I think of Operation Lola and wonder what the girls would suggest right about now.
“Want to—I don’t know. Grab coffee? A sandwich? Take a walk?” The words are out before I can overthink them. “No pressure.”
She studies me for a second, like she’s weighing things out. Then she smiles, and my stomach flips.
“A walk sounds good,” she says.
The cobblestones click under our shoes as we head up Main Street, our shoulders close enough that I can feel her warmth. The shops are the same—boutiques with baskets and linen dresses, bookstores, a candy place that still smells like caramel from fifty feet away. We duck into a little cafe for iced coffees, and it’s like slipping into an old rhythm. We existed on iced coffee in college. The island stretches out ahead—old houses, hydrangeas still blooming, and this gorgeous woman by my side. I can hardly believe it.
“Two times in a month,” I say.
“What’s two times in a month?”
“That I’ve seen you. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like maybe there’s a hidden camera crew or something.”
She snorts. “Please. If this were a movie, we’d already be at the montage part with a piano playing a happy song and slow-motion shots of us walking.”
“We kind of are,” I say, gesturing at the restaurant that has piano music playing on the speakers, the flowers, the postcard street.
She laughs again, softer this time. “It’s freaky. Good freaky, but freaky.”
“Yeah.” I look at her profile, and something in my chest twists. “I want to ask so many questions.”
She turns her head, eyes meeting mine, curious but careful.
“But…”
“But?” she prompts gently.
“But I want to enjoy this day more.” I stop walking for a second, so she stops too. “I don’t want to spend the next few hours digging up old wounds or trying to get an explanation on what happened to make us go five years without talking. I just want…this. Hanging out together for an afternoon.” I lift a shoulder. “Isn’t that the least we should do for this crazy coincidence?”
She studies me for a beat, then points at me with one finger, a small, decisive gesture.
“Yes. Exactly,” she says. “Let’s do that.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“Enjoy this day.” She draws an invisible line in the air between us. “In Nantucket, doing whatever we decide to do next.”
A grin pulls at my mouth. “Deal.”
“Swear on the Brant Point Lighthouse.”
I hold up three fingers like a scout. “Swear.”
She mirrors me, solemn for half a second before she cracks and laughs. We start walking again, slower now, like we’re stretching the afternoon as far as it’ll go.
“So tell me about your life in New York. Are you living the dream?” I ask.
When she makes a face, I pause.
“What, should we not talk about that either?”
“No, it’s not that. I just—yes, I’m doing what I dreamed of. I own a tattoo shop, and I do love that…”
“But?”
“But my lease is almost up…” She glances at me and hoists her bag higher on her shoulder. “The rent is being raised, and it’s already astronomical. My apartment is as small as my college dorm was…” She smiles when I chuckle. “And I just haven’t found my people, you know? I have friends, but we’re all a little disconnected.” We pause to let a couple get around us. “I don’t know…lately I’ve been thinking about trying to make it somewhere else. Somewhere easier…and more personal. I still love New York, I really do. It just seems like the nonstop-hustle mentality is a necessity to really flourish there, and at some point, I’d like to have time to just enjoy life more. Does that make sense?”
