On a sunny Saturday, I was sitting at a small table at the Village Oven, the sun warming my back.It was a busy day for the café, and I already recognized some of the faces passing by.This street was the town’s main street, where the essential services and businesses were located.Miss Amara had told me that the Village Oven was the town’s oldest café.Evermere had started as a village before growing into a town, and this café had supposedly changed very little over the years.
“So you’re a chicken pie kind of guy?”A voice came from behind me.Ella blocked the light for me, smiling brightly — as the only human being who could perfectly replace the sun.
What am I thinking?
“Wasn’t that what you ordered when we came here to spread the party flyers?”she asked, responding to my silence.
I chuckled and pointed to the window display with my fork.“What else would you recommend?”
“The chocolate muffin,” she paused, “paired with their hot chocolate.”
“So, chocolate with chocolate?”
“Chocoholic.”She pointed a finger at herself, as if framing the confession.
I laughed.“Well, I recommend their chicken pie.And since I’ve been coming here every week since I moved, I think I can already call myself a regular.”
“And have you ever tried anything besides the chicken pie?”she asked.
“No, not really.”I came because I liked the pie.
“You know what?”She looked like she had just pieced together a Cluedo clue.“I noticed you also always ask for the same pumpkin and nuts sandwich at the school bar.”
“Miss Amara thinks the best bread ever is at our school.She got me addicted to it,” I said.
Ella leaned in and squinted her eyes, playing her detective part.“Are you one of those people who could eat the same dish for seven nights of the week and not mind?”
I actually could.“I am.”
“You’re all unpredictable, the not-attached-to-anything-or-anyone kind of guy, but deep down, you like predictability.You like to use the same black notebook and the same pen.You like things to stay the same.”
“I was talking about dinners,” I said back.
“Yes,” she stood up, victorious, like the detective who had deciphered the secret code, “but I am making an analogy to life.”
She was reading from pages I didn’t know were open.
She looked at the counter, and Miss Nour smiled back at her, asked if she was there for the cake, and told her that it was bigger than last time.
“What are you doing this weekend?”I wondered aloud.
“Well, my family is organizing my grandmother’s birthday at our house this afternoon.It’s going to be a full day.And tomorrow, I was thinking about running away to the beach.And you?”
“Happy birthday to Grandma,” I said, and she smiled.“I made plans with myself to come get some chicken pie, I was thinking about making the exact same plans for tomorrow if I accept.”
Miss Nour approached our table with a large cardboard cake box, and Ella politely thanked her, sharing a few words about the last cake, which had apparently been extraordinary and left no scraps for the next day.
When Miss Nour left, Ella looked back at me.
“Would you like to come with me tomorrow?”she asked.
“To the beach?”
“If you allow yourself to.”
She was inviting me to spend the Sunday with her.And I didn’t know why I was pretending to think about it.
“You can bring a box of chicken pie if that’s the deciding factor,” she joked.
