask, confused.
“They’re one of those second-chance romance couples,” Avery says, her cheeks turning slightly pink. “They dated in high school, then she left for a few years before coming back, and they rekindled things. It’s a story that could be made into a movie.” She blinks and says, “Sorry, that’s what she shared with me.”
“Isn’t there a popular movie about a second-chance couple?” I say, trying to connect to her words. “Sweet Home Alaska or something?”
She laughs. “It’sSweet Home Alabama.”
