Page 98 of Call It Serendipity

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” Garrison announces from the front of the meeting hall. “I know this decision has been a long time coming, but I want to start by giving you background on our bidders and our process that led to our decision.”

I don’t wait to hear more. This means I have time to find Jake—and I have to find Jake.

Shoving my way through the crowd, I clumsily slip my coat on as I go and nearly break into a run once I hit the town hall’s front steps.

I cross Washington and head for the alley behind Dina’s. As soon as I round the corner of the restaurant, his apartment comes into view. Like always, the light over his front stoop is on, welcoming me as I approach.

“Jake?” I call, reaching up and rapping my knuckles on the door. There’s a distinct sound of movement on the other side. Then a single bark from Charlie.

But the door doesn’t open.

I knock once more, this time with added force. Again, only Charlie responds. I try the knob to find the door locked.

“Dammit,” I repeat.

He insisted on giving me a key the other day, and I’m kicking myself for not having it right now.

I turn to sit in a patio chair and think when I see the flash of an envelope from the corner of my eye. It’s hanging from the wall mounted mailbox, and has my name scrawled across the front.

My hands shake as I reach for it. There are a million reasons going through my mind of why he’d write me a letter, and none of them are particularly good.

The meeting happening up the street feels like a far-off issue now, and that sense of panic tightens around my throat as I slip a finger under the seal and rip it open.

Then with a deep breath, I take a look at what’s inside.

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There are two items in the envelope. A note, folded with a crisp crease, and a gold key that’s cool against my skin as I dump it into my palm.

“Why on earth is Jake leaving me a key?” My thumb fiddles with the metal object, rubbing along the jagged teeth.

There is a lock right in front me, despite the fact that he already gave me a key for his apartment door. I try it in vain and come up unsuccessful.

“Damnit.” I drop into the patio chair, my elbow propped up on the table and the key point straight up between my thumb and forefinger. Studying it for clues, I find nothing. That’s when I remember the note.

My fingers fumble with the envelope as I try to yank the paper out. When I finally manage, I unfold it to see a single sentence.

Find me where it all began.

“Where it all began?” I repeat into the quiet evening. “What does that mean?”

But even as the words leave my mouth, I see it in my mind. The shining chrome of the motorcycle. The red knit sweater. The strong arms pulling me to safety.

I jump up from the table and shove the note into my jacket pocket. With the key clinched tight in my fist, I follow the path around to the front of the building. Wide halos of light pepper the empty street as I look up and down it. There are no signs of life, everyone else more than likely still at the trustees meeting.

The meeting we should be at. But if this key belongs to the place where it all began…

My boots echo as I pad across the street towards the darkened building. There’s no sign of life at the vacant brewery—maybe I’m wrong.

I slow my pace approaching the door. There’s a tremble in my hand as I slip the key back out, causing it to shimmer under the lamppost. Just a few more steps and I’m there, the waiting lock within an arm’s length.

My feet stop, planting firmly on the pavement inches before reaching my destination.

Maybe I’m wrong.

But what if I’m right?

If this key unlocks the brewery, it will mean that the building will soon be demolished, right along with the small-town charm of all locally owned rental homes. It will mean an influx of tourists, but probably not the kind to which Ellicottville is accustomed.