The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara

Sixty-Two

June 12

I couldn’t sleep. The thought of Ethan reading my manuscript terrified me and even more so, the idea that he’d read an unfinished novel. After hours of tossing and turning, I got up, opened the envelope with my manuscript and started writing that ending I haven’t been able to even get close to until now. Longhand, on white paper, without stopping for a second, without overthinking it. Ten thousand words about how we end up finding each other after I return to Carmel. How magical it all is and how love wins. This feels like the perfect ending to this story. Our story. Ten thousand words led me to the final two. The ones I never thought I’d write. ‘The End’. And now my untitled manuscript also has a title. Our Perfect Day. It’s personal, raw and I adore everything about it. It should be easier now to show it to him. Should be.

“I’ll be right there,” I say to Celine who’s waiting in front of the cottage.

I get the envelope with my manuscript, put it on the kitchen counter and leave a short message for Ethan.

It still needs editing and it’s not perfect, so don’t focus on that. Just the story.

I hesitate again before leaving the house, but I know I have to do it. That was the deal and it’s the only way I can make him understand my intentions and feelings.

Celine is waiting for me by the gate, smiling as usual.

“I had the cutest dream last night,” she says. “And you were in it.”

“I was? Tell me.”

I rarely recollect my dreams, if I even dream at all.

“I was sitting on a bench on the side of a big green field covered in daffodils. Tens, hundreds of them. You were standing among them, plucking them out of the ground and making a bouquet. I tried to tell you they’ll all blow away at the first gust of wind, but you were too excited, so I didn’t want to make you sad.”

“And then?” I ask.

“And then the wind started blowing, and with it your daffodils went up in the air. And you were jumping to catch them and get them back. It was almost like you were flying.”

“That’s nice,” I say. “And?”

She smiles at me. “That’s it.”

I laugh. “Still nice.”

“Yes,” she says and scoffs lightly. “My mother called to let me know they arrived in Kauai. I guess she forgot again about the time difference.”

I do the same to poor Alisa all the time.

We get to the café and follow our usual morning routine when a man checks the door and rattles the knob. He looks like he needs coffee and fast! We’re still closed, but Celine opens the door, and lets him in.

We have a little bit of time before customers trickle in. Still, I like to be prepared, so I start arranging the chairs, checking the tablecloths, the napkin holders, the menus.

After she serves the customer, Celine comes over to help.

The breakfast crowd starts coming in and Celine and I split responsibilities, going through the line like a well-oiled machine. Before long, all the tables are full, both inside and in front. I’m not surprised. It’s a beautiful day, the sun is up, and Carmel is living its best life. I feel lucky today to be part of it. Not sure why, I just have a smile on my face.

And then I look over at Celine. When she doesn’t realize anyone is looking at her, the corners of her mouth face downward. There’s a sad, almost melancholic look in her eyes.

She notices I’m struggling to arrange today’s papers—I checked and I’m not in any of them, thankfully—on the shelf and gives me a hand. She would do anything to keep everyone happy. Me, the customers, Ethan, her parents, even random people on the street. Celine is one of those rare people who are genuinely and profoundly good. I wonder what went wrong in her marriage; for some reason I don’t think it was her fault. She probably tried her best, but there’s only so much you can do. She’s precisely the type of person you imagine will have a happily ever after, a perfect family, a beautiful life filled with love. And she should. She should have all that. She says she’s OK being single, that she’s had enough of men to last her two lifetimes, but that sadness in her eyes is saying something else. I think she’d want someone by her side, but she’s too afraid to risk her heart again. And I can’t say that I blame her.

I would love to write a story for her. Even more than that, I wish my stories were magical and words on paper would come true. I look around the café. This is the most significant part of her world. Maybe someone here then. I don’t see anyone worthy, though, but I’ll keep looking. She definitely has to have her own story.

“Putting the second batch of croissants in the oven. Keep an eye on the front of the house for me, please?” she says.

“Yes, boss,” I say and salute jokingly.

Since no new customers have come in for ten minutes, I grab my bag and pull out the notebook and the pen Ethan gifted me and start her story. I might not have a ‘him’ in mind for Celine just yet, but I have to start somewhere.

It’s funny. I haven’t found inspiration in anything in the last year—if we exclude my one day with Max—but now it’s like I got my mojo back. I feel like writing nonstop. I’m inspired by this place, the people, my experiences.

A couple of pages in, I hear the bell and I’m ready to close the notebook and serve a customer. I do a double take. And that feeling in my stomach, and my chest is back.

“Good morning,” I say, smiling and unable to stop myself from sounding peppy.

“You’re writing,” Ethan says, returning the smile.

I awkwardly point at the notebook and pen. “T—thank you again.”

“You’re welcome; glad they’re useful. Thanks for the manuscript,” he says and winks.

“Bored with it already?” I ask. I’m afraid my insecurities come through. It sounds like I’m fishing for compliments, but I’m not. I need reassurance, especially from someone like him.

“Not at all. I started it and I think it’s fabulous.”

I nod and smile.

“And I was planning to read more this morning, but—” he stops “—I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t respond, instead stares at me. I don’t know what it is about looking into Ethan’s eyes that makes me feel this tension between us. I swallow nervously.

“You said you want me to get to know the true you. Since I’m a slow reader, I thought we should try and speed up the ‘getting to know you’ process,” he says with a smile.

“Where should I start? A list of all my likes and dislikes? I could give you a résumé too,” I say and chuckle.

“Why not?” He laughs. “But no, I have something else in mind. If you’re up for it.”

I purse my lips. “It depends. Is it dangerous?”

He shakes his head.

“Embarrassing?”

He shrugs, then laughs. “No and no more questions. You’ll spoil it. In or out?”

I don’t like not knowing what comes next, but this time I’m tempted. “In.”

“Good,” he says and the mischievous smile on his face makes me question my decision. “What time can you leave? It has to be at or before four.”

“Four then,” I say caught in the moment. Then I reflect on it. “Wait, I have to talk to Celine first. See if it’s OK with her.”

He nods and continues to stand in front of the counter as if he can’t decide what to do.

“Can I bring you anything? Are you staying or—” I ask.

“Yes, I’m staying. Why don’t you go back to writing? I’ve kept you long enough and I’m sure the next wave of customers is coming soon. I can make my own coffee. Do you want one?”

I want to say no, but change my mind. “Celine said you have a secret recipe that involves chili and dark chocolate.”

He’s all smug. “Maybe,” he says and goes to the espresso machine.

A few minutes later, he brings me the coffee and a hazelnut croissant on a small plate.

“Thought you might want to eat something too,” he says.

“Thank you. It’s my favorite,” I say in a low voice.

“Sit. Eat,” he says and walks toward the window table.

I want to stop him and ask if he wants to sit with me, but I don’t. Because I’m not used to it. This pact of ours. This temporary peace or whatever it is. I’m not sure exactly how I should act around him. I’m mostly playing it by ear, but it’s not as simple as it might seem.