“Relax,” Maddie says. “We’ll survive without you for an hour, and make sure to come back with notes to fill us in.”
The door opens again, and another small rush of customers enter, which thankfully ends the interrogation.
But a few minutes later, Maddie nudges my arm.
“Go, I’ve got this,” she says.
“You sure?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s fine, make your coffees, grab some pastries, and go to your meeting. I’ll call if I need anything, promise,” Maddie says.
“Go,” Brie says. “If it stays busy, I’ll stick around to help, I don’t mind.”
I am so thankful for Brie and Maddie. They have been here with me since day one, and I couldn’t imagine having this café without their help.
I make our coffees, grab a few pastries, and reach for my coat and purse. “Don’t burn the place down,” I say behind me as I leave.
“No promises,” Maddie replies.
I shake my head and laugh, stepping outside.
The walk over to the theater only takes a few minutes, but it’s enough time for the cool spring air to clear my head.
Lavender Creek looks the same as it always has. Small storefronts. Flower boxes in the windows. People who wave when they pass you on the sidewalk.
And at the end of the street sits the old theater. Even from the outside it looks tired.
The paint on the marquee is faded. The windows need cleaning. The big double doors have scratches across the woodfrom years of use. But there is something about it that still feels special.
I push the door open.
Inside, the theater smells faintly like sawdust and old carpet.
Everett is standing near the front of the lobby, looking up at the ceiling like he is mentally rebuilding the entire place. His sleeves are rolled up, and there is dust on his jeans.
When he hears the door open, he turns and smiles.
It makes my stomach do something annoying and fluttery.
“Hey, is it noon already?” he asks.
“It is, actually it's 12:06pm, so I’m a little late,” I admit.
“I’ll forgive you this time, only because you brought coffee,” he says, teasing.
I raise the arm that is holding the pastries. “And snacks.”
We walk further into the theater. As we reach the little table and folding chairs, he pulls out my chair.
“Thanks,” I say, sitting. “You have made some progress here. Things are starting to happen.”
“Ya, the floors are going to be redone, the seating in the theaters as well. Thankfully, the screens are still in good condition. I don’t need to replace those.”
His voice shifts when he talks about this place. He’s excited, more alive.
“You really love this place,” I say.
He shrugs a little like he’s trying not to make a big deal out of it.
