Startled, he looks up at me. And yeah, he’s even cuter up close. Deep brown eyes and curly, dark lashes. “What?” he asks.
I give him my best smile. “The pink Kashmiri chai, how do you like it? I don’t work here or anything… I’m curious. It’s my favorite drink at LoveBug, and I don’t see people drinking it much.”
He looks at me with no expression for several seconds. Finally, he glances at his drink as if he just figured out what I’m talking about. “Oh… yeah, it’s fine. A little sweet, but tasty.” I like his voice. It’s deeper than I expected it to be. And very smooth.
“Good thing I have such a sweet tooth!” I say, shooting him another winsome smile while he… continues to stare at me looking vaguely confused. “Hey, can you do me afavor? Can you take a picture of me holding these flowers in front of that wallpaper?”
The wall closest to us has pale blue wallpaper dotted with pink roses. And I happen to be wearing one of my favorite outfits from Cosmic, wide-legged dusty-rose trousers and a pale cream blouse with pink buttons. I know I look fabulous and match the flowers perfectly. I’ll post the picture on Mom’s Instagram, tagging both Cosmic and LoveBug, helping three Love Street businesses at once, and I’ll have photographic evidence of my perfect meet-cute by having this cute guy take my picture.
“Just a couple of quick shots,” I say. “It’ll only take a second.”
The guy still has that confused expression. Then he looks back down at his book. “Um, I’m busy,” he says without looking at me.
Okaaay… I mean, if he doesn’t want to take my picture or even stop reading his book, that’s totally fine. But that was a little rude. I guess this wasn’t the meet-cute I wanted.
The door to LoveBug opens then, and Cara comes in. Excellent. She can take the pictures. I don’t say anything to the guy and go ask Cara for her help instead.
After Cara and I have a little photo shoot of me with the flowers, she sits at my table while I look over the pictures. “Who’s that?” she asks, indicating the pink chai guy at the other end of the café. I had no idea he was still here. I shrug.
“He must work on the street,” Cara says. No one would know it from her cool and aloof demeanor, but Cara is a total neighborhood gossip just like everyone else on Love Street. “Maybe at the bistro? Or Kozlaks’?”
I shrug again. I’m still irritated that he brushed me off so curtly, and I really don’t want to waste any more mental energy on the guy.
“Maybe he’s your future prom date?” Cara asks.
I roll my eyes. I wonder how long Cara is going to continue this one-sided conversation.
“He’s exactly your type,” she adds.
Now that, Ihaveto respond to. I tilt my head. “Why, because we’re both Brown? Priya’s Brown, and she’s nothing like that guy.” Priya is the designer purse and shoes type. She hates messenger bags.
Cara gives me a smug look. “They are bothexactlyyour type. You always notice high-maintenance girls and nerdy boys.”
I laugh at that. I mean, my eyes were drawn to him the moment he walked in. “Okay fine. He’s cute. But he doesn’t seem interested in anything other than his book.” I shouldn’t judge. Maybe he’s having a bad day and not looking to make friends today.
Jenn and my mom show up for the BOA meeting and Jenn sets up a folding whiteboard at the front of the café. Mom joins Cara and me at our table. I show Mom the pictures Cara took, and we pick one to post to the flower shop’s Insta, tagging the other two businesses. Alain, the bistro owner, comes to our table to talk to Mom about flowers for his restaurant, while several people line up to get coffee from the carafe Ajit placed on the counter. I look over to the cute pink chai guy. He’s still there, reading his textbook. Maybe hedoeswork on the street.Ugh. It will be annoying to see him on Love Street all the time.
Jenn asks everyone to take a seat, and I notice that oneof the rude waiters from the bistro sits next to the guy, so maybe Cara’s right and he works there. It would explain his attitude—everyone at the bistro, especiallythatwaiter, has that French snobby attitude perfected.
The café is pretty crowded—since the meeting is open to everyone who works on the street, not only the actual business owners. A lot of peopleloveworking here, so the meetings become a social thing. After going over regular business, like dues owed and Mrs. Kotch’s butter problem, Jenn starts talking about the sales decline on the street. She explains that Cosmic Vintage, as well as other shops like Second Story Books and the empanada shop, have all reported a noticeable drop in sales since the newer trendy stores opened on Gerrard. Other business owners pipe in to agree. Ina Kozlak from the Eastern European grocer says she had sausages go bad because they sat unsold for too long. Mrs. Kotch complains no one is buying her lovingly made authentic German cakes since they can now buy a grocery store one from a display case around the corner. I wonder if Mom is going to mention the decrease in walk-ins at the flower shop, but she doesn’t say anything.
When Jenn opens the floor to ideas for what can be done to get customers buying again, people start talking over one another.
“Can we make a petition to force the Rossi’s store to close?” Mrs. Kotch asks first.
Someone scoffs behind me, and I recognize the deep voice. Pink Chai Guy. I do agree that Mrs. Kotch’s petition idea would never work because the grocery store is already open and has every right to exist, but Mrs. Kotch has run that bakery for over thirty years. Her livelihood isbeing threatened, so of course she’s a little irrational.
I turn to glare at the guy. He’s still at the same table with that waiter. “You can’t force a store to close because you don’t like it,” he says.
I don’t like that patronizing tone he used on poor Mrs. Kotch.
I lean into Cara. “Why does Alain hire such tools at the bistro?”
She shrugs, a sour look on her face. “Who knows, but I think you were right about him not being your type.”
Mrs. Kotch and Alain both start talking at the same time. I’m pretty sure Alain’s suggestion of how to take care of the grocery store is highly illegal, so Jenn shuts it down. “Serious ideas that we can actually implement only.”
“Wecanactually implement that,” Alain says. “I know a guy.”
