16:42 Lauren:karma’s kicking my ass over something today.
16:43 Lauren:So…I might spend the next hour and a half in the bar. introduce myself to nola’s other specialty: the hurricane.
16:43 Matthew:pace yourself, sweetness.
16:44 Lauren:we’re going to miss dinner. gah…hate that.
16:44 Matthew:tomorrow.
16:45 Lauren:but I had a plan.
16:45 Matthew:you always have a plan, sweetness. sometimes you just need to roll with it.
“Dude.” Smiling brightly, I looked up from my phone and realized Riley was still waiting on my response. “I was talking.”
“Yeah, sorry. Let me just send this. Lauren’s flight’s delayed. You want a beer or something?”
“Sure. That’ll make up for you sexting right in front of me.” He shook his head and stared out the window. “I put up with a lot of shit from you guys.”
16:48 Lauren::)
16:49 Matthew:I’m getting a beer with Riley. Text me when you board.
16:49 Matthew:Or when TSA picks you up for drunk and disorderly conduct, whichever comes first.
16:51 Lauren:say hi to RISD for me.
“Lauren says hi.” I pulled away from the curb and negotiated my way through traffic, crossing the Charlestown Bridge into the North End.
“She’s getting in tonight?”
“Not until after ten.” I zigzagged through narrow cobblestone streets toward my building. “How about the Sail Loft?”
Riley snickered. “If you’re buying and you don’t mind yachty bros.”
“How could I? I spend all day with you, and your sockless boat shoe situation.”
We parked at my building and walked down Atlantic Avenue. Cold, wintry wind mixed with sleet was gusting off the water, and I felt the chill in my bones. Definitely time for warmer layers and snow gear. We found two open stools at the corner of the long bar and ordered Oktoberfest beers.
“As I was saying,” he started. “I think it makes sense to blow out the parlor because it wrecks the entire flow and cuts off the natural light. But if we’re restoring this joint, wouldn’t I keep the parlor andrestoreit? Isn’t that the deal?”
I sipped my beer and shrugged. “Not always. Heritage restoration is all about preserving the effects of age and decay, and that’s usually removing elements that were added after the original build. Like linoleum and popcorn ceilings and that fucking wood paneling. We also do a lot of heritage restoration on structural issues, and that’s okay because most of the engineering techniques didn’t exist until recently.”
Riley signaled to the bartender. “Sweetheart, can I get a fisherman’s platter?” He glanced to me. “I don’t share. If you want something, speak up.”
“Steamed mussels.” I figured I wouldn’t get Lauren back to my place until after eleven. I doubted we’d spend much time eating although I didn’t expect the cupcakes in my fridge to go untouched tonight. The naughty schoolteacher had one hell of a sweet tooth.
“And a basket of onion rings,” Riley called. He looked back to me. “You said you’re buying, right?”
“Yeah, whatever.” I glanced to my phone and saw no new messages. “While opening up the original parlor is not a strict restoration, we’re saving everything that can reasonably be restored, and upgrading all the structures and systems. We’re not winning any National Trust for Historic Preservation awards—okay, Sam will, but that’s Sam. At least we’ll prevent that property from being torn down.”
“And you’re good with that?”
I nodded, and checked my phone again, estimating that Lauren would be boarding in the next fifteen minutes if her flight wasn’t delayed further.
An overflowing plate of fried shrimp, scallops, calamari, cod, and clams landed in front of Riley, and he bit into a clam with a low groan. “Hot plate,” the waiter warned as he dropped the bubbling mussels to the bar.
“I don’t get why we’re basically flipping houses.”
