This town, I think. This ridiculous, warm, strange little town.
“How are you doing?” I ask Kate. “Really.”
She pulls off her sunglasses. Her eyes are dry — she’s been crying on and off since she got back from the airport, but right now she’s steady. “I’m okay. It’s going to be hard for a while and then it won’t be.” She wraps both hands around her mug. “He called from the gate. Said he loves me.”
“Of course he did.”
“I told him I’d write him a real letter. An actual paper letter.”
“He’ll love that.”
“He said he already misses me.” She smiles at the table. “He’s not great at this kind of thing — the feelings part — but he’s trying. I guess we’re both trying.”
The chicken salad arrives, and it is, as advertised, extraordinary.
“Okay, so let’s talk about something other than my situation,” Kate says after a few bites. “Max.”
“What about Max?”
“You’ve been here over two weeks. You two are spending every night together.” She points her fork at me. “Have the two of you actually talked about what this is?”
I think about the last two weeks. The easy rhythm of it, the coffee on balconies, the way he appears before I’ve asked for anything. The bungalow street and what it did to something quiet in my chest.
“Not in so many words,” I say.
“Lauren.”
“I know.”
“He’s buying the resort, you know. Natalia told me. He’s staying in Cypress Grove.”
I set my fork down. “He’s staying?”
“For the foreseeable future.” She looks at me. “Nat thinks he’ll be looking at houses soon because he won’t want to live with Ginger and Angus.”
I think about that for a moment. Max in a house on a street like Jonathan’s, with a porch and something blooming by the front door.
“I want to stay,” I say. It comes out simply, without drama, which is how I know I mean it. “Not just because of Max. Not just because of you.” I look out the window at the main street of Cypress Grove, at the crystal shop and the candle woman and the used bookshop and the palm trees in the park across the street. “There’s something about this place. I’ve photographedsacred sites all over the world and none of them felt like this. The springs are unreal. Like the water is actually paying attention. I know how that sounds.”
“It sounds like someone who’s meant to be here. This happens often.” She picks up her fork. “The place keeps the right people.”
“I’ve made friends here,” I say. “Real ones. Nat. Sadie. Your mom.” I pause. “You, obviously, but that’s different.” I look at her. “I haven’t made real friends in years. Not since Chicago. I’ve been moving too fast.”
Kate sets down her fork. “Lauren.”
“I know.”
“Say it out loud.”
“I want to stay in Cypress Grove,” I say. “For the town. For you. For the photography. And —” I pause. “For Max. In that order, maybe. But he’s in the order.”
Kate beams.
“Have you told him that?”
“In a roundabout way, yes. I will.” I pick my fork back up. “Tonight, actually. He invited me to his parents’ for dinner.”
“Just the four of you?”
“Just the four of us.”
She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. We finish the chicken salad. Outside, the overcast morning has given way to thin, tentative sunshine, and the street hums with tourists.
My chest is tight, but the good kind of tight, the kind that comes from having a secret, from holding a gift you want to give someone.
